Well, I am beginning to be able to see the end of revisions on the A Walk with Words book. I think that I am halfway finished. I still have all of the Three Crow Brothers yet to do. That is not a small number of verses, but they are short.
Should I give my advice? No! You folks already know to let each poem stew in its own juices before moving on to the next one. ENJOY!
Don't forget to take a close look at the first jonquil to bloom in the yard in the picture above.
Oh! Also, sorry about the bad formatting below. Copying and pasting does not keep the formatting here the same as in the original document. I had to remove the superscript notations. You get the notes. You simply do not know what the notes belong with.
A Brainless Bloom
I gaze into the night sky like a mirror,
A swirling chaos to ill-formed for error
And see myself an antonym of Love.
The cosmos is not heaven.
It’s just a vacuum even,
So full of space, it has no room to move.
Tell me!
Where in this shapeless void is left
A hiding place inside a cleft
Where one can watch as holiness walks by?
I ask this with a hypocritic smile
Because I know the answer all the while.
All those who see a god are bound to die.
We’ve numbered all the black holes and the lights,
We’ve named at least a million satellites,
And now, we’ve but to tremble and obey.
We cringe beneath a tyrant’s gaze
Who breaks our souls and checks our days
But barely drives a brainless bloom to sway.
Sol Says
I slip over snow-capped mountains,
Sparkle in their icy fountains,
And fall into their valleys with a shine.
Each crack of dawn, I send my rays
To clothe the world in patterned days
Where every celebrant of life is mine.
It’s what I do and what I know
That causes stems and flowers to grow
And some creatures to ponder time and love.
I fill the land, the sea, the air.
I’m always here or over there.
I am all that earthly beings can dream of.
But to galaxies we pass,
I am a lonely ball of gas,
Dragging along some particles of dust.
They believe in Fermi’s curse,
A silent, lifeless universe,
So they go whirling off because they must.
3. Fermi’s “paradox” states that the lack of evidence of extraterrestrial life is incompatible with the extreme likelihood that such life should exist. I am mocking that claim somewhat—or am I supporting its contradiction?
A Weird but Very Short Dream
I pass into a world of dreams
Like mists flow over mountains
And slither in half-lighted crags
As shadows creep through fountains.
Fear crowds through where worries shine.
I lose faith in my worth.
I have no doubt that they are mine,
These doubts I’ve given birth.
The faces dim, the places twist,
The things I see I think I know,
Or dreams form them in altered shapes
That out of the familiar grow.
I see a lion and a dove.
The cat prowls in the air.
He’s after something I dreamed of.
I hope it isn’t there.
I’m furious or full of love.
I’ve quite a lot to share.
But I’m not sure what I dreamed of.
The bird cries havoc everywhere.
Not Much Good Advice
Our actions seem hollow
With no dream to follow.
Our follies echo with laughter.
Our lives are abysses
With so many misses
We don’t even know what we’re after.
We refuse the curse
Of a cold universe
That is deaf to the signals we’re sending.
Our world’s made of stones
That soaks up our bones
And erases our trace in their blending.
So, what’s my advice
Against this loaded dice?
I’m sorry, but I don’t have much.
Fill your being with peace,
Let your knowledge increase,
And savor a true lover’s touch.
A Nursery Rhyme of Thinking and Drinking
I lay my poems in a column.
I hardly make one that is solemn.
The sun’s the only thing I forge of fire.
I find fervor wrapped in blossoms,
But I never write of ‘possums
Nor skunks though I am feeling the desire.
No doubt, my notions stink
Of some smelly stuff, I think,
But I’ve enough of black and white for all.
I feel sunshine from above,
I smell bierocks stuffed with love,
And in my item bag, a Master ball.
Now, I am just a little drunk.
My goal of crafting verse is sunk
Because my words are poured from brackish cups.
Here’s one taste of alcohol,
A tiny tumbler shot for all,
But I’ll imbibe with anyone who sups.
4. A stuffed roll that all German folks should know about!
5. For all you Pokemon Go fans out there!
The Dog Star Song
This July, we reap the dog star’s madness,
Powder settled over summer’s badness
And in dry heat and crinkled leaves confined.
Do you recall the pure delight
Of April’s slanting, fertile light
That planted thoughts of motion in the mind?
From my air-conditioned room, I will not wander.
The jagged paths of locusts, I’ll not ponder.
Where sunbeams weigh like timbers, I’ll not be.
In this early August frame
That seems warped inside a flame,
I simply will ignore its melody
And hope the dog star ends its song to me.
6. The Dog Days of Summer generally last from July 3 to August 11 when Sirius, the dog star, is the brightest in the sky and rises with the sun.
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