Conversations Again

I’m sitting in my local coffee shop,

listening to Bjork shout angst toward

human behavior,

and I have to pause, listen to the words,

watch the lips move,

‘same as it ever was’

a lyric David Byrne gave us years ago,

and yet,

the conversations are still the same,

people trying to make each other,

make each other believe,

a promise, an idea, an ideal, a plea,

a necessary tool toward their own

imminent survival.

It is this human condition,

causes all of us,

well most,

to somehow indicate we can communicate,

participate, challenge, inform, suggest,

repeal,

what a God-awful reality,

when our luxuries of communications,

fall into the trappings,

the attitude, the ugly, the incomprehensible nature,

of human hypocrisy.

When One Does, The Other Can Only Imagine

We in our constant tangle of thoughts and reason and need

for clarity,

we are certain to be the victim of an insecurity,

in a time of words,

when suddenly the meaning,

strikes us in the heart,

our soul,

begins to ache when trying to find an answer,

to know the future,

we wonder about all the things we cannot have

in the moment,

yet,

are they still going to be available then,

when,

at a time we imagined otherwise.

 

We live in the quiet of our mind,

only to find we can often sense the other,

just a matter of knowing

when is the right time.

 

Who can possibly predict the future,

when so many signals,

so often the same routines,

goals, desires, passions,

when the human condition continues,

to wind the wheel,

the master plan.

 

We might only allow ourselves to believe,

there is truth, we just need not fight for its reveal.

When Healthy Battles an Excuse

While it is surely our own decision

to find the cure for the ailing sentiment,

it is certainly our own decisive nature,

can find neutrality in forgiveness.

 

Might we choose to be forsaken,

mistake ridden, guilt driven,

… shame …

while the rest of the world motors on.

 

I once watched as my world walked away from me,

a simple turn of the corner,

and the park opened up to accept their energy,

leaving me to be the observer,

still wondering why yet knowing,

I could only answer rather than

cry.

 

There is little difference between

happiness and tragedy,

an emotional roller coaster

when appreciated,

we can ride throughout the night,

weather the storm,

and breathe in the rays of sunlight’s

everlasting energy.

 

We are so simply drawn,

by choosing either or,

that when it comes time to forget,

we simply remind, regret, respond

with memory of

the terrible times,

we wallow in the mire of our own remorse.

 

It is happiness,

and that is so valuable in our lives,

a normal saying

would suggest,

let happiness take on the battle,

and hope their is a safe place to land.

When in Sallow Form

Can you see me, a suggested expression,

one that does’t expect any reaction,

except to say,

go away,

for I am of another dimension.

 

It is in the faces of our population,

the happy troubadour in position,

the contemplative activist,

they’re all in it

together,

to suggest a mind has imagination.

 

Yet why write songs about a flower’s illumination,

is it to pretty the subversion,

that piece of our lives,

we tend to ignore,

we walk away,

only to later suggest we are under observation.

 

We design ourselves upon the brink of a nation,

all of us a part of the imposition,

that sacred knowledge,

the world exists together,

sometime forgetting the notion of compassion.

Life In Chance Encounter

In discovering one another, we all recall

the indecision, the wonder, the what if

this person has totally different views on

how to live my life, in response to

how I see their life evolving.

 

And then there is the church gathering,

where everyone does smile, does wear finery,

does hope to be noticed for their altruistic attitude.

 

Walking down a busy street, we pass by known entities

people who have crossed our paths,

yet,

we will never know who they are and why.

Instead, we’ll notice their eyes,

in some quiet familiarity,

until the light changes,

and the darkness reappears.

 

I read about a friend today, speaking of another,

we probably know similar lifestyles,

outspoken attitudes,

private scenarios that describe a personality,

and then later he cried,

and his tears continued,

for no one else understood just how deep

was his compassion.

She left him without telling him why,

just how,

and we are decidedly the purveyors of

survival.

 

I crossed paths with someone today,

he knew me,

by sight, by locale, by industry,

yet we know each other,

not at all, though others,

know us both,

very well.

So today, I continued the facade,

that human interaction,

need to when eyes connect,

at least finish a complete sentence.

 

The next time we speak ill of our neighbor,

perhaps a second glance,

a chance encounter,

could mean a world of forgiveness,

beyond our second nature.

Sights in a Small Town Cafe

Java Moose

java moose in grand marais

I watched the lines continue to grow,

all wanting, waiting, wishing,

yet I never knew the latter,

especially by expression,

I only managed to maybe gather,

their reasons to be seemed rather

the same as mine and yours.

 

Not your typical cafe I might add,

the people wanting much more,

than the usual scenario

-to see and be seen-

to more be understood,

to be in line with a certain

pleasure,

beyond the usual fare.

 

In a north-wood cafe,

the goal is not to stay,

yet it seems the rains have made it that way,

so the lines have increased,

though the attitude remain the same,

we are all part of this universe,

and today is just another day.

Traveling Alone

Oh, tell me good stranger the outcome of time,

When one solitary sign might feel inclined

To wonder about life in all of its travail,

Is it true a compassionate soul is virtue.

 

Or are we perhaps a mockery of our time,

Imagining only the fantasy of the mind.

How often do we find ourselves, seek

True detail of a life’s personal outpourings

 

I stood behind an oasis of fear for a year,

Each opportunity to run crested by waves

Of discontent, the atmosphere so slick,

I imagined only the word storms present.

 

In knowing a solo follow is enchantment,

Seek a stranger’s road wise enlightenment.