Golden Time
Postponing and Procrastination
Hand in hand, sisters of sloth
Much like "clothes" without "cloth"
An unfinished word -
An unfinished word
With intention of completion
Few moments later - stifling stagnation
A constant chronicle, going no where
With no occurences to document.
Or at least some without subsequent
A deadly sin, just one of the seven
It's paradoxical twin
Patience. The virtue; associated with Heaven
Stark and stellar opposites
Similar on the surface,
Often the two are confused
However, they each have their respective identity
Almost indistinguishable in character
Nevertheless, there is a difference -
Even though it be an inkling.
In fact, the slothful are the most impatient
For they have nothing to wait for
They are too impatient to even begin.
For a sloth, postpones the beginning
In an attempt to reach the end.
For the best of us;
Tis only a matter of time.
A time we must await.
Anticipate.
Brace.
"Good things come to those who wait
but only the things left by those
who hustle"
- Abe Lincoln
Time Value of Money
Time is money - Benjamin Franklin
Long has it been known.
Allow me to delve deeper into this rabbit hole.
We spend money to save time.
We spend time to save money.
Time is bought; the way money is used to pay for i.e., service,
We pay people for their time
Time is invested in worthwhile endeavours,
So too is money invested in these same endeavours.
Time is infinite?
Money is exponential;
Literally the more the merrier, e.
Money is man-made.
Time, who made?
Money is obtainable,
However, it is quite unevenly distributed,
A minority have more money than there are
People on the Earth
Whilst a majority have negative or none
You know their titles
You know their titles
Time on the other hand, is quite evenly distributed.
Everybody has time.
Everybody has enough time.
Nobody is deprived of time.
As far as the eye can see (Not so far) (Not so far)
Money may be the root of all evil, but time will kill us all.
Time is precious. It cannot be refunded, repaired or replaced.
Money is borrowed. Always. Only held onto for a finite period of time.
There's a time for everything but money can't hold a candle to time.
Money makes things convenient, but time makes things worthwhile.
The Onslaught
Rain - Falling sequentially
Reams and reams of rain
Plummeting, plummeting, hitting ground
Again and again
The walls were crying
From the reflection of the droplets
So composed and transluscent they took its shape.
So idle they are individually but when they conglomerate
They are overwhelming.
A sort of ordered chaos
Straight down they come authoritatively
In neatly packed rows falling diagonally
Repeatedly, running rampant:leeching all soil
Carelessly eroding ravenously, causing turmoil
And yet having said all this, it does
Possess an awkward quality: rejuvenating, purifying
It relinquishes all solitary.
As ard as it is, it can be soft
Becoming but a drizzle
Continuously pouring, everlasting sometimes even a trickle.
It's presence is like no other. The most timeless
Of all the weathers.
It comes in many different forms
And its impact is tremendous
In a blue moon it does rain down;
Portending the illusion of Earth shifting dimension
It's never changed, it's always been
From dinosaurs to now.
Yet everytime I am in the sea
I cannot help but wow.
It has fallen on our ancestors and predates
Human life
It truly is my favorite element
But for other reasons tight
The Oxbridge Summons
Seven-thirty in the morning
The sky met the asphalt road
Driving to heaven -
An oxbridge "assessment" calling us forth
Gort, Craughwell, Kiltartan Cross
Flashed by us sequentially.
Woodgroves and farmland freshened the mood
Upper class vehicles shunned our path.151.
On arrival greeted by none other
Than Villiers'. Long flowing maxi
Dresses; like gliding box jellyfish
The girls sported their unique
Combination of clothing.
Depressed in appearance but
Happy in conature as they knew
It would all be worth it.
The boys wore grey slacks.
Familiar strangers they were:
Smirking furtively as we
Exchanged greetings
We all knew why we were here.
Tense emotions and involunatry gestures
Wafted through the perfect chamber.
The trial was brief. Comforted by
Preliminary bouts, I manouvered steadily
Through the talent trampling trial.
Beaming hopefully in my direction
Mother gave me a hiden smile
Job well done "she" communicated
As "she" maintained eye contact
Throughout the handshake.
Not a word was exchanged
Returning certainly back to origin
Time it seemed almost stood still
The sun; feverishly blinking at me
I exposed my arms to the heat.
Going through the motions it
Looked as though we were
Time travelling trenmendously
Through the sparse, more
awe-evoking territories of the country.
A couple feuding over Personal
Affairs, sky morphing incessantly -
As if to sum up the awkwardness
Of the day.
Finally, unfortuneately; all coming
Back to accepted rest.
And we were once again
Subject to the monotonous repetition
Of the present.
A wonderful outing on a
Dreary dawn.
Secrets, Lies, Truth
What is secrecy but ellipsis of truth.
A fine mechanism for those abundant in ruth
Innocent in intent: eerie in execution
For once a secret is shared, its existance
Has ceased.
Secrets are in solitude; they are best left
To the remote. To the grave they "should" go
Howver in company, enigmatic eavesdroppers lurk.
Even the one with whom the secret is shared
May have a quirk.
Trust know-one they say for we only no ourselves
Secrets are a padlocked pandora's box
That should forever remain locked
This leads us to lies in all their deceptions
Follow liars in all their misdirections
The lie is always out in front, for everyone to see.
The truth is hidden, Hidden away from you and me.
Now more than ever, we need it to come to light.
The truth will be found, discovered, envisioned -
Yes that's right.
Like an artefact finally resurfaced by an archaeologist
At work.
All has been paid off, his dedication and research.
The truth may be hidden but only for so long.
Eventually is the word, don't forget it's never
Wrong.
The truth will always seek the wrongdoer
Around each and every turn.
Imploring this one to run.
It may not catch up instantly
But eventually I concur.
And when the truth does find you.
It will always set you free. Always.
A different kind of "free"
Yonder when the truth is revealed
And the lies washed off.
For the unmistakeable glow of innocence
To be revealed.
Lone behold, they don't requite the feel.
The people don't be-LIE-ve what they see.
Why is the truth so hard to be-LIE-ve?
Paradoxical no?
Why can't people handle the truth?
Yet when we are fed the lie we eat.
Secrets, lies and truth.
These are the things that govern our youth
indistinguishable. Inseparable. Absolute.
The wholly trinity
If ever a God, the God could offer advice.
T'would be; Do not look with thine eyes.
Open your mind. The eyes are the simplest to deceive.
Do not live life on mindless mute.
Blind acceptance aids none.
Challenge all, be resolute (astute)
Nominal Ordeal
Morning dew lies deep within -
The grass that's cuddled here.
For wonder awaits a better place
To reminisce with peers
Omification and jubilation are but
Mere jewels - which should be
Kept in times of displacement or
Labryinthal fears.
Lest one wishes to become abashed
By bad burdens and fraudulent
Fallacies, it should be notioned not,
That choice of this matter is
Misinterpreted.
So please be weary of false faces
And enigmatic entites that lurk.
For what awaits does not abate
To one's own doings or work.
Devotion of Self, Amenity & Equity
A B C D
E F G H
i J K
L M N O
P Q R S
T "u" V W
X Y Z
Prism
Those colours which emit
From the heavens. Brighter
Than any sun, more definitive
Than any star. Each distinctive
In their respective styles.
Manifesting in themselves each
Other's qualities - As happy as
Rain. Stiriking and Bold, entwining
In nature. Illuminating the
Shadows as one.
All so moving, prestigious when
In synchronised motion.
Yet entirity slump at the
Sight of Similar difference
Parentheses
When you witness an eagle
In flight, you experience
Epiphany of wonder. Being
One with all and nothing
At all - is something very
Wholesome.
Woven in and out of time,
Alternate reality is just -
Out of sight. The bird
Is somehow perpetually
Betwixting, verging on the
Unreal whilst maintaining
some - atom - of thought.
Leave open the doors of
Perception when encountering
Phenomena. Else would
Foregone enlightenment
"Breadcrumbs"
The Medium
Silence is patience, in its most purest of forms.
Mistaken for arrogance when scorned.
Unhasteful, Unwasteful.
Through no noise can all noise be heard.
Comtemplating, calculating, intricately assessing -
Not! interrupting floq, no.
Louder than any library
Oh so close to death.
I can almost hear it (Quickly) -
Forget.
AFTERMATH
Cold and dreary, morbid and dark
That's the way the picture's -
Been painted. A frightful passage
Somewhat stark though some -
Are still ready to face it.
Although really let's think about it
Can one ever be ready -
For such an unexpected and
Uninvited guest who supposedly comes
And steals away the "packages"
Leaving behind the rest.
Sadly we can only imagine -
The sort of circumstances surrounding -
This phenomena,
Eddying round cluelessly this nebulous orbit
Until finally encountering this last one
Constant
For nobody and no one has
Come back to explain, this
Perpetual query of a finite existance
How baffling is that -
Which some people spend their
Whole journey trying to make sense -
Of that
Awaiting the inevitable
No Thanks.
The Ball That Cannot be Caught
I wish I could throw you this ball
This energetic and furious ball
This intense focus of light.
Heck so bright even visible at night.
It's been pumped by something different.
No, not air, not like that all. More like a -
It's a ball with something in it
But a thing I cannot explain.
Something unique and different about it.
Charismatic yet I cannot transfer the flame
To somebody through word
For it must be experienced.
No not crystal/material, that's rigid.
Loosely accept that term ball.
For once you've found it's child's play.
As it shines the brightest of all.
Familia
Father is stern and unyielding,
Joyful and carefree solemn.
Rigid in view and outlook
But for reason drilled in through childhood.
As moveable as a rock
And fluid as a custard.
Troubled not by shame
But pride maketh almost rot
By cordial contrast comes Mother
A truly divine being.
One of fine wisdom, and
Experienced understanding.
Deliriously brilliant and cherished is my thought
Of laying down on luxurious
Lillipads and laughing lovingly
With my Mom
Do not let these descriptions
Fool you. For they are only
Lovely dresses, if you were
Taken aback then this one
is for you!
Both Yin and Yang are needed.
Both complement and contrast
In a similar way yes, antithesis!
Alas. Understand the meaning
Don't dwindle on the facts -
Just flipping love your (Father
and Mother) (Mother and Father)
And don't ever look back
Man is Broadend by its own Accord
A truth be told to rupture
The Lands, preventing, procrastinating
Pretention, Like a rubber band
It is like - tending towards its own
Limits.
Blindly viewing the outset as
One large levitating latency.
Meagrely awaiting an uncalming
Force.
Abstract is the idea that
Expectation be met minus
Sacrifice and doing. Know this,
That ostentation seemingly
Depth will embody
And devour fraudulents.
Isolation in Company
Mundane labour busies the mind,
A concept more preached than practiced.
Marvelously enslewed ideals slither
Like eels easing euphoniously through liquid
"Arthur Rimbaud"
Epiphany
It's difficult to assess the
True power of this, thing.
Inspiration or energy and
The power that it brings
Akin to a lucid dream -
From which one desires not to arise,
It reveals the conspicuous nature
Of tasks complex through our eyes.
It unravels, gently, what appears to be masked.
However, of anything from "us" -
It has never asked.
It leaves the vessel it inhabits
In an almost trance like state.
Manifesting itself -
Yet always yearning to migrate.
Lucid in the sense:
We are aware of its presence.
Dream: to describe its heavenly transcendence.
An embellisshment of purity,
An undeserved right -
The ability to resonate with nature,
"The Liquor Never Brewed" -
That's how Dickinson deemed it, right.
An elusive desire, hiding -
In plain sight.
A sudden divine vocation, imploring
The use of one's might.
It's difficult to comprehend this -
Unnatural phenomenon.
Like a nomad in the desert,
It travels on and on.
I could continue to ramble
And I still wouldn't cover it all.
Oh dear inspiration, together we work best.
I can only pray it stays
And forever manifests
Wavering
As shadows near and shadows far
I long to find my heart
As passion flits across the stars
I have not yet found my start
Through sheer injustice and
Willing fonds I do probe
One the thought. Although
I do find myself wondering how I begot -
This fine wield of warps and
functions fluidly going-steady -
Lucy'd
Many a morning have I awoken
To the fright of reality.
Having emerged somewhat unbroken
I try to find my anatomy
Semi-finished projections are partially incomplete -
Though it is but a feat;
To possess courage to encounter
The Everyday, although knowing
Day by day we wither away nonsensically someplace
All we can do is hope and
Pray that Someone is -
Looking up
Pursuit
Although I did wonder why it is
That things never ceased. Through
Reason and logical understanding
Is not enough as ambiguity
Cannot be reached.
For Reason can only bring one
So far "Until the plank of Reason breaks"
I prepare for what awaits.
A wild frontier with valiant figures
And ominous characters. Needle in a
Haystack "they" say. Well how about this -
Height
Break the threshold,
Set a new,
There is nobody -
Better than you.
Be unbreakable,
Strong as an ox,
Don't limit thinking -
There is no box.
The story's unravelling,
The end is nigh.
You will rattle the stars -
Don't be shy.
Come out the cocoon.
Embrace your greatness
You have come this far
Only the heavens await us
Do not diminish thine ability,
Yes you are unique.
Hold steadfast at heart,
And never hesitate to speak.
You have a voice,
And it deserves to be heard.
But only you can project it -
All over, this world.
So yes my friend
You are great
Be strong and powerful,
Like the figure eight.
Infinite.
Friday Feeling in Transit
I sit here wiith pen to paper
At the back of the bus like a skyscraper.
I can see all as I look out the window
I pass the GAA pitch and the beach -
The army barracks and the HQ
The bus comes to a full stop.
People waiting at the bus stop.
They walk forward, leaning on one side,
I try to hide, a wry smile -
As the bus then restarts its journey,
Rowing like a row boat -
Going over bumps and pot-holes.
Suddenly, I am floating
I look out and girls are boarding -
the bus, one of them scouring.
We are stoppped now at a red light.
The Friday Feeling is alight.
I hear music from another source.
It rattles low and it changes course.
We race through the narrow road.
Zooming past shops new and old.
The bus rackets, the music pops,
The road is free and time stops
So suddenly, people drop, off the bus
And hurry out.
A flock of sheep, a pack of wolves,
They hoarded spaces as they only could.
Coming down the aisle, it happened as it would.
Crass Contrast (Yin-Yang Paradox)
It's shining darkly and it's so bright.
One is darkness and one is light.
Just as light brightens (reveals), so it blinds. -
And these have stood the test of time,
Strange thoughts that will bend the mind.
Do not fall for the optical illusion.
The brighter the light, the darker the shadow
Light reveals desire - on truth - casts shadow.
Darkness, anonymity; you can now see people -
For their true identity.
Mask on, mask off.
It makes no difference when the lights off.
The darkness provides false security.
It cloaks all and reveals more than the
Eye can see.
In the dark, anything goes -
Because people think that nobody knows.
And so, the darkness proves paradoxical.
It brings freedom; and it can act like an obstacle.
The dark night or the bright of day
The blinding light or the karst darkness
(stripped bare of all - carcass)
Two sides of the same coin.
They diverge and then they join.
"The way up and the way down are
one and the same" - Heraclitus
Erudite Expedition
Keep calm and concentrate
Do not procrastinate.
The work has been put in.
It is time to reap what you've sewn.
Through countless accumulated hours
Of self sufficient research, "study"
You will succeed and supercede
The expectations placed on me (you).
It's been transferred from text to transcience
Moved from matter to mind,
The sheer act in itself
Most definitely one of a kind.
Veer far from the deadliest sin
A scholar may encounter,
SLOTH, Lord, GOD!!
It elminates all banter.
On a final word
You've already heard;
Continue your trend of winning.
But I'll tel you this,
One people tend to miss
You'll never imagine the beginning
Knowone
There are so many people
That I don't know.
Yet there are a few
That I do.
There are so many people
That I influence;
That I don't know.
There are a select few
Of people who influence me
That I know.
I can never know all
Of the many people that
I influence.
Yet the many people that
I influence know me.
I am somebody to everybody
And I am nobody to myself
Who is speaking?
I Cannot Close This Door
These thoughts entering without permission
Intrusion - WAIT. Interlude -
Diffusion of these thoughts,
Scrape the pot of my childhood dry -
And fill it with thoughts of adulthood
Why? Why?
How can this be?
The joys of my childhood heavenly, unlimited.
Now, here comes reality definitive
How can this be so?
When people are young they yearn to be old.
When people are old they envy the young.
Baffling! BAFFLING!
So bloody crazy!
I don't understand, my vision is hazy.
Human beings are so complex,
I look at them and can't help but vex.
Who would ever wish to be old.
Preferably in mind; young in body and soul.
So many times I have accelerated my life
Gone through many endings and imaginary strife
And yet I cannot see what "lies" be-for-me
Then again, do I need to see it.
It's the thrill, that's why I am -
Writing about it.
Mystery mangles us all
This mystery has remained unsolved...
A Peculiar Rumination
Why is it that when we enter this world
Somebody has just left, others are ahead
And you, just born?
Why is it that when we leave this world
Somebody has just been born,
Others are behind you and
You have just died.
Why do we enter this world inexperienced
And leave it experienced?
Why do we enter this world unscathed
And leave it battle hardened?
Why do we enter this world cluelessly
And leave it, knowledgeable?
Why do we enter this world untouched
By time
And leave it, with a legacy?
Why do we enter this world limitless
And leave it with a firm sense of "reality"?
They say the eyes are the gateway to the
Soul. However the eye is the most often
Deceived. Why is this? The soul does not
Wish to be seen.
Although the soul can be felt and the
Feeling cannot be denied.
One must connect with one's innermost self
And leave one's wishes behind
Surely there must be an afterlife
All verses merge in the direction.
But; our purpose here, remains the question.
Just a Thought
Do you ever feel the yen
The yen for something else
Something that has not been debated
A thought that has not been thinked
At such an age it is not recommended
To be in such deep thought.
One must be confined and taut.
Like a string perhaps in a newtonian experiment,
To verify his second law.
One must conform to sample
And should accept such things as raw -
Plain and untainted. Undeniably true
Do not be a dorothy, bludgeoned, inquisitive imp -
Who wishes to investigate that which is "true" -
Keep the system going, after all it has not failed
Cowardice and obedience are traits that have
Not failed.
To be a useless usurp, ululating, yuckishly
A "broken" mind is telling you, that is what
You must be.
A wandering of thought, is what this whole thing
Is. No secrecy, just solicitousness is all to be
Expressed. A mere observation, an exccentricity,
A fortune at best.
Influences are all around and yet it comes down to you
Will you accept all
Or decide of something to do
1st of November 2015
If you're reading this you're wrong
It's an art, not a song
It's interpreted, not answered
Reason in madness.
Forget science - forget man
This is sheer gladness
"Where ignorance is bliss
Tis folly to be wise"
Lest you wish to bring
About your own very demise.
Do not look with thine eyes
Open all doors
Don't step on that
These are not floors
There is no ceiling
There is no floor
All you can do is perceive sound.
Sound of what we do not know
Yet miss not, what is to show.
This is to be experienced not solved.
To this I'm tired of listening;
I don't know, I can't.
Look not too deep I beg
For you'll find demons
Lurking round.
Making noise when there's no sound
In a vacuum, In a vase
Staring blankly with no face
Yet we all wonder why
We're "DOOMED" to die.
Remember, this is to be interpreted -
Not solved.
Take from it what you will
Leave of it what you won't
But don't let me say I
Told you so.
Renegade
The graveyard of ambition,
Yes, I am a man on a mission.
To break barriers and knock
Them down.
To take my place in the pantheon
And steal the crown.
In this conservative cemetery
I stand full of life
The messiah, the chosen
Like he who turned water
To wine.
To take the road less travelled
Is a very bold thing
Yet it's neglected, not accepted -
Treated as sin
In this dying derelict domestic
Dungeon, where convention is
Cradled and cherished.
Well it is time for it to perish.
I will ressurect with charisma
This auspiscious small town.
Remove from its face
The perpetual grimaced -
Frown.
Which stains its youth and burdens
Its old. Something carried to the
Grave.
The graveyard of ambition?
Angel of Death I hope you listen
I will ressurect this town
For I am a man on a mission
Vexing Vixens
I do not partake in their debauchée debates
She likes to fill her mind with monily matters
The two of them barking, jarring, bantering in their battles
She doesn't like to admit when SHE is wrong.
Somebody, there must be for HER to blame id her song
And SHe singeth that song, oh so very frequently
Much too often for a normal thinketh me.
They fight and farce and flame into florid fantasy
And I have to tame and guard them so helpeth me.
For however much they think they know, -
They are ever more clueless of my countenance
For once I go, I do not know they they will continue
With no-one to advise and chide and roll around
With, I wonder how they'll be.
Not so very merry
Desolate and depressed
Lower than the pits of hell
Whilst I, higher than ever-est
Shall be doing my best
As I have always longed and prayed, since
My days of youthfulness
A madman I appear to be, in the eyes of
These three (accounting for one who may not have
opinion of me)
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust and death only brings
Death.
To that I say, WHAT'S NEXT?!!!
HAHAHA. (With a twinkle in mine eye)
"Bartholomew Viral"
Road Ship
The bus hums indefinitely
And I hear frequent chatter
From conversations of different people.
I tune in and I tune out -
Sometimes I even look about -
My Surroundings and those surrounding them
The bus is stationary, almost dead.
It's only lifeline, the hard lead -
Battery of the Seacrest bus,
To Eyre Square it carried us.
Still immobile. Still waiting,
I see some leaves that are fighting -
With the wind, it's a struggle,
Now they've came thought its all been settled.
Time continues to pass without permission.
I see an ad it's for television.
"5 hours sleep is plenty" it envisions.
The bus is then resusitated.
Taken aback I almost feinted -
At thought of life and death we're well acquainted.
We slowly approach the Galway Cathedral
The atmosphere is unequaled.
To be in there, there's no equal.
The stop dings once, twice.
Once again we're alright.
I pass a puddle and I see a dog
Its coat was hashbrown with a tramp's walk
I see some people on the sidewalk.
That idle boy makes the bus again
Everyday without fail.
His north face jacket shields sun
I hear the music drop once again
The beat drops like raindrops.
I hear cars skid on gravel
Tire marks, from past travel
The bus huffs and the bus puffs
Not too far now, that is for us.
Last stop is in view. The button
dings
Global Warning
If the media could raise a child.
That child would be the most
Polluted of children.
Polluted with stigma
Polluted with marketing
Polluted with branding
Pollutde with advertising
Polluted with carefully crafted, familiar imagery
Polluted with slogan
Polluted with fear -
Induced by pollution
Polluted with materialism
Polluted with messages (subliminal of course)
Polluted with passages
Rights of passages.
They are right.
The media deems it so.
Should one question it-think no
Brainwashing, Brainwashing - generation after generation
All who don't follow the media
All who don't follow the media
Are sieved through to the outskirts of society
Deemed outcast by the media, Oh the Mighty Media
Deemed outcast by society, oh sanctimonious society.
Infallible
They do not fit the image
The image used to lead like locust
The ravaging, incessant, puissant
Yearn for change.
All follow the millenial mob
Next in line for zombie zest
Impetus by some tempest.
High above.
The child now as always
Operating on auto-pilot
A polluted pixel of a polluted picture
In a polluted album, in a pollutde gallery
Out on some polluted plateau -
Lies the puppetmaster -
Mysteriously dictating the path of the people
With thirteen invisible hands.
From some view, from some perspective
The child now seen, irrespective;
A product of its environment
A stone of its age
A germ of its gen
A marvel of its society
A piece of the puzzle
An animal in a jungle
Of political warfare
Lightning fast jingoism
And incontrovertible rhetoric
And so we ask or so we should
Who is this child?
Who bore it?
Who is the leader(s) in this civilised circus?
Safari
We arrived in Calle, Mirafondo, Playa Honda, Lanzarote
Yesterday. But I am writing this today.
During the plane's descent I had never
Seen a water so blue and solid looking.
Like a large - aqua, navy series of moving
Clouds with glints of bright white where
The sun shined and refracted light.
I stepped of the plane.
A slightly stuffy heat greeted me.
Familiar I thought as the air cramped
And compressed me.
We reached our apartment.
"Gracias" I offered enthusiastically
As the aged taxi driver humbly
Opened my door for me.
Out of nowhere it seemed, our hostess appeared.
Vanessa - sunkissed skin and onyx eyed
She guided us up the orange
Sunburnt, stoney steps
A warm welcome we received from her.
The apartment exceeded expectations.
As described and not implied.
Complete with balcony and art work.
Don't forget the view!
We sort out final queries and mother beams -
Satisfied - in Vanessa's direction.
She gives us her final goodbyes in that
Spontaneous! Spanish? accent. (Trace of Mexican?)
And we look one another up and down
As we express our excitement
Happy family
Now I am sitting at the balcony -
Writing this poem as we experience.
It is surprisingly windy this morning,
The balcony door ricketed and
Racketed all night -
As if...
The wind is fierce and strong
Though I would be more inclined to call it -
A gusty breeze.
The shuttered roof o'erhead clicks and
Clacks into place as it repeatedly
Comes alive and dies.
Briefly levitating then abruptly playing dead.
An autonomous process perhaps.
The view is puzzling, neo - proudly pacific
I lift my head to write these descriptions
And I spy with my naked eye -
A blanket of white-snow houses with
Little cloth drapes that gently flap in the breeze.
It's a breeze.
The breeze is satisfying as it deters the heat
Of the yoadling yellow sun.
In the distance I see the mightiest of mountains
Towering triumphantly over the tropical terrain.
A Transitioning Transit
I looked up and I saw;
Dense puffs of white smoke
In the ubiquitous sky.
An everlasting blink later and -
Slight trails of cotton wool swelled
Happily like a viscal vortex.
I saw them standing in the shadows -
Behind one another.
A green army, as the bus
Entered their woodland territory
Trrrr Trrrr - a sudden flummox of rain
The pitter patter rattled the roof of the bus
We picked up speed. VROOOOOOM
VROOOOOOOOM VROOOOOOOOM
Then settled into a constant whir of the engine.
Rain providing a natural white noise
Backdrop to the myriad of sensuous sounds.
I am writing poetry on a bus.
I must be crazy I thought
AS the bus sailed on the sea of the road
Through the onslaught of rain crashing
Down from the upside down ocean.
And suddenly light came from a corner.
I thought I saw the heavens
The road glowing yellow as light
Probed through the windows and
Ceiling window.
I could see mother nature; breathing,
From the movement of the trees
What a moment!!!
A grand orchestra; composed of everything natural
A harmonised motion as all organisms
Sway in sync, ever moving.
Ever breathing. Always synchronising
Never out of phase
Resonance
Mother nature is always at her fundamental
Frequency. I can feel it when I observe
The indifference is stifling, colossal.
I see the bus shed tears as the
Wind blows raindrops across the window;
Leaving trails of tears in its face.
The bus is crying.
Perhaps because it cannot be part
Of the orchestra.
The sun comes out of hiding
As the captivating, coloured white
Clouds lower their guard temporarily.
They tell a tale of an epic war
Fought by the Gods in the sky;
The deep cuts, crevices, tears and
Streaks present are representative of this.
The sun illuminates everything with its
Familiar, warm, resplendent, compelling,
Marvel instigating presence.
Unmistakeable.
I always knew when the sun is out
But I have to look for the moon sometimes.
The sun is always full
But the moon is partial
Now the cloyds group round the mighty sun.
It rests majestically atop the
Foundation of the faithful clouds
It appears to be a shining
Bright yellow outer red
Glass orb that appears
To be the cynosure
In the midst of the sky that
Maneuvers round it.
Back to the man's world I have to go,
Though, I always long to come back.
The journey I have set on now
Will be four years long on the way
Back
Zero
Underappreciated
Underutilized
Under our eyes
It seeks to rise
And seize the prize
Yes, oh no lies
All expectation
No limitation
Nothing to hide
No status to uphold
Nothing to lose
All to gain
Nothing to prove
Just a claim to fame
It's an unnatural number ;)
Starkiller
A beacon in the midst of
Des-pair and des-olation.
Auspiscious, premature and wile in force.
A prodigious bastard with no domicile,
Precocious in force; Mistaken for a
Jedi, lightyears away by the invader
Whilst executing the remaining Saints
Of the Force.
The young boy outstretched his meagre
But unpredictable arm -
Like the world in a baby's arms.
The invader's sabre obediently leviatated
Into the boy's enigmatic hand.
A quick "passover" occurred
And a mechanical mimicry of astonishment
Washed over the invader's face
THUS, THE BIRTH (BEGINNING, ORIGN) OF STARKILLER
The Right Side of the Street
The water underneath the
O'Connell bridge was wavering -
Like a green fluctuating tinfoil.
The neon lights - so ambient
And vibrant; adding colour
To the dark night sky
And sombre atmosphere.
Embracing all simultaneously
Allowed me to appreciate
Dublin's authentic resplendence.
My bus was nigh -
And slip out of trance, did I
Until the subsequent encounter;
I would cherish the stored
Memory
In the hereafter.
The Other 0.111958%
When the human being is decomposed
Into its fundamental parts.
One may be surprised to find
That it is survival which remains.
Family, friends, legacy;
Survival even in death.
Disgusting, degenerate creatures
Spontaneous bastards!!!
Hackerrank
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