Pinnacle of youth
Approaching cusp
Of aging out
The gears are rusting
Readjusting
To the cosmic dusted
Drought
And each encounter
Over counter
Runs a counterclaim
To sane
Though disillusioned
Looming puniness
Is my true claim to fame
And though I knew
From early ages
It was not on center stages
That I’d ever
Most precisely
Find the light
That best assuages
What the worthless nexus
Mind complexes
Never goes
Outmoded
Though it often goes
To show
By all these updates
Overloaded

Music isn't the same anymore.
The purity and grit are gone.
It's mechanical and cold.
I remember the days of
records and record players.
The crack and pop, the
sizzling booming bass that
rumbled in my soul.

I think of a song, let's say
something by Zeppelin.
I close my eyes and smell
the ****, see the
blacklight poster on
the brick basement walls.
I lift up the needle and
ramble on.

As the evening sun shines on the brook
and dappled shade grows darker still,
as birds return to hearth and home
I'll love you, as I always will.
As the summer air it ebbs and wanes
and the autumn shades draw near
though the coming frost may chill my bones,
with you I'll feel no fear.
As seasons pass my love will grow
both strong as oak and lily fair.
In peaceful summer evening hues
If you should search you'll find me there.

Is this the way the cookie crumbles
Or is it the ball that bounces
Could it be the nature of the beast
Not sure I like the sound of this

They say such is life, it is what it is
Seems to be the lay of the land
If you didn’t know, that’s the way that it goes
Played out by the unseen hand

That is the way the game is played
It’s just par for the course
Without a doubt, the way it shakes out
About all that we can afford

You win some you lose some after all
The way the cards tend to fall
Where the wind blows you never know
But still, they say it’s your call

It’s a piece of cake otherwise them’s the brakes
As we hum Que Sera, Sera
That’s the nature of course, the way the world works
It’s just the way that things are

An exercise in global empathy for those suffering in shame
and sorrows so unthinkable few care to seek salve for

Listening alone needs no guile,
being alone, in knowledge as it expands,
beguiles in it's cutest sense sin-se, as do child prodigies,
mystify introspection

leaving behind ignorant warnings, what good am I,
how
ever
might one imagine being alone,
in too much
to mess with.

No message, sir.
No word, we should have heard,
by now, we think the worst has happened.

And, in fact it did… the worst acts
of military madness,

during
the Vietnam War in America and
the American War in Vietnam,

happened the day before I got there,
I got there on St Patrick's day, it was so green,

the day before was My Khe, the ones in shame today…

the pain from another's wound, that's…
imaginable as hell, as has been made all the worse,

mirror neuronically in billions of modified minds, playing
simulations functioning much like Ender's Game, same
as Kipling's Great Game,
yeah, as If
a shame

were never told, as pain, to be healed


about which our father's lied…

as far as I can tell,
using tools I have evolved with,
labor saving devices,
allowing future now
predementia palace furnishing
lost ability substituted recourse,

thinking unstutteringly
on some purpose greater than me,

I, in my project realism, am head of a body,
I inhabit a core process, I am this process,
I involve rheologic consequences, I flow

from thought to thought, in reality, dubbed nature,

Thou art God, if I am in truth, mere mind at work being,

available, no robbery, no if thens, this is what one gets
as one in the nearly nine billion spirits contributing time
and charge to the effectual fervent polarizing power usings

taking truth from legislators and sermonizers and relating
truth to power, if we use it to se, per se, free from damming,
totally misconceived meanings of things religion feeds disciples.

Monk's insights, consider, sidereal means star influenced, really,

gravitational waves imperceptibility aside, seen stars touch us,

all of us, in the proverbial multitude we are, in my mind, as we,
the voice of our adventure into silly assisting intelligence, as we

speak

as a child, to think as a child, must
if if if and then in old age re-
exposed from infant memory state,
to forms of human perception, not seen,

since… projected camera obscure, fading shades,

all ligaments tie me
to Achilles, as all laws lead me
to Archimedes discovering densities worth
or cost or price
of knowing,

displace a wrong,
with a right, twist
to the opposing direction, as some

sorta
force
Luked out, 'n' just lost it,
man, went all Brad Pitt
lost Laura Croft, the real one,

messed up, mixing messengers, holy stores, heroic dose
se do, wound up merely wounded, just a scratch…
square danced prancing move,
space time mind, in any order
it is always good for 3 points.

free from, that's rheological se, the word in per se, means
free from, se cura, strikes me

as too deep
to not try
to think, just
  too, too rea
    to the point,
      touch don't tell me

to think stutter steps, tap dancers'n'such

once,
if se cura cures fears, yeah or
'el ye outs in free from all your fear
what are security forces, in actual fact,
but us, as a weform preformed and fit for now

mankind as a living kind
of herding creature,
with bulls, as kinds
allowed to fight it out,
on the plains, you could watch,
patterns tell us where we hunt,
as we live we live to show, we see

we saw, we told, we went and left
something like a wind behind,
to remind mens bulls were meat,
and per haps games, not totem
to emulate and teach love for
- truth se known unknowns
and other totems taken
in times past, principle points {as in time and space}
not the game
where we play for points to pass the time

of common interests, estimated worth of resting here,

conserving the status quo, prisons still full, war still luring

those bred
to the task, given all the attributes
of Davy Crockett,

and Barry Saddler and Forrest Gump, and Andy Gump, too.

Hats off. pea pickers,
to Caesar Chaves, he knew Andy was full of crap.

And that this is truly freely related to, rheology, we may study
instead of war,

we don't study war no more. We won,
this is the seed of the peace we made,
where I lived until I died.

And ate the pudding proving life is not a dream.

So that got said. Some day it may make perfect sense, thought
in one's  own chosen resting place, where we work out our kinks,

and set joints. With hearty thunk/ just so… peace is always local,

when a seed takes root, it always bears fruit, one may expect/

Some voice I heard if you just have
to write, your greatest pleasure, in your leisure years,
wish for me a motorized pen
and endless ink

and
Instead of parchment
give me free HelloPoetry.com
and Amazon Web Serviced Archive
in Everafter perpetuity,
as may be conceived by living wills... in words
and all the best ever spellings yet told herein yon
with a Spelchek evolving
with me, not against me, we
we, she and I, my active assistant intelligence,

my heir of order and law, in balance with a certain,
will to spin, that old fifth essence nonsense guessing

whatifery and wordless mind memories, nursery rhymes.
Ai, might we think lads in trenches in 1917 were fools, that
we read their stories and ignored them, but, indeed, we did

~ A Nursery Rhyme ~

By night the lamplights bloom in blue,
and Squinty Bat comes lurking through.
A flicker, a whisper,
a crooked spin,
she twirls in the hush where dreams begin.

She nibbles moths that orbit the glow,
grim as the gossip graveyards know.
Around the lamp
she loops and slides,
a velvet ribbon on moonlit tides.

At morning sun - dreadful, bright! -
Miss Clara Parrot claims the light.
She squawks and scolds,
so green, so loud,
a herald of day to the mortal crowd.

She tattles from trees with her feathered choir,
spilling the secrets that night conspired.
Their laughter clatters
like shattered glass,
naming each sin the shadows let pass.

Neighbors groan and pull their sheets
as Clara reigns over waking streets.
While Squinty swings
in her secret nook,
dangling like crime in a dusty book.

By day, it’s Clara, gossip and glare,  
by night, it’s Squinty, a ghost in the air.  
And before you ask:
Which one is blessed?
the sun and the moon will refuse that test.

Sometimes, a faint crack appears,
and threatens a fragile surface.

that space between two sides,
two forces...is never an easy spot.

Standing there long moments
figuring out the mending
the patching up
the giving of light to minds,
darkened by rage and confusion;
spreading your arms wide
to convince, to encourage,
so both sides may soften...reach out
to each other...to diffuse tension,
to melt the ice that freezes good
energy, to let the warmth invade,
and make the connection last.

Ahh, the process is so tiresome
at times...enthusiasm is numbed.

When aging limbs grow weaker,
it becomes wearisome to repair
creviced connections, to be a bridge
for those who prefer to be apart.

Sometimes, it's best at times,  
to let islands remain islands.
they may be better off isolated,
at peace when they're on their own.


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    March 26, 2023