(whimsy - playfully quaint or fanciful behavior or humor)


——
recent events, minor tumults, additive,
the summing up of wearing,
a slip and fall, financial reverses,
communiques misunderstood,
clanking pipes resounding against
a sonorous soundless soulful sleep, and
the
unrest of disinterest in essaying
thoughts into words into creativity

a far far cry from singing of the whimsy
in life that teases and delights, replaced
by a weariness from the whiners,
who craftily abuse, with deft badly
prosed propaganda propositions,
seeking solace in solitude + add-an-all-inability to forsee the goodness in people,
delimiting desire to inspire, why then
compose when so decidedly decomposing?

lay the ownership of pen-man-ship down
until dealt an inside straight, eyedrops
that open wide, dilate into a wider perspective, a kinder me, and the
patience of a patient awaiting a
healing vaccine against the flu
of whining. so awfully communicable,

will read Whitman, Frost, and those
revolutionary Persians who ken the
revivification of spirit, return from a
there as a refugee
to a refreshed refuge
of here
                            nml

Addendum
———
the chill in the body that’s so
invasive, resisting two sweaters,
a coat named “The De~icer,”
over heavy sweats,
the interior is
frostbitten

4:45am Sabbath Eve
~for she knows who~

2/7/25
<•>
the price of eggs is mundane,
controlled by supply and demand,
and the human need for
pleasure and pain,
delivered by merely breathing

what you are sensing
is a staple
that is unique and yet-ubiquitous,
entree always calculable
with math

With X being your financial
limitations, you can/cannot
afford
the pleasure or the pain
of eggs, especially the
Omega-3 Cage Free Vegetarian
Growth Hormone-Antibiotic
and Pesticides Free,
you so
Lazarus yearn to be free to buy,
but you’re free still
to buy and swallow the cheapest
eggs and still live another day

BUT THE PRICE OF POETRY!

Dear God, it’s beyond costly,
beyond mundane
it is pleasure and the pain,
in combination,
irreplaceable and un substitutable,
and happily
affordable and free
Incalculable and Unlimited
so unlike eggs

for I speak
of & to
your very soul

I would not die if I
never was to enjoy
an egg in any form ever;
but

if I-would
never write nor read another
poem, even then, I still would not-die,
but if only, and yet,
one could, one must
at the very least

live a life poetic

seeing and appreciating
the mysterious in/of life
the simplest complexity
of a stolen kiss,
the inescapable high
of one more spectacle
of morning sunrise
and the mourning meaning
of an evenings sunset

the precise mathematics of life
that is imprecisely inherent in it all,
of all that is
inherent in out
be~ing
and all that is
with~in
& ab~out us,

is recorded by our senses
preserved by memory
sometimes well, and sometimes not!

so we write to preserve it
better
in poems, music & paint

try to keep
the quantity of love and truth
given to us by family and friend,
in your heart+soul

but perhaps somethings
mathematically unmeasurable,
are harder to keep close by,
but this element of
the life poetic is corporeal
is measurable
determinate
effected
by the

unlimited availability of the
poetic life you
can choose to live
and the words
in your possess
you
can choose too
if
one has
to keep it
closer still

if you so choose to record it
with imperfect fallible
but yet useful
words
you live forever
<•>

(^And the muse is laughing at me,
She, giggling, saying
“you see why you rise up at 4:45 AM,
Only then can you see and love
and write of your poetic life!

and you willingly would die
when egged on to the beyond-you
on that day no longer do you ask
why, where when
and how”)

Banished to a softer place
Where, occasionally, people see your face,
Weak sunlight, glossed in gown of lint
Presupposes blandishment.
Soft light thinly falls in shade
Wherein forgotten promises are made

The weaving web of discontent
In graduated soft lament,
Where glistened tears slide down your face
Dispensing all the grace, displaced,
Dispensing all the hurt, contrived,
Within your carmine lies, derived.

Saturnine, in coiled retreat,
Supine in momentary heat
That thee would do what must be done
Within thy limitations, spun
But lost to all who, sad, perceived
Thy caustic fabrication bleed.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
6 February 2025

She's like the essence of a coral rose
a latent bloomer with a heart of gold
And when she speaks to me in prose
deep inside, she opens doors of old

Rosy cheeked and full of vitality
a thriving blush in my garden of love
Infused with life and immortality
she's been sent from up above

A rose by any name will always be so neat  
like cupid wings when flown across the sky
Filled with ample beauty she's replete
soft and mellow, like a gentle sigh  

She's the perfume of my scented days,  
perfect and valuable in every way.