Posts Tagged ‘Change’

I would not choose to be a fish,

always staring with jelly-globe eyes.

True, glittering scales are one consolation,

but always the threat of being eaten,

and always (excuse my vanity) that stupid, gaping mouth.

I would not choose to be a frog,

gulping air by the barrel-full each day,

and always the threat–

if I keep my current sense of direction– of

dessication, because I leaped

far away from a blue crystal pond,

and ended up far from any body of water.

I would not choose to be a bird,

for if the human sense remains,

I would never soar too far off the ground, and

would wind up tangled in a telephone wire,

because I have to wonder if both my and a bird’s attention

spans are about the same short length…

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This mirror distorts.

It outdoes the complexity of concavity

and convexity.

It ripples, the scene changes.

It matches the ego,

the mood of the day.

One current will rip through, the other

weaken. Positive.

Negative.

All the synapses connect here-

the hippocampian looking glass.

We are all shoved under the microscope.

We are each choked by leashes of wire.

We’ve spent years within stores,

at garage sales, perusing someone else’s memories,

because what we have isn’t good enough.

In the end, the “good citizens” are the ones that don’t acknowledge the surveillance.

In the end, the ones that speak up

cause change.

It’s both difficult and easy to

imagine the Sky as something endless.

It is more difficult to imagine

everything under the Sky,

though both sky and the realm below it

have always been,

for every thing living and imagining,

between the two.

I had glimpsed the Bird

that flew past my Window,

and heard an infrequent Chirp.

I never suspected, until now,

that bird was Progress-

and I had let it pass.

Yellow fingers sweep the clouds away,

extend to brush my skin-

I feel the gentle, warm caress.

The world illuminates:

houses, fields, trees, lakes brightened.

Snow dissipates, ice dwindles in drips,

both glint all the same.

Here is the change

as everything wakes from cold slumber

and will stir into flower and fervor.

It’s funny how childlike and innocent my perception of the world, or at least the Natural world, becomes at the beginning of each season.

At the start of winter this year the snow was falling so lightly I thought it was almost dreamlike. Then winter got old. People began to grow tired of the now, especially as the weather turned foul. I tried to maintain a positive outlook, trying to see the beauty in storms and the whiteness of everything. But the sad thing about winter, when you get older, is that the season kind of loses it’s magic. You find you’d rather stay inside. I tried going out into the snow once. I only ended up being outside for fifteen minutes. Maybe the magic is also gone because fifteen minutes can feel like forever when you’re a kid.

Now winter grows into spring, and I find myself smiling as I step into a puddle by accident. I feel happy being able to see green plants now- tree branches no longer covered by snow. But I’m wondering how long this fascination will last. As a writer, observation of the surrounding world is important, but there’s this nagging sense that what I observe will get tiresome eventually.

I guess that the best option is to try and keep an open mind. To observe the changes that happen, and try to find the beauty in the heat waves and thunderstorms to come.

Wish me luck, and stay tuned!