Themes and thoughts that did emerge
With promise of infinity
Then vanished at a wall
Leaving not a word at all
Instead I wrote this deathly dirge
To writer’s block I fall
Every detail attended to
Clean lines and sturdy grace
All reflected in polished stone
But later
I notice
A chair is missing
Crumbs scattered on a table
In a lifetime dedicated
To observing the nuances
Of all details great and small
I wonder
What is the larger world
All that I’ve seen?
Or all that I’ve seen
But never saw…
Suddenly
The world I know
Seems very small
Shadows can be too dark
Highlights can be too bright
In the grey all is line and texture
I see the form of what is
Without interpreting darkness and light
Breathe in this moment
Breathe out the past
Breathe in this moment
Breathe out the future
Breathe in this moment
Every inhaled breath
Overflows the alcove
Expands into every aspect of mind
Every exhaled breath
Empties the mind
Allowing the moment to flow into it
I breathe
Until all that I am
Is this single moment
Don’t misunderstand me
Such exquisite abstraction
Just lacking romance
A place to admire
A picture to hang
But to live there no chance
She shook a little with her distress
Speaking between tightened lips
Just barely containing a primal scream
I don’t mind the old-Earth tenements
Their utilitarian simplicity
But why does every other building
Have to look like the cover
Of an Arthur C. Clarke paperback
Couldn’t we come up with
A more interesting ‘future’
Than one dreamed up by hack illustrators
Over two centuries ago
Jinessa was just getting started
When she goes full rant
You can either cower and exit
Or saddle up and ride it for the eight count
I struggled to get a foot in the stirrup
As her exasperation rose
Oh my gawd
But it feels like someone
Stripped the life out of the colour wheel
I mean I get it
Proxima is not good old Sol
But why does it have to suck
All the juice out of orange
All the indigo out of the sky
All the crimson out of my hair!
She’d wanted the change
As much as I did
Coming here was her idea
It took most of our combined savings
And a serious cut in our lifestyle
To pull it off
Those tenements she mentioned
Were functional and clean
But hardly the standard she’d lived in
All her deeply privileged existence
And why does the atmosphere have to smell
Like fucking plum pudding
What is up with that
Even a hamburger tastes like
A sickeningly sweet yet
Gaggingly pungent holiday desert
Why doesn’t it explain all that
In the brochures
How was it kept out of the news
But life with Jinessa was a bit of a rodeo
Whether it was staged here on Proxima b
Or back on Earth
Truth is I love this most about her
Well not so much the ranting
In the company of worshipers
Some for God
Some for his house
But I think on it
And in the reflect I see
I prefer Love’s House
Which is any house
Where there’s you and me
Poverty
Inequity
Subjugation
Though I rather imagine such a society
Would have little interest
In erecting such grand monuments
Perhaps such a society
Would be too busy building
On its commitment to
Love
Compassion
Generosity
There streams and rivers
Come to rest
Display the sorrows
Which some detest
“Wait for the facts
You can’t protest!”
What have we
But video
And patterns written
Long ago
To actions spoken
Our words will out
If some won’t listen
Justice shouts
Bishops under Cardinals
Princes of the capital
Too all manner of celebrity
Still I prefer simplicity
Whose condition leaves them most to gain
While every pittance rendered unto greedy hand
Far too much where hope of sustenance is lain
Yet they, it ever seems, offer most without demand
It’s none of these I see today
By price of entry held at bay
Once was the time when pews were filled
By those allowed the least of say
Pix to Words 