Poem (second pass)

 (untitled)

Will you let me go now?

As I’d like to refocus

my heartbeat to

the unknown and how

what might be

will plow through

the nonsense

of our age.

I’m sorry the deepest

part of me said No,

if it’s true

you’re blue

with nowhere

special to go.

If it isn’t,

or wasn’t,

I’m still

here

twisting

in the wind.

Poem (first draft)

 (untitled)

The TVs

have taught us

to think of ourselves

as earth-shattering demigods

with super-human powers;

when in the grand

scheme of things,

amidst the jungle of stars

and galaxies, we’re the most

homely little bunch crickets

the Sun has ever looked upon.

Yet however powerful the creature,

they too with us, are

subject to the paradox

within every seed, every

moment, and newborn

racing into infinity.

Loathsome little insects,

yet also upon Olympus.

Rincon Point 2022

Somewhat disorganized first-run art talk

Art talk 

Two Poems

 Don’t Be Afraid

The celestial object at the center of the solar system,

chief source of light and heat on Earth,

appearing to pass across the sky each day; 

around which all planets orbit;

regarded as a star, a sphere of energy,

its temperature millions of degrees or more,

is aware in a way we find difficult to believe.

In metaphor and depiction its shining

symbolizes good fortune, glory, joy, and up.

But what if the Sun is conscious just like us,

just like all self-organized entities?

Don’t be afraid to say Hello to the Sun.

Don’t be afraid to say Hello to the Sun.

You’ll be treated just the same as everyone,

every day, every day, every day.

2020 Human Dogs

The astonishment of it all,

how it all went down hill

over two decades—then Bam—total chaos;

diminishment of the truth at every turn;

that there is even such thing now openly

questioned again and again

at the end of each corporate report.

So maybe this is the age

we’re meant to bury it,

put it to sleep for a few centuries

so it can be discovered again

in some future year—

joy astonishing those who might deserve it—

like the favorite old bone

dug up by the dog

who buried it.

Pastel

Untitled Poem

(untitled)

Have you ever seen a twinkling in the eye?

Of course you have, of course you have;

you might even see one tomorrow--

even in the next minute or so.

Then how could it ever be a question of spirit?

Call it god, call it spirit,

call it any name under the Sun,

there is such thing

as a twinkling in the eye.