#sapience
What remains of me at the end of this life?
This decade?
This epoch?
At the very end of all that is,
will my spirit still soar as fragmented energy?
As pulses of light—a sort of post-existence fire?
Will anyone or anything know and
bear witness to what once was—
to the reality that I presently occupy?
And will it matter—does it matter—if nothing does?
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 9:08 PM UTC
Real world, real war
in the spirit realm, breathing
leaven disemboweled,
yes yes yes
gaseous we beasties,
mobs
and congregating misinfirmed
conforming to the mould,
black and green
up up up morpheme ob
serve
some body from the edge in
piercing ever-with points of
everish means to ends,
tat-too too you, Dr. Joyce Brothers,
my boy's
real TV Glenda,
good witch of the west, who goaded us
past understanding
Thalidomide,
when we cried, for Miss Sherri's baby,
as in my future then, my daughter
Natalie, would cry, for baby
Jessica, who really did
fall into a well…
--- same size well head as we had at 120 Oak
--- I just noticed, meandering past
wondering if I cried, when my baby sister,
Peggy, died, in late '49? -- no, '50.
Cancer, of the sort fallout causes, we later learned.
Obtuse, to use the oft idle word
to mean to-ward or
a-gain-st
t'use the expression for compression, squeezing
water from a stone,
breaking marrow from the bone, listen
to the fire,
feel the story keep us warm,
long nights,
with only little dancing candle flames,
to emphasize the phases -- moons,
and moons, mensal mental clockish
I will if you will go go go rhythms
of the falling rain,
swishing wishes to know…
will you still love me,
tomorrow?
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 1:45 PM UTC
Air guitar, mellow, loose breezy shadows on the rock
outside my window, where life,
barely modified by my
observation
preserves
the old learning in each living thing,
seen through my window?
Jul 25, 2020
Jul 25, 2020 at 3:02 PM UTC
I told the swifts they’d got it wrong
I watched them glide and dip and play
The sky was of the richest hue
Without a the slightest hint of grey
But slowly as the day wore on
The clouds began to blot the light
And doubts began to fill my head
Could the swifts have got it right?
Of course they had, why even ask
No confusion in their feathery heads
The clues were plain, the signs were clear
The rain would come, as soon as said
And so it did, with lightening flash
With thunderous roar and constant pound
With drops the size of apricots
To slake the tired and parch-ed ground.
We mustn’t doubt our fellow creatures
They feel things that we’d never sense
Watch for signs and **** an ear
And bow to Nature’s sapience.
Stuart Williamson August 2016 ©
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 7:17 AM UTC