{three brief acts on thinking and doing at once}

Sunday, August 17, 2025
9:31 AM

An exercise in the art of word smithing

proud prodding from a know it all to another,
persuading one the other of the best and greatest
people can pertain to, aspire to artifice goodness,
per se
this way
simple
plain step by step, processionally, professing
experience
in living many ways,
in working, functioning usefully to those paid in

bread and drink and circuses to think about, clowns
slap plays to allow the lowliest to laugh at pain,
pie in the face, shock and awe, to laugh at payback,

and gasp at the daring Wallendas, did you see that,
the fall at Detroit,
in 1962,

Did it stick with you, the awe at the folly, asking
why do performers perfect their act, and do it

and do it
and do it
until some one dies trying, first time or last, falls

and dies to emphasize the possibility, imagine
the mirror neuron rush at the crushing fall,

the vicarious oh no
the unforgettable day at the circus

bubbles up in therapy prep for dementia,
we all recall the fall…

------------------------------------------
Words alone, in context,
in your head said as read,

by whomever you imaging saying,
look,
listen, can you hear birds singing?

If you can, do you know what kind
of song, is it signaling safety, certainly,

birds of so tiny a song fret not, clearly,

I can imagine a world so quiet, nearly
any day, I can remember winter quiet,
and think of where others are preparing
cord wood to feed stoves, chain saws,

dangerous as any ax, imaginably worse,
gameland killings projected on silvered screen,

daring immersion in the projects, home alone,
adapted to the syndrome, latch key kid,
in a small desert town
on any main cartage route, welcoming
passers through to spend the night
indoors, at the Loma Vista Motel
or the White Rock Motor Court,
as listed in the Green Book, in 1954

------------------------------
Suffering Socrates
requires trusting Plato

One must, you know
suffer so, to say you know,
quid pro quo, all you know,

bet against all you call unknown,
as if for the sake of innocense,
shunned, to maintain purity,

burn the heresy, defined
blasphemous and disrespectful…

think again, mimic the ritual reenactment,

let this mind be in you, you were there,

you saw Cassavetes suffer in agony, the shame,

the shame that rightly is yours, and yours alone,
the price Christ paid, if that story were ever true,

that suffering is your just dessert, persuasion
insists, you must accept the premis, Christmas,

the whole message, Peace on Earth, Greetings,

lowly mortal sufferers under lying leader rules,
Goodwill, and final judgement, last prayer,
fear not, fret for nothing,
forgive all who have no clue what they do,
living and breathing and having being on Earth,

so far from the nearest life supporting star system,
fitted anthropomorphically perfectly as patient
in the active agency of truth freed life on Earth.

This is life. We can imagine it ending suddenly,
and we can bet it only does that at the me level,

the we I was in lives on in all the good seed my fruit has in it.

I wish there was a better way,
To show things will get better,
Than stupid umbrella metaphors.
Because the truth is,
No amount of wisdom can really help,
When darkness is a brainless beast.

I wish there was a way to make things change,
Nothing big,
Just to shake up the rocks.
To unstuck everybody who needs it,
It’s not much compared to these pains,
But I promise we will see the sun.

People will come to you,
For one reason or another.
Either drawn to you for friendship,
Or drawn to your light,
To feed.
It's more important to keep yourself up above,
Than regret the ways you let yourself fall to them.
You'll never get closure,
From broken people,
Who wanted to see a broken you.
The only way you can fill that gap,
Is by cleaning out the place in your heart they stayed,
So you have more space,
To grow.

You can nuke,
or you can spare
a red, red rose.

How grand—
to rule by choice,
to roar with the claim
your vision is pure,
as clear
as morning dew.
Yet you harbour genocide
in Palestine - the innocent rose.

Have you forgotten?
The last titan’s
Rise and Fall?
It will repeat.
That’s no lie.

The nightingale’s ode
to the rose
isn’t always whole.

It knows—
some places
bear more thorns
than eyes can hold.

But like yesterday,
tomorrow again,
it will hum
for the rose.