Dames dimeless during durations of
duress, unless  uniform wardrobes
in cuneiform earlobes eloping in last
gasps of breath, breathed by an opposite
***  on a raft drafted and crafted by
bureaucrats that sat upon rat traps.

The fat cats gasp under last laughs.
They can yap about the fallen all day
and paid based on grades in a vicious
cycle of buy - sell - trade. They caved in
as Persians sigh at the fading world
hurled beneath convuluted swirls of black pearls.

he climbs aboard the bus
denying all offers of help


he rides most every day i do
he due to neccessity,
me more of a luxury,
the luxury being i can take part in
long, lightly alcohol, lubricated lunch discussions,
after  teaching class and then not having to decide
whether to drive or bus.

he is old, so very old,
each movement is both precise
and yet wavering, as he makes his way to his seat
then, as he thuds down,the bus moves off again

he rests awkwardly, the slight corkscrew in his spine
causes him to perch, more than sit,
the calves in his legs flexing constantly,
making adjustments, so he remains balanced
ever on the precipice...

yet he smiles, a wide toothy
grin, as he acknowledges
the crowd, most by name...
for that alone, he is a legend.

he is dressed in khaki shorts
double pocketed shirt,
one pocket for pens
and one for the pipe
that even unlit,
has an odour though not unpleasant,
it is slightly oppressive.

and across his chest the wide band
of the old leather satchel he carries,
often filled with books on a myriad of subjects
but sometimes empty bar an old thermos

he is the universities oldest student,
old enough to be father and grandfather
to those who teach him.
he has multiple degrees and a love of learning
yet to be assuaged, he loves the gathering of knowledge
the ****** and parry of intellectual debate

he is known as Mr Proffessor
and often has a group of his younger peers
set about him as he leads younger minds
down the oft convuluted paths of learning

but today he is an old man, on the bus.
trying to maintain his balance...
and I admire his style

I have only time and dreams. I do not know how much more time I have,
but I do know that the time I shall have is, pardoxically, timeless, as are dreams. I shall use the time I have left to continue to dream--to dream not
about the impossible, but about the inevitable. I shall dream about caring
instead of uncaring, of helping instead of hurting, of loving instead of hating.
I shall dream of a world of peace, a world on which all the billions of human
beings come inexorably to realize their innate worth, their inviolate sacred
spirit, a moment in the not too distant future when all will not only join hands, but also join hearts, a spiritual ecology that will complement a climate ecology.
Instead of self-aggrandizing, we all will be accruing love--of self, and therefore ineluctably, of all other creations on Earth. At this moment, our
world is turned inside out. Our "values" are convuluted, contorted, twisted.
The world is presently contolled by inimical forces that bring torture and
terror to Earth, that think weapons and wars are their their sole prerogative.
But Earth's destiny negates this notion. This is not just my time and dreams, but the time and dreams of all. And sooner than later, the time will be now
and the dreams will be manifest.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks