Bonded Hate

Rivalry is a strange arrangement.
Adversarial yet coordinated
Each must push for the other not to fall.

True rivals define one another,
Where the ends is not annihilation
Just eternal cooperative pursuit.

One-sided rivalry, jealousy in disguise
Competitors simply seeking
Reciprocal elimination.

Predator needs prey while prey needs freedom.
The rivalry is between each and survival,
Triangular antagonism.

Despite the instinct for combined hate,
Rivalry demands mutual respect
Ultimately to need and seek the other.

Artificial Impossibilities

Choices never come in vacuums
They cluster against history
Burdened by lint
Some baggage earned
Else borrowed

Others impose or we suppose
They will penalize our choosing
Nothing just free
All seconded guessed
With regret

To decide is to err, force harm
Status quo an easier cruise
Bold the chooser
Blame invited
To just be

Still it lingers demanding you
Screaming constant for an answer
Give as you would
Daring rebuke
Courageous

Hidden Being

In yesteryear's radio The Shadow knew.
For us the shadows are where we hide,
But also where we can roam.
The shadows contain multitudes.
Some creep, others lurk in the shadows.
Yet the shadows allow freedom.
Beyond the harsh judging light of day,
In the shadows we find refuge.
We conduct experimentation.
We indulge fresh exploration.
Our better selves are tested in the shadows.
Too easy to be good and proper 
When all and every can see.
Much harder the straight and narrow in darkness.
For invisible goodness 
The most difficult form,
And thus most virtuous.

Proper Appreciation

The noise of our impulses
The pull of influences
The draw of indulgences
They cloud, limit, and confuse.

Immediate desires,
Improper worship,
Inadequate ends,
These are false gods.

Neither the game watched 
Nor its outcome
Were the ends.
These were the means,
The reason for occasion.

Staring blankly
Expectantly
Hopefully
To the screen, to the field, to the abyss;
We risked missing the beauty
Of what the moment really held.

Do Without Apology

First instincts - 
yield to emotional impulse
          Second thoughts - 
          avoid feared regret
               Third explorations - 
               steel for supposed response
                    Fourth deliberations - 
                    bear invented guilt
Fifth confessions - 
     admit desire
          Sixth decisions - 
          prepare for the defiance
               Seventh actions - 
               restore instinct
                    Eighth reflections - 
                    reinvent the narrative
                         Ninth closures - 
                         move on to the next

A Day in Grade School

I could get lost in my daydreams.
Gazing deep out the window, looking 
past the playground. Not noticing 
the surrounding houses stoically 
keeping watch on the soccer field.
A backdrop for my wondering thoughts.
My mind was blissfully elsewhere 
longing for my own home and own time.
On the verge to solve vast riddles 
or planning my late evening bike ride 
always craving for my weekend.
A stern rising voice would snap me back.
Hushed giggles at my caught absence.
My attention briefly stolen, I
always regained it soon enough.
Calming aspirations for summer,
I remember the pure escape.
As I do the fall I returned, 
finding they'd blacked out my windows.

Next Summer

The fog of summer lingers 
as it dims our ambitions.

We blink through laze seeing glimpse 
of anxious thoughts, worrying loss.

Where, how did the time slip by?
Is there a chance to regain?

We had plans. Well, plans for plans.
What goals still attainable?

Should we just let it move past
giving up yet another?

Perhaps next year . . . yes next year.
Start sooner . . . set reminders.

But isn't that what we promised 
last year this very moment? 

Partnership (for my anniversary)

Choosing can be the closing of doors
   If that is how one wishes to see it.
      But that is a choice as well.
         All optionality lost,
         All multiverses collapsing into one.
Yet choosing can be a new life opening.
   One should see it as such.
      If one looks with fresh eyes,
         The joining of two in partnership allows new worlds,
         New hopes, new treasure; all opportunities unlocked.
Commitment brings real promise.
   All the rest was just potential.
      All the rest was wistful dreaming.
         Having chosen, being chosen, committed each to one,
         Bonded together at last all dreaming becomes real.
The challenges are now coupled with sincere consequence,
   Yet consequence implies meaning, implies attainment.
      Once in, one can never look back other than to smile at what, 
         Once held as valuable, melts into insignificance.
Then, one felt the world stood ready before him and for him.
   Now, one realizes that was a world devoid of substance
      Incomplete and unsatisfying.
The life from before seemed real, 
   But it was just a dream of what a real life could be.
The life now reveals that which was before a charming trap
   From which he most gratefully has escaped
      To a new real world, a real life,
         With beauty and mystery and fulfillment 
         That he could only glimpse in mere wish before.

Sadness For Those Who Don't Look Up

From the upper tower office perch
He blankly peers out his window bank.
Attention on the phone at his ear.
The high rise tower allows grand views
Needed distraction from the dull call.
   Nearby tall scrapers piercing the sky
   Horizons that fade sloping away
Mindlessly his unfocused gaze drifts 
Near to far then up to down.
Hanging up, he stays standing.
He can see people.
   Tops of heads
   Weaving walkers
   Some fast, deliberate 
   Some slow, aimless
From the traffic flow a school bus emerges
Making an uneasy park.
Young kids pour out into loose assembly.
They shuffle, gather, and break.
Order comes finally after brief instruction.
Hold old? Hard to say from such vertical perspective.
Unlike others, however, they are really here.
Taking it in as they follow in busted line.
Some bump into each other eyes not where they are headed. 
Rather raised to the heavens
Transfixed by clouds passing above the majestic towers. 
Such heights deserve wonder.
These are impressive monuments to what has been done and what can be.
It is not lost on newcomers.
Not yet have they fallen into the trance
Of neglecting the amazing.
For many this is mundane. 
Still to them it invites proper regard.

Longing for the Solace of Being Needed

His gait is but a shuffle
as he wears a fragile smile.
With eyes begging recognition
others quickly pass all the while.

Once a player, a mover
he shook big in his small world.
Many clamored begging to be 
in his circle where he swirled.

Phone calls, where once they
promptly met return,
Now garner only a pitiful
duty to be addressed without spurn.

Always dapper dressed to the nines,
he would strut; he would entertain.
Still though trying much with effort, 
softer shoes show humbled refrain.

As some remember,
they dare not accept.
To truly see one's future is
an unacceptable regret.

Saturday Morning Cartoons

Your eyes blink open with confusion.

Why are you waking yourself?
Why is there bright sunlight about?

Your fearful heartbeat slows 
   as a smile builds upon realizing
      it is Saturday.

You scramble out of bed 
   with urgency unfelt other mornings.
The others are theirs.
   You own today.

Now the heart beats faster 
   with two pulses: 
      anticipation of what will be 
         and dread for what you may have missed.

Now in the den 
   you flick on the TV to answer your questions.
The clock means nothing 
   since you don't know the schedule by time
      but the order you know by heart.

You catch relief to see 
   that Wylie and Elmer are still pursuing their prey.

"In the News" is your chance 
   to snag a sugar-filled bowl 
      leaving the milk carton out--no time to waste.

Back on the watch you set mesmerized, 
   enchanted.
Your only break from the trance 
   is to quickly get a refill 
      you won't finish 
         or to crawl over and flip the channel 
            for emergent preference 
               awaiting your attention.

Outside the sun warms your coming afternoon.
For now it must wait.
Not before the too-soon transition 
   to the music & dance that will transfix you 
      in the teenage years to come 
   or the sports broadcasting that will someday 
      beckon your adult mind 
will you sigh your signoff 
   and rise to face the day.

Acting At Any Age

At five I was a five year old. If I acted, I acted like someone younger, a baby, or older as I perceived them to be. 

For the younger, there was no act. For the older, it was miming an act. They had no real sense of what their age should be in action. 

They were acting as if they were who they had seen come before them. If mimicking contemporaries, then just the same one step removed.

For those at 30 or 40 or 60 or beyond was their first day on the job in such a role. Self awareness their greatest impediment.

Them a slave to their audience, who as well knew not the role nor lines nor plot. All of it imitation of contrived expectations.

Once we start acting our age, we no longer can ever just be -- endlessly attempting to shape ourselves to a staring role no one cast.

Timber

The tree that fell wasn't really the problem.
No one liked that tree much.
Well, some birds maybe. And a squirrel or two. 
Even a woodpecker 
from time to time in time
found it interesting.

Perhaps that was a sign of its destiny,
to be pecked at and used.

The snap was loud, quite disturbing its alarm,
like the crack of lightning.
The fall softly gentle at first then faster.
It shook upon impact
landing roughly bouncing 
against its calm neighbor.

I imagine that tree sharply exclaiming, 
"Hey! What the? Get off me!"
Luckily to no avail as the tree rests 
there precariously
perched like a twisted dao
enormous and deadly.

Had it fallen without brace; oh, the damage.
It would roll and smash hard.
Slamming down upon the patio then house,
only stopped once the price
had been reached to make
insurance claim match physics.

The Creed of Go

Some never travel 
staying close to where they start.
Others move along
yet they too never depart.

Journey without uncertainty
is a voyage forgone.
To go but not be ever lost
leaves the traveler yon.

The true explorer a nomad,
he lets wandering make wonder.
Letting go all the familiar,
sights he seeks, limits asunder.

Destinations are unknown until
retrospective insight.
Setting forth despite trepidation 
into a foreign night.

A Hero's Journey
[for Father's Day]

The role of hero is heavy. 
Much easier to have than to be.
He seems always at the ready
While you struggle feeling lost at sea. 

He gives comfort, a sure guide;
His wisdom always there sought out.
Yours fights an internal tide,
The constant haunt of inner doubt.

His humor is captivating
Bringing joy and deep laughter.
What source this assured creating
That endures ever after?

For you he is strong.
Giving love always gratis.
He can do no wrong.
You seek for such high status.

Your journey emulation,
Realized task lies beyond reach.
Pray with true adulation.
Earn the real gift he does teach.

Tattoos and Scars

Traveling through life, 
we collect the wounds.
These shape us, change us. 
These color our sight.

Make us who we are 
Define who we've been.
As the barnacles build, 
we choose their effect. 

At times a hindrance,
their drag causing grief,
but too an armor 
giving us a shield. 

For those who dare look, 
wisdom on offer.

We soon realize 
despite the burden
they stand to protect.

Hide not the marking.
Bear it all with pride.
Respect the offer.
Make peace embracing. 

Moving . . . On

In life we travel, amble just along
singing out of key a common and familiar song.
Together we trek 'til one of us falls, moves on,
then empty pockets and all collections gone.

Where once walked a reality now just a cloud.
The image fading as it's now enshroud.
Hints and memories softly come in and out.
The pain that's left lingers long though love is about.

Facing forward first reluctance then defiance.
We find some grace upon which to build reliance.
Once again with each other traveling along.
Picking up to carry on with the hopeful song.

Disturbing 

He smelled of a greasy lunch.
Three o'clock that afternoon
          sweat hovered in the stale air. 
Traffic squeaked and sputtered 
          nearby under rough tension. 
Close eyes only dared brief glances
          averting stare as much from 
          repulsion as courtesy.
Aid was not offered; no help
          because no one thought to help.
Desirables sought exit 
          equally hoping that this
          might soon exit their pure minds.
Yet it lingered there; image
          burned into their memories.
Chasing it out thus required
          action; earlier shirked.
Guilt propagated as judgement.
Revulsion overwhelmed 
          their compassionate mercy.

Illusions

Gazing up we see stillness in the night sky.
Distracted a moment, then up again, after the by
It seems indeed motion for each star.
While true, this was more our movement than those afar.
Yet we both traverse space-time at the speed of light.
Incomprehensible for our slight intuitive might.
What was there our yesterday is there again our today.
For them it was many eons ago, though they stay.
Our lives each a fleeting moment, a faint mere glimpse
At what in its grandeur is all moments hence.
Through struggle and conquest and boredom and routine 
We get but few chances to make our esteem.
Striving for ends more invented than planned and designed
All that is and was but illusions upon finding the divine.