Basic Math

I suppose death is the final answer,
To the basic math that is aging.
But one lesson we are all taught,
Is Show Your Work.
How did you get there?
What was the process?
For age is not merely a solitary number,
On an otherwise blank page.
It’s the accumulation of life.
A gathering of knowledge and experiences.
One cannot move on to the next lesson,
Until one fully understands the previous one.
But most of us do not learn,
And thus we are unprepared.
We haven’t learned this formula,
But we try to move on anyway.
New knowledge is acquired,
But old lessons are not learned.
Mistakes are carried forward,
And forward.
And forward.
Until we finally realize,
Those mistakes,
All the pain and frustration they cause,
Are actually the most important part of the lesson.

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The Photographer

She, fire on the lake, flare on the lens, bubbles in her bath. She.

Midwinter Child

That the world was dark and very small,
Was the very first thing I can recall.
And the only sound that I could hear,
Was my mother’s heart, beating so near.

Then I fell down a waterfall,
And the world was not so very small.
It was the darkest, coldest day,
When summer seemed so far away.

So far away and yet so near.
Brighter each day for half a year.
Until the longest, brightest day,
When the light of summer fades away.

Around, around, the world it spins.
The winter starts and summer begins.
Around, around, we push this wheel,
Midwinter child at mother’s heel.

We make the streams and rivers run,
When winter’s gone and spring’s begun.
The Summer leaves then start to fall,
And cold and darkness covers all.

Around, around the world it spins,
As winter leaves and summer ends.
Around, around, we push this wheel.
Midsummer mother at daughter’s heel.

Edgar Mercury

Thank you
Wordy giant,
Woody gnat.
Immortal glow
Of scattered soul
Swarms and swims,
Dies and dies again.

 

Noodle Moon

Cabbage roll and one-dollar flat noodles, a place to lock the bicycles out front, our booth is by the window. We are reciting kill is kiss as frames of film, jointly remembered, inform our budding courtship. Trapped in a radio station, voices and language will save us, while these chopsticks unite us.

Walk awhile; the beach fell and broke into sand. Each skinny planet, feels 360 its neighbor grain rolling grinding dying … within reach of the ocean stars.

Rhumba

Gentleness is a fertilizer, a
Rhumba,

Swaying wheat,
Balanced corn,

In a field,
Caressed by rain, it is

Kindness
To yourself,

Ploughing, when the harrow is ready,
And sweating,

Gentleness,

Glistening off chests, is
The masculine scent of forgiveness,

The feminine of,
Breaking ground,

Gentleman or Boer, order

In the house,
Order!

Give in.

*Photo – personal*

-short evocative poetry-