all good things

All good things 

On vacation at Tybee island, GA, bout 3-4 hours drive southeast from Atlanta. Cool place. Water so warm, and the light on it. Bright, but not squintingly bright light making you wonder, Is this a dream? Eating your 1rst of two budgeted meals out on the first night. Got this giant plate of seafood. Yum for all, Sal jr. trying and failing, they all failing, to get the nuggets of sweet crab meat that only Daddy can provide. Getting labeled “good at this” when it never occurred to do anything other than get this food in my mouth. Walking on the beach, with the sunlight behind you, remembering months ago seeing the sun set over the water. Now you see things from the other side. Remembering your foot still lifed against the surface as you backflipped into the waves, the aliveness of the moment. Walking by the waves as the sun sets behind you and the pink sky, illuminating the ground that Sal jr. runs on, chasing birds, running on light under ribbons of color set motionless and yet in motion, as a minute walks by and the light changes. Finding sea shells and washing them in the ocean, so warm even when the sand has lost its heat. You remember, writing, after a smoke and a smoke with your babuh on the porch in the night air, you remember thinking what was it? what was it that lost its heat first? The sands heat was gone, but then the ocean was warm.

It was a good day. All worth remembering.

Poem

Every day is infinity
A moment a miniature eternity
No beginning or end
With uncountable probabilities

Every life is an instant
When every moment is the same
Running into the next
Uniform and unchanged

All death is unique
Our reality our protection pierced
The moment fleeing us
Leaving us in a personal oblivion

Heaven is for fools
No God on high
Eternity is all around us
And heaven in our lives

The way of beauty

Her way is beauty
    and we are amazed by her way
Those of us who drink of her love
    as of a fountain overflowing with perpetual joy
Her grace is encompassing
   her movement mesmerizing
Her smile is music
    diminished were one note changed
    lovely as the sun
    warm as a breeze
Her eyes are limpid pools
    full of laughter
    deep as her soul
    and when in her gaze
She shows us what love is

the sting of other lives

Shes been unhappy these last few years
since beginning to work on her degree
trying to reclaim something that was lost
her unfinished childhood
her short lived freedom

She feels trapped by her life
feels the sting of other lives not lived
all the myriad possibilities she can never taste
a mockery of her spirit
firery and fluid
light and quick and carefree

Shes searching for a reason
but finds only comfort in another
the shared depravity of useless folly
the bragged and broken arrogant life
of a ruined man
brought down by the weight
of so many lives not lived

the parable of the stone

There once was a block of stone.  The block sat through many seasons of storms, rain, snow, and wind.  Nothing could diminish the block of stone, nor make it smaller, not destroy it in any way.  It was immutable.  One day a crack appeared in the stone, it was as if the stone had broken from the inside.  The crack went from the top of the stone to nearly the bottom, but there was a small piece of stone connecting the two halves.  The crack was approximately one inch at its largest width.

The one side of the stone said, "Let us push together so that the crack may be diminished."
But the other side was the wise side, he said "Rather we should break apart and go our separate ways".

So the two halves broke along the crack that had formed.  They went their separate ways and found to their great enjoyment that it were now possible to roll in the fields and go swimming in the streams, such had their weight previously inhibited them from doing.

Seasons passed and the two stones were again beset by storms, rain, wind, and snow, but this time they were too small to spare themselves from the forces around them.  The wind buffeted them, and made them smooth.  The snow froze them, and made them diminish.  The rain soaked them, and softened their corners.  After many seasons had passed, they no longer appeared as they once were, two halves of a block.

But the two stones each felt lonely for the other, and they sought each other out.  When they found one another, they discovered that all of the shaping they had done on their own had a miraculous effect.  As they approached each other and started to caress each other they discovered that all the bumps and protrusions and boles and rends that had shaped them since separating had an equal and opposite characteristic on the other, and that when they held themselves in just such a way, they formed a perfect, solid sphere.  So exact was the fit that no seam could be seen as to where the one side started and the other stopped.

They were as one again.

haiku for volcano and richard murdock

good job volcano
for being better than richard murdock
we like you volcano

I was about to watch the debate between President Obama and Mitt Romney, and I was a little early and there were these negative political adds on TV.  Negative adds really disturb me so I changed the channel to NOVA on PBS, or maybe it was NATURE.  On the screen was a volcano which was erupting, it was on the beach and the lava was touching the ocean water and instantly boiling it.  The cameraman went underwater in one shot following the molten lava underwater as it cooled and turned into black, very hot rock called 'pillow lava'.

I realized that nature shows are so enjoyable because they are Positive.  they say, hey look at the world and how awesome and grand it is, NOT oh you stupid volcano we hate you for existing.  I realized that there is something fundamentally, inherently, self-evidently better about building something up as beautiful and wonderful rather than pointing out how disgusting someone is.

induction

what can be opened
    that is not closed
what can be poem
    that is not prose
for who will die
    that has not lived
and who can receive
    who has not given
and who can spell
    who can not write
and how can day come
    if there is not night
for the light exists not
    but for the dark
and every naked being
    knows this is his heart
for one and one really
    does make three
truth & reality, the same thing they
    may not be
but in reality there
    is truth
and in truth
    reality lies
the truth is in my
    heart
and reality in my
    eyes

ocean waves frozen in night shades
seagull cries break the light
pushing all motion up towards the rising sun
into the blue dizzying sky and white blind clouds

the trick is to laugh
release the emotion which is trapped inside
making room for new moments
the love of endless expanses
lonely light in the dark night
surrounded on all sides by monsters
you keep your head above water
breathing the night air through nostrils
filled brimming with promises of a new day

the trick is to cry
let the sadness fill you and encompass you
let it take its toll. so that you may live
so that you may be alive
so that you may learn
so that obstacles in your future
may be known without being touched
can be avoided without being seen
so that the pain will pass
and never again return

parable of the boy

One day a man came to town.
He brought with him many gifts and wonders which fit in the palm of your hand.
All the people flocked to him, to be delighted and enjoy the day.
But one boy did not come to see the man.
He stayed alone at the other end of town.
All day he stared up and watched the clouds,
    he listened to the birds,
    he felt the wind, and
    he was happy.
After the man had left with his pockets full,
The other boys came to ridicule the one boy who had not come to see the gifts,
    to enjoy the wonders the strange man had brought with him.
The other boys threw insults at the one boy.
They called him names and laughed and told him he was strange.
He responded,
"It is not strange to enjoy the wonders of the world, the blue sky, the white clouds, the distant mountains, the cool breeze.  It is only strange to consider only wonders that which you must pay for".

a bit of poetry

frozen waves solid in night shades, piercing cries from seagulls break the light, sending all motion pushing up towards the rising sun, stretching towards the blue dizzying heights and white blind clouds

zero recall

i had a thought

it lasted for a moment

then it was gone

it changed the way i look at things, but

i'm not sure what change was made.

it's kind of like not remembering what it was like

to not know how to read

when you are a kid

this happens all the time, and you wouldn't even know it.

i mean how many times does a kid radically change his veiwpoint of the world

like on a daily basis

and when they are older, do they remember it?

the point, as if i had one, is this: think all the time,

think about lots of things, and figure a lot of stuff out,

and don't worry to write it down, or to feel bad

when you can't remember your good ideas. the point

it's not whether you recall, but just that you have stretched your mind.

"a mind once stretched never returns to it's original dimensions," I think the guy from Star Trek said that, but I'm not really sure.

random sh*t

when? now the other one? now the chicken is cooked...
it has flown to the coop, the cooper tire planet, the one in to the other one,
what? random? theater neanderthal? you know that you're crazy when eyes...

the other one? lets go, ill be over, we'll go together....ok, sounds good, sounds perfect
sounds like a plan, sounds like the way to go, good stuff, right on, keep um comin,

no way man, that sh*ts whack

what if butterflies...

what if butterflies
had big teeth, and angry
eyes, evil breath, and bitten
those smitten not mild a death
would most quickly come and pain
would ensue to those around a terrible
flu, I bet sure and through that
niether me nor you would care too much
about those flying few that
humans did spare, from poison or
fire, but butterfly we would
call it not, but rather a hellfly
a demon or what ever the name
the same would be true for
any nice creature that
turned into something
so very not nice, like
rats, bats, fleas, and lice
but why are these things particularly
bad, do they harm or what do
they do, they hurt us
humans, yes this much is
true, but we hurt back
far worse than they do, in
any case, justice this
is not, but human
we are, and
imperfect our lot

poems from the woods

fungus feeds bark wet
black leaves, rotting
soft and spongy and I
am like a monkey

baby sells sea shells wakes up with a pop.
slap hold on, the party's just begun

here i sit and think
to be here for just
a week can anyone
know what i have
done, how much Ive
learned, how far I've
come. I almost left,
to be free, not a choice
was right for me

falling, flying, through
and through, the night will
come to bring the truth, before
the end of day comes near, light
will lift the falling tear, darkened
shadows hardened light, death comes
for me tonight

I am gone but you stay here.
remember to relax, and never to fear,
the worst is pain and the end is
death, simple no. decitful yes. but
when I leave, you will know
carefree laden but free I go