Friday, May 29, 2009
Space robots
Robots, robots, marching from space
Fists clenched, teeth grinding, no sense of grace
Original Nintendo, 1985
Neon jackets, MCMLXXXV, greeting with high fives
Sitting in basements with Nintendo Power stacked high
Feeling no sense of this space robot jive
Robo commander, grisly fierce voice
Hidden by electric music and automated gunfire
Marching in line, original, heat map, inverted, back again
We have no sense of time.
Fists clenched, teeth grinding, no sense of grace
Original Nintendo, 1985
Neon jackets, MCMLXXXV, greeting with high fives
Sitting in basements with Nintendo Power stacked high
Feeling no sense of this space robot jive
Robo commander, grisly fierce voice
Hidden by electric music and automated gunfire
Marching in line, original, heat map, inverted, back again
We have no sense of time.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Mixed Up
Octopus trees of the desert and blood stars of the sea travel to us from National Geographic's 1991 Engagement Calendar, titled 'The Wonders of Nature'. In the process, things got a little mixed up as the sky and ocean got confused by their own metaphor inducing names. They landed in the present in somewhat of a different form, but it would seem that it is better that way, for now.
Watching freedom
Long windblown hair, dancing in the breeze
Sunlight reflecting from bright cheerful eyes
Leaning back, relaxed
Perched upon this smooth round rock
Gazing into the sparkling sea.
Fresh whipping wind, salty air
Hair tangled and loose
Sunkissed skin, bare rough feet
A child of the earth, embracing all around her
Not resisting anything in this place.
A place so beautiful and natural can only be perfect,
Meaning and wisdom echo through the setting sun
Removed from all possessions, all factors of life
Each person is perfect in their own way, I think they are beautiful.
When I see you enjoying the sun, I love you
When I see you loving the water, I enjoy you.
When I see you embracing the wind, watching the birds
I am one with you, at peace with someone I’ve never met.
I don’t want to know them further,
Anything more than this would tarnish what is perfect.
Leave your office, car, money
No one cares about that here.
In fact, we’d rather not know.
You will probably leave us and soon forget,
Return to the other and never see the connection,
Never realize the impact it all has,
But for as long as you can love what isn’t yours,
What can never be owned,
We can appreciate you for what we see here, now.
Nothing else matters.
Sunlight reflecting from bright cheerful eyes
Leaning back, relaxed
Perched upon this smooth round rock
Gazing into the sparkling sea.
Fresh whipping wind, salty air
Hair tangled and loose
Sunkissed skin, bare rough feet
A child of the earth, embracing all around her
Not resisting anything in this place.
A place so beautiful and natural can only be perfect,
Meaning and wisdom echo through the setting sun
Removed from all possessions, all factors of life
Each person is perfect in their own way, I think they are beautiful.
When I see you enjoying the sun, I love you
When I see you loving the water, I enjoy you.
When I see you embracing the wind, watching the birds
I am one with you, at peace with someone I’ve never met.
I don’t want to know them further,
Anything more than this would tarnish what is perfect.
Leave your office, car, money
No one cares about that here.
In fact, we’d rather not know.
You will probably leave us and soon forget,
Return to the other and never see the connection,
Never realize the impact it all has,
But for as long as you can love what isn’t yours,
What can never be owned,
We can appreciate you for what we see here, now.
Nothing else matters.
Flickering hope
To be lit and extinguished so many times
Is cruel, teasing.
This dog needs to be given the treat, or to have it disappear completely.
The candle is soft, its wick bending into the wax, will soon be dried and useless.
To be reached again it will have to be dug out,
When mere care would have kept it afloat.
But hope, however bleak and unlikely
Is the only chance we have.
This charred and cold existence
Cannot sustain itself for long, but will slip further
Into dark fragmented pieces
Of a jaded future.
Never say it is too late, maybe it will be too late soon,
But right now, we cannot have passed the marker.
If we have, we are already dead,
But life exists all around, so don’t extinguish what chance we have.
No theory will save anyone, action is all that has meaning.
I don’t care what education and background is behind this rationale,
If no spirit or passion resides here, it is dead and blank to me.
Cruel and unwavering, it will not help anyone.
Voices shouting in the night, echoing in the day
Know what it is to feel,
To feel is the only way to care
To care is the only way to change.
Is cruel, teasing.
This dog needs to be given the treat, or to have it disappear completely.
The candle is soft, its wick bending into the wax, will soon be dried and useless.
To be reached again it will have to be dug out,
When mere care would have kept it afloat.
But hope, however bleak and unlikely
Is the only chance we have.
This charred and cold existence
Cannot sustain itself for long, but will slip further
Into dark fragmented pieces
Of a jaded future.
Never say it is too late, maybe it will be too late soon,
But right now, we cannot have passed the marker.
If we have, we are already dead,
But life exists all around, so don’t extinguish what chance we have.
No theory will save anyone, action is all that has meaning.
I don’t care what education and background is behind this rationale,
If no spirit or passion resides here, it is dead and blank to me.
Cruel and unwavering, it will not help anyone.
Voices shouting in the night, echoing in the day
Know what it is to feel,
To feel is the only way to care
To care is the only way to change.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Suspended Dust Particles
Particles float in the air,
Land momentarily, only to be swept up again.
They don’t like to settle too long,
For then they are only dust, something in need of cleaning.
When airborne, they catch the sunlight,
Its magnificent beams shining through them
Make any room dreamy and reminiscent.
They casually drift from here to there, making conversation with the room
Schmoozing with the furniture and curtains
Quietly worshipping the sun, a translucent rainbow
Illuminating this warm beaming light that makes this house feel like home
Something to warm up to, that will warm you up,
And keep you warm for always, in its tender embrace.
I will always be waiting here for you, these specks of dust will never settle.
They will float on and catch the sunlight, always dreamily, never quite awake.
They are the suspended particles of my childhood, in the barn of my dreams
They return to me here now, in another land, still the same.
There is never any need to rush, no need to quickly fall to the ground.
It’s far more satisfying to simply float, barely moving, but swaying back and forth
While travelling, eventually, through the air. No destination is needed. Steady as always,
Lingering and drifting from here to there, tenderly loving the air they travel through.
Not wanting to rush through it, but savouring each and every inch.
Shining through the curtains on this bright new day,
Lost sentiment quietly slips back into the room,
I am simply happy for who I am and where I am now.
Not proud nor ashamed, just content and at peace.
Relatives of the past smile through the light,
I will always be here, you have always been here.
This place is our home, but it’s more of a feeling than a place.
It actually hasn’t been with me for long, but the same light beams through this window as the last,
And particles still dance in the sun, remembering everything, for all days to come.
There is no forgetting, no carelessness. To move this slowly means to remember everything,
To be considerate and thoughtful, to appreciate all that is here.
I will never forget the quiet warmth. To forget is to die, to lose all feeling.
To be able to feel so much from so little, is to be able to live.
To live with my thoughts is the best gift I have, though difficult as it is at times.
Just look to the beams of sunlight, they still look the same as they always have,
They haven’t lost their magic or their warmth.
My body loses its coldness, loosens its grip, remembers life.
Simplicity is the key to all experience, disembodiment reversed, body and mind reunited.
Soft sentimental smiles linger, no tears ever come,
but quiet thoughts replace themselves with content stillness.
I feel like I’m eight years old again, I feel like I could be eighty.
I guess I always have been, still am.
Haven’t grown up in any significant way, my mind hasn’t lost itself but has remained intact
in an expanding childhood of discovery.
I will always stay the same, as long as the sun stays with me.
Land momentarily, only to be swept up again.
They don’t like to settle too long,
For then they are only dust, something in need of cleaning.
When airborne, they catch the sunlight,
Its magnificent beams shining through them
Make any room dreamy and reminiscent.
They casually drift from here to there, making conversation with the room
Schmoozing with the furniture and curtains
Quietly worshipping the sun, a translucent rainbow
Illuminating this warm beaming light that makes this house feel like home
Something to warm up to, that will warm you up,
And keep you warm for always, in its tender embrace.
I will always be waiting here for you, these specks of dust will never settle.
They will float on and catch the sunlight, always dreamily, never quite awake.
They are the suspended particles of my childhood, in the barn of my dreams
They return to me here now, in another land, still the same.
There is never any need to rush, no need to quickly fall to the ground.
It’s far more satisfying to simply float, barely moving, but swaying back and forth
While travelling, eventually, through the air. No destination is needed. Steady as always,
Lingering and drifting from here to there, tenderly loving the air they travel through.
Not wanting to rush through it, but savouring each and every inch.
Shining through the curtains on this bright new day,
Lost sentiment quietly slips back into the room,
I am simply happy for who I am and where I am now.
Not proud nor ashamed, just content and at peace.
Relatives of the past smile through the light,
I will always be here, you have always been here.
This place is our home, but it’s more of a feeling than a place.
It actually hasn’t been with me for long, but the same light beams through this window as the last,
And particles still dance in the sun, remembering everything, for all days to come.
There is no forgetting, no carelessness. To move this slowly means to remember everything,
To be considerate and thoughtful, to appreciate all that is here.
I will never forget the quiet warmth. To forget is to die, to lose all feeling.
To be able to feel so much from so little, is to be able to live.
To live with my thoughts is the best gift I have, though difficult as it is at times.
Just look to the beams of sunlight, they still look the same as they always have,
They haven’t lost their magic or their warmth.
My body loses its coldness, loosens its grip, remembers life.
Simplicity is the key to all experience, disembodiment reversed, body and mind reunited.
Soft sentimental smiles linger, no tears ever come,
but quiet thoughts replace themselves with content stillness.
I feel like I’m eight years old again, I feel like I could be eighty.
I guess I always have been, still am.
Haven’t grown up in any significant way, my mind hasn’t lost itself but has remained intact
in an expanding childhood of discovery.
I will always stay the same, as long as the sun stays with me.
Friday, May 22, 2009
50 Mile Road
After miles of travelling on the road, we settle down at an old diner.
Time to rest, finally. I suppose we could go further, but hunger is settling in.
Limbs aching from stillness, such stillness is only unnatural.
Seems we are in another world, but it’s not that different,
Not in any immense or measurable way, it’s just these small details.
All these beautiful little details, that frame this place in my mind.
I don’t have a clue where we are, ponder for a second
Trying to decide whether I want to know or not.
Seems I would have more appreciation for this place if I did,
But if it remains a mystery in my mind,
It is special for its essence, not what is actually is.
Real memory is formed by essence, feeling,
Not anything to be described in real words.
A waitress smiles, clean crisp blouse and apron neatly ironed
I wonder if she spent her whole life in this small town.
What a tiny place to grow up, if this is all you know
What would the world feel like to you?
She is as warm as the sweet summer air,
Manners impeccable, not because they should be
But because that’s just who she is.
Old and weathered, the wooden panelled walls have seen their time
Rusted signs and license plates, oxidized as a form of decay
Their life is over, but they’re still kept on display.
Yellowing newspaper, of times gone by
Mostly everyone would have forgotten,
But we’re still holding on, still see the importance in this.
Wheat fields blow under an endless blue sky,
Caressed lovingly by their playful neighbour, the wind.
Although they are rooted into the soil, always stuck in place,
They look content and free, no need to be anywhere else but here.
Time to rest, finally. I suppose we could go further, but hunger is settling in.
Limbs aching from stillness, such stillness is only unnatural.
Seems we are in another world, but it’s not that different,
Not in any immense or measurable way, it’s just these small details.
All these beautiful little details, that frame this place in my mind.
I don’t have a clue where we are, ponder for a second
Trying to decide whether I want to know or not.
Seems I would have more appreciation for this place if I did,
But if it remains a mystery in my mind,
It is special for its essence, not what is actually is.
Real memory is formed by essence, feeling,
Not anything to be described in real words.
A waitress smiles, clean crisp blouse and apron neatly ironed
I wonder if she spent her whole life in this small town.
What a tiny place to grow up, if this is all you know
What would the world feel like to you?
She is as warm as the sweet summer air,
Manners impeccable, not because they should be
But because that’s just who she is.
Old and weathered, the wooden panelled walls have seen their time
Rusted signs and license plates, oxidized as a form of decay
Their life is over, but they’re still kept on display.
Yellowing newspaper, of times gone by
Mostly everyone would have forgotten,
But we’re still holding on, still see the importance in this.
Wheat fields blow under an endless blue sky,
Caressed lovingly by their playful neighbour, the wind.
Although they are rooted into the soil, always stuck in place,
They look content and free, no need to be anywhere else but here.
Monday, May 18, 2009
At the end of the day, things end, begin, start again
At the end of the day,
There is no room for sadness.
Keeping busy
Is just a distraction.
From self-worth to distraught
In a matter of hours
Reality is conceptualized
In a temporary manner.
No reason to trust,
No reason not to
My relationship with myself
Is in another realm completely.
Things quickly build up
Then quickly fall apart
Only to repeat again and again.
I think I am strong,
I’m better than that
But I’ll only have to pretend.
At the end of the day,
Is the only room there is for sadness.
And in the morning too.
But the morning always seems to feel
Like the end of the last day.
I’m waiting for it to feel new.
The day is kept busy,
It’s worthwhile, fresh.
It passes by quickly,
But its length is deceiving.
Flowing in and out of realms of thought
In many states of mind completely
Doesn’t seem like it all could be felt in a day,
Never sure which will last
Yet I most certainly do not want to know.
There is no room for sadness.
Keeping busy
Is just a distraction.
From self-worth to distraught
In a matter of hours
Reality is conceptualized
In a temporary manner.
No reason to trust,
No reason not to
My relationship with myself
Is in another realm completely.
Things quickly build up
Then quickly fall apart
Only to repeat again and again.
I think I am strong,
I’m better than that
But I’ll only have to pretend.
At the end of the day,
Is the only room there is for sadness.
And in the morning too.
But the morning always seems to feel
Like the end of the last day.
I’m waiting for it to feel new.
The day is kept busy,
It’s worthwhile, fresh.
It passes by quickly,
But its length is deceiving.
Flowing in and out of realms of thought
In many states of mind completely
Doesn’t seem like it all could be felt in a day,
Never sure which will last
Yet I most certainly do not want to know.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
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