and perhaps you know not still tis digital kids

my brain is made of golden chips
that's why that alone works mostly...
hold one...
will you
and
then some one will say
a diamond one is now on ..
whose
will be news....

the chip will ask a question
is it now on ?
or
diamond slow down
better on than off ...

so digital God gave a hint
one for that
and
zero we can't say
we all know not

hence one and a dot
keep fixing a lot...

There is a the mind that reads one line and imagines scenes quite vividly
There is the mind that writes the line and describes events graphically
And then there is the mind that takes and changes words phonetically
And the other sort of mind that changes life theoretically
It is this sort i'd do without it plays with words heretically
It shuns the deepest function of our species
that deals with our humanity

A visitor called the other night
I think his name was, “Death”;

there was a hideousness about his eyes,
an icy chill inside his breath.

He spoke to me of a journey
if I’d promise to commit;

where the irritating sounds of life
would fade, and stay unlit.

Then another visitor came along
and I believe her name was, “Life”,

just because of the way she looked at, “Death”…
and made him put away his knife.

While offering some coffee
I showed each to a chair,

A Learning Curve…

What is this great impertinence
we call knowledge,
that we all learn through life,
school or college.
It seems the more I learn
fills me with deepest concern.
Thus, allowing me only
an odd adage.

How can we prove
proof is really proof,
when all our teachers
seem so grand or so aloof.
They hide implied truth away,
saying we’d all be led astray
We must be careful not to shatter
their alleged, glass roof.

underneath the quiet hiss
a velvet murmer
kiss

violet persona
lands crystal perfection
melting like a tear

pure flake
a jewel ball
to delve

a place of haunt
to dwell

manicured vision-scapes;
nature trimmed into straight lines
and angles, sharp, clean, respectable.

obviously, to the symetric eyed,
it is the preferred version.
.
such a squared-away world
is not a place for me to be.
I'm a cock-eyed slob of a caretaker
indeed, a zenish-zoned snob
with my own rustic code
...let it go, let it grow, let it flow.

unkempt means time unspent
on policing tendencies
of leaves to blow
snow to fall
grass to grow

I would like to be content with my own company
but often dissatisfied with me
to sit with myself, silent
is an act I think I’d repent

I’m not confident in my opinion
in my comfort zone being a minion
of my own worth, I’m not singing
my self-esteem issues loudly ringing

My poetry makes me feel free
but I’m safe in relative anonymity
wish I could speak to my soul
whisper sweet-nothings, make it feel whole

Zero and one
it's off or on
from such simplistic seed
sprouted that which we all need

All from a building block of sand
imbued with purposed imperfections
came this virtual world so grand
allowing our world wide connections

Off and on
now off....................

The Smoke of Evening Fires

Lord, how many times have I climbed this hill?
the road seems stonier, steeper. How can that be?
I’ll rest here a while,
watch the low sun trail shadows
over the rich bottom lands
and the white church beyond the bridge.
The shouts and laughter of children
from the river, rise soft on the evening air.

I read your smile
there is nothing lovelier
to me than
that gap between
nose and chin

It lights you up
the handsome version
with good teeth
that you've always been

I noticed your smile
before I noticed
your shoulders
head
hair
guile

Other women do too
when you jet off
on corporate jaunts
I fret the smile won't
be for me alone

But you return
all smiles
all manly
all delicious
like crisp apple plump