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Tag Archives: Ambiguity

A Tale of The Weathered Sundial’s Ever-Moving shadow

Years have passed:

 

when we were young, we could tolerate physical pain,

emotional blizzards, and blinding rain.

We sought recognition, fortune, and sometimes illusions fame.

 

We chased stars in glittering summer nights keeping sentry for sunrise,

celebrating each dawn with a brand new name.

We could even cry, winning or losing, without forcing a fight.

 

We could talk, discuss, and compromise.

We recognize the beauty in unsuspected surprise.

We were always able to light a candle in the wind

 Finding our way back home on sad dark nights.

We often laughed at ourselves. Believing that pennies

we flipped, fluttering to the bottom of wishing wells

 

We’d became Peter Pan and Wendy

never growing old. And, totally ignoring Tinkerbell,

we watch our directions flow.

 

Following our hearts and the work of our hands

we traveled roadways, highways, and paths;

where distance seemed far and time immeasurably fast.

 

We floated above concrete, soft tar, and beaches with ankle deep sand.

Even paths that were crooked and twisted in shallow water or on solid land.

We were always on each other’s map!

 

We frolicked in spaces that love only knows

where time, never existed;

along with places, where sadness, was only a short visit.

 

Eventually, I suppose, age and Peter Pan eclipses

those days, when we are young.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is only time now:

 

when we are old. We sit with aches and pain.

Confused, misunderstanding,

we complain.

 

Our clothes begin to slip or are frayed or they just don’t fit;

along with our recognition, fortune, and the reality of expected fame.

We wear sweaters and warm cotton hats on cool summer nights,

 

seeing only darkness as a distant fading light.

We Sleep uneasily on worn, thin but forgiving linen.

We, sometimes, forget ourselves with mixed memories,

stuttering on birthdays, which have evaporated in wishing wells.

 

We try to avoid being stubborn—  guilt ridden for actions mistaken,

poor mathematical intelligence, slips of jealously, pride,

and recognize that we, as we knew, is we that is forgotten.

 

From steel to rust, from rock to gravel,

from coal to diamond

and back to dust.

 

The sound of muted bells tick off the clock, like muffled thunder

under the hoofs of deaths’ mercenaries; some from heaven,

and maybe one or two from hell.

 

We may shed a warm small tear, becoming a prism, to glitter

In the sliver of a waning moon; signaling with joy—

tomorrow’s brand new day,

 

with its bright sun chasing

A weathered Sundial’s ever-moving shadow

 

~The Night Before Breakfast~ Vol. I                                        Another Draft Revision

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Notes found on the refrigerator November 2017

Although I enjoy the ease of a sidewalk

I often preferred cutting across the lawn

     *****

I can only do one thing at a time

Even if takes me two

Or three tries

 

I was listening to music on my earphones

And found the sound unclear—

I adjusted the volume

—nothing

I went to the settings

—no adjustment required.

Suggested, I plug them in

And printed,

Did you find this helpful?

Yes, I knew I should be grocery shopping

     *****

A Writer’s Confession:

     As a writer, I may not necessarily write about my own personal experiences.

 Although they influence perception and understanding, they often are not themselves; the words that are written. They are only reflections of me as a writer.

     My characters  are in constant flux… as I… also see and feel my way through each moment—

experiencing what others and what I see, and what  is being  seen —what we universally have in common ambiguity. Often I am just a humble hapless observer making it written into words as only it could be, from the source of a perceptive and creative writer.

     *****

How are we able to see the darkness

in the center of the light

and be able to see the light

in the center of darkness?

We see its impermanence.

as in all nature

every day is greater

doing what you need

 
20 Comments

Posted by on December 16, 2017 in prose, Sittting still, thoughts, Zen

 

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Notes Found On The Refrigerator May 2017

Thankful twigs, children of the blight:

Used as kindling from Camelot to Brooklyn, with ancestry in branches of Majestic Elms—

Extinct in the flames of purification they crackled and glowed in memories

Of the beautiful Main streets with bustling thoroughfares.

—when they, in regal tradition, stole the whole show.

Some interesting research digging around on the subject (for whatever, when it popped up in my mind) about the Elm tree… and perhaps I was looking for something about our future? Understanding and approaching it with history’s humility

: https://growinghistory.wordpress.com/2012/02/28/some-history-of-historic-plants/

 

*****

            No matter where I have been, in my heart I have always heard “welcome son!” And, I am as sure as my sisters have heard addressed— personally to them. The question that accompanies such a greeting is; where exactly are we? That we are being received and welcomed? And, of course, how our etiquette suddenly begins and our exit should end.

Rain falls hard on thorns

Roses soon to bloom perk up

Both will co-exist

*****

Whoa, Silver! Here comes the black stallion to welcome the Pinto.

*****

I sit here by the firelight of life, feeling old, tired, and worn out.

I sit proud with a peaceful heart after battles lost and won—

I notice the imprint of my shield, above the fireplace,

Nicked and gashed in gallant memory as history touts.

It has been sold. Two weeks ago. For bread, vegetables, lettuce, meat,

And sprouts.

I am neither happy nor angry

Nor am I hungry.

 

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Lost Is The Chaser

You have always loved early morning light.
Raising shades pushing closed curtains open.
Each flash from room to room? Presence left bright.

I have followed steps morning to dusk.
I have watched you sigh with a darker sky
And laugh at the sun, for late waking up.

I have caught you in my afternoon arms
I felt your escape from curtain to shade                                       From door to door, calm and without alarm.

 Briskly from room to room almost a dance.
Occasionally you gave me a smile
with blinking dark eyes, in a quick side-glance.

Lost is the love that never can be caught.
Lost is the chaser that never can stop.

Note: Inspired by a modern sonnet by Robert Frost’s “Acquainted With The Night”. ( a must read for all future and current Poets, in my opinion :). The written poem is beneath the video 

 
17 Comments

Posted by on May 6, 2017 in New Hampshire, Poetry, Robert Frost, Sonett

 

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Feathers

     How shall I write about this moonless night? To go, I suppose, without eyesight. To free my mind of past mistakes that I stumbled upon in sunlight.  Or, find myself with nothing visibly at stake—and scribble down experiences still bent, unable to make straight—Yet ,allows me—to fly over their fences—

Feathers carried in the wind

Land at season’s racing feet

Dancing their last dance

 
11 Comments

Posted by on April 10, 2016 in Haibun, Pine Cone Diaries, Zen

 

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Ambiguity and Truth

(A poem in one-act. Characters: Ambiguity and Truth, )

 

 ( Light slowly goes on Truth, standing in rear of center-Stage  at a waist-high potter’s table with clay to make a  cup    …he is constantly molding it.

 

Back-stage right… is a loud mixture of barroom gaiety of men & women, and an occasional burst of argument.

 

(Ambiguity enters right… from the sound of the crowd, embracing Truth, the sound diminishes in soft background noise )

[Ambiguity:]

 

How can I begin to insist upon

Your ears listening to a silent crowd;

Ability to speak above that sound,

Enlightened, without a sinister shroud?

Cacophony does seek meaningless sound.

Sometimes, but not often, harmony finds

Acceptance, sliding itself gently down

To resistant soul and in open minds.

(Ambiguity grabs the shoulders of Truth, pulling his right ear, whispering)

 

Fruitlessness and fruitfulness are akin

In the measure of wisdom’s balance scales;

As silence and the spoken word are twin.

Each undeclared, if truths intention fails.

 

I, will persistently speak within you;

As Ambiguity and truth will do.

 

 (Truth shirks  Ambiguity off his shoulders)

[Truth]           

 Speak neither of me, nor of you this day.

The sigh of shame is louder than whisper.

You have come and gone, beyond what you say.

You shake me, shook me within this murmur

Of finding your faults paled by bright spotlight;

Masking attributes, blinded from honesty,

Ultimately discovered without night,

On the stage of a bastard’s travesty.

 Crushed by wheels and heels of mind’s illusions

You are stubborn, are strong in your dogma.

Actions forgetting strength of decision

Of what things are and what is in drama.

 

 I will not sway for your understanding;

Abstract transition, false apprehending. 

 

(Ambiguity grabs Truth by the legs)

 [Ambiguity]

Love me for my strong probabilities,

Fall so you can bruise in discouragement! 

To explain yourself without jealousies.

Fall you mother fucker in compliment!

 

(Truth side steps Ambiguity, untangling his legs)

[Truth]

Get up from that muddling in empty space.

What do you find in disguised innocence

That exposes anger in demur  face?

Align yourself without permanence.

Release your embraced convulsive action;

Such foam with disgrace of uncertainty

Burst into small bubbles of reaction

Floating in distasteful banality.

 

You have found your colorful residence

Excreted in loud and boisterous façade

Among the reeds and weeds of ignorance

Rippling in reflection of a mirage.

 

Silence Ambiguity, I agree

I cannot be, without you being seen.

 

(Both exit hand in hand back-stage right… into rising loud mixture of barroom gaiety of men & women, and an occasional burst of argument).

 
15 Comments

Posted by on January 25, 2015 in Existential, Experimental, Poetry

 

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