tribute to a new year
unabashed, the clock struck midnight
and in that instant, and in all the insances to immediately follow,
the anything-but-elusive list of goals, wishes, to dos, future-aspire-to-conquest-conquests, and fantasies for the next year ran aimlessly, frantically, innocently, and hopefully through my mind:
set the alarm. go skydiving. fingerpaint. scupt something great. pick up the laundry. take a nap. travel to a far and distant land. do the most romantic thing humanly conceivable. finish writing that book. contribute to worthy causes. volunteer to save the world. sweep the kitchen. clean out the fridge. get to work on time. ride a bull. climb the highest five peaks int he world. take in stray animals. make seven figures. be famous. get a plant for my apartment. buy warmer gloves. become vegetarian. give up coffee. learn a new language. paint my apartment something vibrant and creative. learn to sing in key. bake cupcakes. run the nyc marathon. create something original.
as my head unsuspectingly and uncontrollably set spinning into a whirlwind,
the clock did not go any slower or any faster.
the universe did not smile or frown.
and without my choice or my approval, but for my laughter and peace,
they together narroved down my list.
live. hope. love. believe. be.
surrender.
january 10, 2010.
Stat
“Statim”. Urgently. ASAP. Immediately. Now. Stat.
So many ways to say something is needed right away,
And so urgently that we don’t even have time to say the whole word.
Cut two letters off the original to make it even shorter, and still “stat” isn’t any shorter than “now”.
Not so ironically we need so many ways to say we need so many things instantly, without delay in want or gratification.
And when those wear off and no longer have the immediate effect on our reactions that they do now,
And make us jump at their command,
We will need another word to make us jump. Stat.
January 5, 2010.
Moment of Contemplation
Stuck in a crack in the sidewalk
It sat there, wedged but protected
In that moment when I seriously convinced myself it could’ve went either way
I tried to pull it out, but it wouldn’t budge
And I thought about how it could go either way, and I pulled and prodded,
But it wouldn’t comply.
“Damn this,” I thought.
And I tried again, until the rain started to pour down
In a quick instant.
It continued until I couldn’t see.
And had to stop everything for a few moments
….
….
….
>>>>
While it gently but forcefully washed the sidewalks pure again,
Nudging that moment of contemplation back and forth
Until it finally caught loose.
And after that forceful fall stopped, and it was clear to start breathing again
Without sucking water into my lungs
I noticed it.
My moment of contemplation was no longer wedged, but was instead
Sitting on the sidewalk
On top of the pavement
Looking serene and staying still
Not wedged, not forced.
I slowly bent down.
Picked it up.
And realized my moment of contemplation had passed,
That the tiny piece that had been stuck in the wedge didn’t need to be forced into any other puzzle right now
It didn’t have to be pulled, forced, or prodded
Or to go either way.
It could just sit.
So I put it in my pocket where it would stay protected and warm
And where the next moment of contemplation would soon join it.
August 25, 2009
Timed Out
It might be, or must be, or should be
Part of my deal with this universe
When it says, “Okay you have five minutes to contemplate,
Analyze,
Think about,
And overthink
Anything. And everything. And whatever that streaks across your mind
In that five minutes.
But when that time is up, you’ll be
Timed Out. And you need to
Stop.”
August 6, 2009
Sending It Off
Milo wrote a book, for only his selected audiences to read,
Particularly that one person audience, about nothing and everything,
Like every other manuscript or poem or screenplay or sitcom or made-for-TV movie that was almost produced but never quite made the final cut, but
He could never quite finish that last sentence to get it ready to be
Sent out and delivered via armored car and guard to the conservatory…and he never quite recovered from
That nap on the couch.
dug up from the archives….
Death Of A Lilac Bush
The green grew; the endless, unredeeming fragrance, and its end sure to come.
The rain had given it life, so surely I would not condemn such nature, or put it to death.
Simply, tame it.
The blades raced through, and I stared at the leaves that would be sucked into the epitome of hopelessness, and also at the sky which would never be touched.
Nother mattered. The world was my own, and it was under my authority.
The soldiers below the surface were at my mercy, and my power could not be measured or altered.
Yes, I sought to devour all powerless that lied ahead. (I would soon rake it, too.)
My horse sped up after I gave it a firm whip, and my mastery of the art was not questioned.
My time had come.
Staring at my glory, the future was not relevant.
Glowing in my pride, like an obsession.
And I hit it.
The power diminished, and the cut into my consciousness started to bleed.
Wishing (that there could be a star) that I could return all life, everywhere, back to its omnipresence.
Innocence devoured by carelessness and greed.
The purple, passionate buds and the green, gentle body seemed to lie, with nothing, in two or three mangled pieces.
It stopped. My body, my heart, my power.
Taken away. It was taken away in pompous absurdity, an ancestry, a pure creature, one of beauty and innocence.
It never needed to be tamed, or mangled, or killed, and the wind picked up and the buds floated away, as gently as they had during their era,
Crouching over the pieces of my soul, broken before me.
A gracious death, an indefinite death, with the possibility of returning a world power, such as it was…
Me and my horse, and the pain that was felt under the blazing sun and the blue sky, in the eternity of green, wild, untamable land,
That one innocent day,
When the world was mine.
Also dug up from the ancient archives.
