WAY/NO WAY

 .

.

.

WAY/NO WAY

.

.

Finding out that someone

Is not as nice, honest, or well-positioned

As they presented themselves

That they are actually fickle, moody, inconsistent

This can be a frustrating and disappointing experience

A bitter pill to swallow

Washing down this bitter pill

With the cocktail of addiction, self-destruction and oblivion

Can turn a let-down into a death spiral

Turning a crush into a crash

Turning Cloud 9 into the ominous dark clouds

Of the Apocalypse

Disappointment or success is less important 

In the long run

Than learning how to console and comfort ourselves

In a healthy, uplifting way

.

.

.

.

.

.

MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION?

 .

.

.

MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION?

.

.

It's so easy to stop paying attention

Or have our attention distracted

For a few moments

There is a Watcher for this gap in our vigilance

Who immediately springs into action

To gum up the works, start a disaster

Slow everything down to a complete halt

What is this diabolical force

Waiting for us to screw up?

It has been called many things

But I call this demon Oblivioso

Because it only springs into action 

When our attention wavers

The only way to defeat this master of unintended consequences

Is to stay as vigilant as possible

Oblivioso is an easily defeated foe

As long as we are present in the moment.

.

.

.

.

.

.

QUANTUM ME

.

.

.

 QUANTUM ME

.

.

When I am observed

I behave differently than when

I am not observed

*

When I am in strange company

I am both there and not there

Depending on who is interacting with me

*

When I put something in a "safe place"

That safe place turns out to be a black hole

Where, presumably, my items are now in some alternate universe

*

When I walk my Mobius path in life

The twists and turns bring me back around to revisit

Places and times I thought I was done with

*

When I walk through my day

Only 5% of my existence is visible and quantifiable

The other 95% is dark matter, invisible and conjectured

Because of the visible effect it has on other things 

In my little infinite universe

.

.

.

.

.

.

STRONGER

.

.

.

STRONGER

.

.

When someone injures our self esteem, dignity

Or lawful human rights

It can cause a break in the very bones

Of our internal skeleton

The mental framework that gives our inner world structure

Anger is the cast that wraps the painful break

In rigid fury and righteous rage

Until the break begins to heal

The magic in our minds and body working silently

Behind the scenes, to set everything right once again

Then we can remove the cast of anger

(It was beginning to itch anyway, and was definitely inconvenient)

Allowing the injury to finish healing, perhaps stronger in that broken place

We needn't keep the cast of anger on forever

Not if we want to fully heal and regain function

Let anger protect the wound as long as it serves a function

But not a moment longer

Be willing to have your anger removed once it no longer serves

Its original therapeutic purpose..

.

.

.

.

.

TRIPPING THE LIGHT FANTASTIC

 .

.

.

TRIPPING THE LIGHT FANTASTIC

.

.

There are two paths traveling through our heads

Fantasy and Reality, entwined

We must be able to distinguish each

Or we appear to be out of our minds

.

.

Dreamers dream dreams of vast importance

While reality nips at our heels

We are intrepid travelers on both paths

Both will determine how we feel

.

.

.

.

.

.

POLITICS

 .

.

.

POLITICS

Politics is like a very complex jigsaw puzzle

We have the lovely picture on the box

But once you take the lid off 

None of the pieces fit together

.

.

.

.

.

.

ARE WE THERE YET?

 .

.

.

ARE WE THERE YET?

.

.

As the wild optimism of youth

Slowly erodes away from the scouring sands of time

And numerous falls off the cliffs of disappointment

Have made us shrewd evaluators of situations

We have drawn in our minds an inner map

Of where to put the correct righteous effort

Into the most promising options

Thus we avoid the sudden edge of fantasy

Or the disheartening fall off the cliff called

"I should have known better."

.

.

.

.

.

.

cosmic pictures

 

MEANINGLESS MEANINGLESSNESS

 .

.

.

MEANINGLESS MEANINGLESSNESS

Tornadoes don't care

Who is in their swathe of destruction

They don't have a plan or a hit list

Unless you believe in divine retribution

In which case the tornado is a weapon 

In the hands of an angry god

As a punishment for transgressions

Is meted out to the guilty

Who deserve to have their trailer

Plucked from the Earth and hurled back down in splinters

Kind of like slapping an unruly child so hard

They hit the wall

To teach them ...... what?

What does this teach anyone

Except to duck or seek shelter

When a tornado threatens

If the tornado is a weapon of the all - knowing god

Then obviously those who are ruined or killed 

Deserved it

But if the tornado is the random happenstance

Of weather conditions

Then those in the path deserve help and compassion

For their misfortune

While an impassive universe looks on

Not intervening at all

So it is up to us to help the victims of tornadoes

Hurricanes, wild fires, epidemics, droughts

Floods and lightning strikes

They did not cause their misfortune

Neither did a divine decree

They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time

Which can happen to anyone, at any time

For no apparent reason whatsoever

.

.

.

.

.

.

HEAD IN THE CLOUD

 .

.

.

HEAD IN THE CLOUD

I read books and online content

To shop for thoughts to add

To my thought collection

And check for the expiration dates

Manufacturers recalls, or updates

On the thoughts I presently own.

.

.

.

.

.

.

ANOTHER CHANCE

 .

.

.

ANOTHER CHANCE

.

.

What happened to Lazarus

After he rose from the dead?

Was he glad to leave cosmic eternity

To come back to this world?

Did he see this as a chance to re-think

His life choices?

Did he return to his old ways?

Perhaps the same ways that pushed him over

The brink of death in the first place

Lazarus had the gift of life returned to him

I wonder what he did with this gift

What his thoughts were

As he stood in his stinking burial shroud

Blinking in the blessed bright sunlight

Of Bethany

On a day like no other day he had ever seen

.

.

.

.

.

.

INVASIVE

 .

.

.

INVASIVE

Finding someone to blame for failure

Is not like being grateful to others

For our success

Because blaming others for failure

Admits that success was not within our power

To attain

Failure was a foregone conclusion

Any attemps are doomed to fizzle out

These thoughts are the very root of depression

Despair and defeat

We must not allow the invasive weed of blame 

To choke out the gardens of our success

.

.

.

.

.

.

ONE FINE DAY

 .

.

.

ONE FINE DAY

.

.

A monkey wanted a banana

The monkey climbed up a tree

He picked a nice ripe banana

And ate it rapidly

ONE FINE DAY .....

A monkey wanted a banana

The monkey climbed up a tree

But instead of picking one and eating

He thought, "How can I bring down three?

Because right now I want this banana

But soon, in a little while

I will want another banana

I can just take one from my pile."

.

.

.

.

.

.

PEEKABOO

.

.

.

 PEEKABOO 

If you look closely

Around the eye of the bird

There is a pebbly rim of dinosaur skin

Looking at you through the mists

Of eons and catastrophes and change

.

.

.

.

.

.

CONTINUITY

 .

.

.

CONTINUITY

.

.

From the Stone Age to the Phone Age

Human nature hasn't changed

The weapons have been upgraded

While the power mad, deranged

Still insist that might makes right

Use force to gain their will

Against laws that try to stop them 

The wicked just won't chill

From the days of caves and rocks

When the tribe sat around the fire

To the days of cars and stocks

A social media cave we require

To put up our symbols and messages

Extend our tribal range

Cause from the Stone Age to the Phone Age

Human nature hasn't changed

.

.

.

.

.

.

THE RAIN IN CANADA

 .

.

.

THE RAIN IN CANADA

.

.

When the sun is weirdly orange

Because of raging Canadian fires

Then extinguishing rain in Canada

Becomes one of my most heartfelt desires 

.

.

.

.

.

.

HOME OF THE BRAVE

 .

.

.

HOME OF THE BRAVE

.

.

How much freedom

Can people have?

Not unlimited, unless they live alone

On an island in the middle of the ocean

Because if there are two people

They must negotiate

Over resources and behavior

Negotiations which require good faith and good will

That they will abide by the rules they decided upon

How much freedom

Can people have?

As much freedom as a good heart

Effective enforcement of laws

And good will can provide

.

.

.

.

.

.

SAINT SNIPER

 .

.

.

SAINT SNIPER

Occasionally a person is so convinced

That they have exclusive access to the truth

To what is right and proper

That they claim the moral high ground

To set up a sniper's nest

So they can mow down

All those deluded lesser beings

Who do not share their beliefs

.

.

.

.

.

.

DOTTED LINE

 .

.

.

Poem I wrote

.

.

DOTTED LINE

.

.

Only too late

Does our vision become sharp enough

To read the very small print

On the contracts we have signed

The only remedy

Is to shred those old contracts

They are null and void

Write new ones with more favorable terms

And conditions.

.

.

.