Loud Cars

Halloween and monsters moan

In my yard --it is hard dying of gas.

Blasting out undone youth, brains

Bowels, modified mufflers pass

Brains, bowels? Former or latter,

I don't know --doesn't matter.

Youth? Truth? Toddlers

With toy hammers? Here at the 

Midnight hour, adults in

Delusions of power roar past.

Why? I don't know. Unless we

All mature, I can't be sure.

 

 

12-Sided Cosmic Prayer

For your consideration, one of many 12-sided copper and bronze-alloyed objects unearthed in Europe and attendant islands. They are of Roman origin, around 200 AD and earlier:

"The dodecahedron  is the shape used for embroidering the constellations of heaven." --Plato (circa 400 BC).

Whether it was an early form of dice in crapgames or sacred object really makes little difference. These objects of astonishing antiquity have been found all over western Europe and, for me, compose a...

            Prayer

 Lord, in discord we have 

Fought  catastrophes,

Turned and run

To what is dear.

Now, on our knees,

We are moved to ask:

Please, can we not

Improve from here,

Instead of Armageddon?

 

 --------I had hoped to make this a 12-lined poem but only managed 9. The tardy 3 lines doubtless exist in the future but currently exceed my depth. Is anybody working on this? Best of LUCK to all of us. 

When Saucers Landed

We were young, expectant, 

Renting a cottage from 

Doctor Spock,  on Kent Street

who'd walk

His old dog through our yard:

"C'mon Sannee (Sandy),

Poor lil shit", but had a surprisingly

Useful understanding of children--

For a Vulcan. We read his book

On Kent Street (named after Clark), at

The corner of Lois Lane.

Sometimes, as aliens say from

Their sudden saucers: don't let your

Moral compass slide  off its binnacle.

A country, a ship of State, in

That distress, doesn't know where 

It's going anymore.

First Heard It When I Turned 13

  

What is left to us really, an

An awkward cotillion in

Hazmat tuxedos? 

It goes without saying,

Gowns --crackle of fabric 

Fills our haunted hall and

All our wishes whisper from

The floor: we can't hear

The music anymore.

Strange to think confusion's

Call and random chance

Left us this ball, this dance.

                                                   

What Tails Are For

Today's journal entry (to Minnie, who loves cats):

I wish my tail hadn't dropped off some months ago. I wouldn't have to use a cane sometimes.
                     *********************************

(In response to Meems, a much-valued commenter, I'm translating my handwriting into something readable here:

                                    An event

                                Lives through a mind

                               And mind anticipates

                               Events --a cat

                               Waits at the back door.

                               That is balance,

                               What tails are for.

                                

NOT ALL

 

 

Not all possibility is

Simply assembled, but

In motion, colliding,

Sliding, withdrawing,

Eliding, trading orbit

In light, time and chance.

It is a huge dance

Of probability, you see,

And so are we.