New Year Punctuation

The days they are the letters
and the spaces in between.
The weeks the phrases
commas separate.

The months are stopped by periods,
A question mark or two,
Or exclamation points
for feelings strong.

These sentences are captured
in quarterly paragraphs.
In June the chapter finds
It's natural end.

We have until December
To attain the dénouement,
But edit? No. Once writ,
The die is cast.

To all who see these presents, greetings!
Happy New Year!

Let's make it sing!

The Stream

I waded out into the stream
To cool off from the day.

And watched as bits and pieces
Floated by.

Two leaves came by together
Journey shared to points unknown.

'Til one caught in an eddie
And the other waved good-bye.

#poetry #patternsfromchaos

The Catch

There is a fine distinction
'tween release and push away.

The physics of it
is extremely clear.

With no outside force upon it
the 'release' may choose to stay,

While the 'push' will find
it hard to linger near.

Just ask Milady's Jester,
as he wallows in his chains,

oblivious the
padlock's been removed.

Does he stride for new horizons
seek cessation of his pains?

No. He tells a joke,
and laughter is renewed.

We've not considered
gravity nor relativity.

General or Spec-
ial, makes no diff.

Mechanics of the quanta
in a league beyond our ken,

"Fine tuning," would say
Newton in a jiff.

So now that all this jargon
has inspired the eyes to glaze,

and a pain between
the temples it's evoked.

What is the fine distinction
'tween release and push away?

In matters of the
heart? A word. It's....Hope.

Catwoman & Batman Artwork by Carli Ihde
http://goo.gl/7dZDia
http://carliihde.tumblr.com/Bio

For the reference to Milady's Jester
http://goo.gl/ztj6sa

Stats are Good....for Baseball

Stats are good.....for baseball,
And optimizing flow,
Squeezing product standards,
Business in the know.

The Ode's a different story.
It comes straight from the heart.
Distills a burning longing
Through bittersweet remark

.

Encapsulates a feeling
Soulmates can recognize.
Fires an arrow to the stars
Whatever goal applies.

It's measure is the resonance
From every single read.
A single tear or ocean.
Both spell a fulfilled need.

And who's to say that single tear
Can't from the odewright come?
More about getting something out
Not meant for anyone

Else. The numbers that it generates
May purr an coo and preen
Seductive in their siren song,
But separate from the dream

Of making a connection,
Seeing eye to eye,
Responding to a heartfelt muse
Touching, by and by.

Nexus

Waking is the looking glass 'twixt two realities,
the surface of the ocean, cosmic singularity
that leads from someplace that we've been
To someplace that we are.

And, oh, how fast the former fades once we have pierced that veil,
extinguished by the morning light, by sights and sounds, made pale.
And what of those we've left behind
across that great divide?

Do you peer through that looking glass and ponder on what's lost,
or wake into a separate realm and never count the cost?
As mem'ry of the dreamworld dims
And life exerts it's pull.

I'd like to linger in that place 'twixt our realities,
share coffee, conversation write an ode or two or three,
And make a journal of our chats
that I can carry through....

Maybe....someday we'll find the key that turns the glass to door,
that let's us in the dreamworld 'twixt realms of mass and light.
The realm of waking dreams, ideas.
At home forevermore.

sculpture: Alice Through the Looking Glass

artist: Jeanne Argent

more about the art here: http://www.lookingatglass.com/2010/10/01/alice-through-the-looking-glass/

The Final Straw

When they come for me in the morning
They'll find naught but an empty shell.

Since this is my final journey
It's end will be heaven or hell.

I've played by the rules since the day I was born
And in truth I've got little to show.

But they claim that it's theirs, as opposed to my heirs'
They've offended my faith, don't you know.

In the promise of true independence.
That hard work is the key to success.

I've broken me back try' n to earn what I lack
What I've earned is a pile of regret.

For the dream has been turned into sawdust
Once burned bitter smoke and no more.

'Tis the bankers and lawyers, accountants and such
With their hands out have darkened my door

And feathered their nest with my sinews
Slaked their rough thirst with my blood

The faster I run to get into the sun
The longer my dark trail's become.

So I'll thank you to kindly take notice
That fairness ain't what it once was

We owe them a living and if we aren't giving
They'll take it away at a whack.

Our system's grown so convoluted
A simple man can't plot a course

A notice to pay at the end of the day
Is bureaucracy's only recourse.

When they come for me in the morning
They'll find naught but this empty shell

And the slug in my brain will have caused my last pain
As it blows me to heaven...or hell.

BAH. HUMBUG. not quite.

The impending holidays have had me a little blocked.....
This isn't my best, but it expresses some of the frustration I feel at this time of year.
If I offend my apologies....

Each sensation crowding in
The sounds, the smells, the sights.
A technicolor layer cake
More than a tad too bright.

The tree and decorations.
The cards the snow and fire
To sap my concentration
These and more conspire.

The holidays are wonderful
Festivities are grand
But they bring their own brand of stress
That gets way out of hand.

We all have expectations
We think we must fulfill
And come hell or high water
We'll fight to top that hill!

Wait.
Breathe.
Again.

This frantic quest
To get it right
Despite the competition.
That very word, is at odds with
The spirit of the tradition.

Peace. On earth.
Goodwill. Toward men.
Not stress and competition.

The Gaze

From far across the crowded room
And all of space and time

That haunted gaze, turned in and down
reached out and beckoned clear.

It spoke of pain and loneliness
Self doubt borne of travails

Of heart and soul abused and torn
When trust, misplaced, was shown.

It reached across that crowded room
And all of space and time

And gently wrenched a kindred soul
from sim'lar reverie.

Exquisite is the torture im-
posed by reality

There is no love without some
pain given and received.

The need, the ache, to bond and
meld - tempered hot and cruel

By knowing that to love means
risking self...and others too.

Living leaves a footprint, a mark the earth will bear
Loving scars and breaks the heart,

The signposts to a story
anxious to unfold.

Knowledge of that power is the anguish in that gaze.

Do we use it? Do we risk?
Yes. Oh yes.

I never know why.
I only know Who...

Bittersweet Epiphanies

By bittersweet epiphanies
We come to know our flaws.

The crazing of our porcelain,
The warping of our rails,
The static in our broadcast,
our small and epic fails.

They're triggered by a teacher
With a condescending tone,
The bully in the playground
The office or at home.

In the mirror that they offer
Darkly etched for all of time,
Gaunt and ugly, our reflection
Less our shattered paradigms.

Our response to that stark vision,
Tells our depth of character.

Do we learn and reassemble?
Do we prove the mirror wrong?
Or dissolve in dark regret?
adopt the Shadow's song?

There is one more epiphany
Unencumbered by the sweet.
Cleaving to the path of darkness
Beating light into retreat.

Mired in our dark reflection
When comes a child of light
Porcelain smooth and static free
we choose to act from spite.

And offer up the mirror...

With thanks to Loretta Leslie for suggested edits.

The Peace of The Pause

Dayjob frantic constant battle.
Hear me not you broken chord.

Striving in crowded seclusion
Blinders' focus goal employed.

Admin nightmare get it straight
Whirling eddies endless forms.

Makework breakwork pointless scraping 
value added? Wry retort.

Grinding halt. Exhaustion.

I look up and see
You. Connection.

Inspired by the poem Sing Me a Lullaby by Owen Habel Lwanda

Look through my eyes

Your verse is often hard on you
It speaks of faults and flaws.

I have no right and I won't ask
from whence this darkness comes.
Nor can I say that it's not there, for it is real to you.

Consider that the blackest night is welded to the dawn.
The one without the other is not Whole.

The black hole and the star are different aspects of the same
Cosmologic singularity.

And should your fate be the abyss, you would not be alone.
Nocturnal realms would bask in brightest day.

Look through my eyes.



Quantum Condensation

Schrödinger's Cat lives or dies
On the passion of the Observer.

Long as the bottle keeps it's seal
Ambiguity rules the day.

Add a dash of Möebius,
Make it a bottle by Klein.

Cat and Observer intertwined
Identity up for grabs.

Entanglement is a two way street.
Observe responsibly / passionately.

Cheshire

The Writing Room

There is a room to which I go when strick-
en by the muse. A quiet room with chair
and desk, my journal and a pen to write.

There is a fire and blankets for their warmth,
And windows on the ever changing world,
And solitude in which I may reflect

Upon the roiling static that occludes 

My senses as I struggle through the day, 

Oblivious to others as they are.

Alone? Not so, for in my journal comes

To life the others that I have perceived,

Though dimly, through the static of the world.

Reflection lets the tangled threads unwind.

I see and hear and feel you from afar.

I write with hope my words will make the trip

To you when you are in this room.

And so we share this place of solitude,

For now the world - our fears,  allow naught else.

Perhaps, some day when fears are set aside

This room will grow into the world.

The roiling static slowly fades away

Revealing chairs for two.

Son of with apologies to Stephen Fry

Exercise (3) in Messr. Fry's "The Ode Less Travelled."

Enjambment & Caesura (2). Write 5 blank iambic pentameter couplets, first without and then with.

(1) Something right outside your window.

The porch light reaches out into the night
The maple casts a shadow on the street

The maple swoons. It bleeds it's shadow on
The street, stabbed by the porch light in the night.

(2) Something you'd like to eat right now.

Some Mac and cheese with bread crumbs baked on top

And after coffee ice cream with mint chip.

The palate singed, burnt by the bubbling Mac
And cheese, is soothed and cooled by frozen cream.

(3) A recent dream.

Forgotten class, exams are nearly here,
Awakened in a pool of slimy sweat.

Forgotten class, A dream of school that leaves
Me full of fear and unprepared for tests.

(4) Pesky tasks overdue.

The tax return waits to be checked and filed
The trash exceeds the volume of the can.

Cannot decide. To check and file the tax
Return, or empty out the garbage can.

(5) My body.

Some belly flab and ears that do not match.
Both arches fallen and no muscle tone.

My body's faults, some belly flab and ears
That do not match, but which of them is worse?

Got it Bad (Good)

That giddy, little smile
Coming out of nowhere.

The twinkle in my eye
With no one else around.

The momentary sadness
When the voicemail takes the call.

The thrill of a +1
Or a comment on my post.

(You)

Inspired by the poem Three Steps by Lynn Paden


http://jamison.mysticmorph.net/2013/11/19/three-steps/

Time

Do you know
Who the timeout is really for?

Did you really miss the 2x4
I dropped
On your over-analytic head?

You're a 24 hour
Pest of a man.

Uninvited, spouting
Your obscure allusions.

Presuming you are welcome.

How can I miss
Such a clown?

How can I crave
Such tedium?

How
Can I be creative
Around such
Mind numbing static?

And when will you butt in again?

(return)

Central Market, Lancaster PA

Light from the edges, light from the ends
High, high space with ceiling fans
Keeping it all mixed up.

Aromas intertwined.
An inconceivable spice melange
Coffee punctuation.

Bustle, Jostle, make way please
Colors of crafts
Popping rice cakes

Light from the edges, light from the ends
High, high space with ceiling fans
Keeping it all mixed up.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner?
YES! Snacks too.
Coffee punctuation.

Strong Amish hands.
Some Amish boys too.
Chatting with a man in dreads, laughing together.

BYO Bags, if you please!
Smoothies, Juices
Veggies, meat.

Light from the edges, light from the ends
High, high space with ceiling fans
Keeping it all mixed up.

Coffee punctuation.

Milady's Jester

I am Milady's jester
And the author of my chains.

Her laughter forges links
About my heart.

Her loving smile the padlock
Which will surely seal my fate.

And yet...I care not for the key.

Swaddling Chains

Swaddled in these loving chains
I find it hard to move.

The links weigh down my every breath
And chafe against my skin.

Where once they gleamed they now corrode
And I am tarnished too.

Why won't I raise my fisted hand
And use the key within?

Cherished by this chainmail mask
I find it hard to see.

The links occlude my senses
and I can't tell where I've been

Where once they offered safety
they proscribe reality.

I'd like to raise my fisted  hand
and use the key within.

Chastened by this cleansing blade
I find release in pain.

The scars adorn my living flesh
as payment for my sin.

But soon the turmoil does return
and I must cut again.

I'll never raise my fisted hand
and use the key within.

Veterans Day - 11 November 2013

To all those serving and all who have served, thank you.

For all those who have paid the price of life, limb and sanity, a prayer.

May we be worthy of your sacrifice.

Reflections

Ocean stillness
Ocean rage.

Human passion
Written page.

Mercurial surface of the sea
Reflects the mind of humanity

The poets capture in their verse
What painter's pigments oft disperse.

Nature's patterns resonate
Human chaos reigns.

Inspired by the poem Ocean Bliss by Lynn Geist

http://goo.gl/lM8VBU

Time is an illusion

What is has always been
And will be forevermore

The spark is recognition
That our paths have crossed before

The knowing glance transcends
The miles and minutes in between

The illusion is the sense
That until now we've been unseen

Comfort calm and warmth comes
With the filters stripped away

A pause at the oasis
'Til we begin another day

Oh that this real communion
Stretched into all of time...

But it does.

Hacked

Bludgeoned spinal pathways
Bypassed sense of self

Broken to a "Master"
A shell and nothing else

Cast adrift and wand'ring
Of soul devoid and numb

"Master" self-styled Savior
Savoring a shell that's dumb

Spinal pathways followed
For finite eternities

Convinced Self did not matter
In the web of puppet strings.

An overheard admission
The breach in trust exposed

The fallacy is shattered
Myth? Fetid. Decomposed.

Whither will the infant?
Fullness comes in time

Credit to the "Master"?
None

Phantoms

Phantom limbs & phantom kisses
Deny the part of us that's gone.

Here, and not, the vacuum teases
Countercurrent Hope and Pain.

Nothing that is past is wasted
Scars are borne with quiet pride.

Steel is hardened by the working
Brittle after no return.

Bittersweet the balance beckons
Embrace the ambiguities

Progress Report 01

So. I've been at this blog for a little over three months and would like to spend a little time on how it's been going. The first stated goal "make writing a regular part of my day," has not been fully achieved; however, it has become much more frequent and much less terrifying. I attribute this small success to two things.

The first is the chaos. By keeping things unstructured, I've been able to go where my fickle interests take me. Some of anything is better than nothing; and like Mom always said, you've got to try new foods. So, I have fulfilled that absolute criteria allowing me to claim the craft. The Writer writes.  Hopefully, in time this will become enough of a habit that I'll be able to tackle my other blog....but I digress.

The second is the venue. An internet blog is a platform which offers unimaginable exposure and feedback. It's like I've applied to and been accepted in the most incredible writer's circle! I've been using Google + as an engine of exploration and have looked up and followed many fine writers, Wordwrights. As I have read their works, I eventually began making comments. Most often offering praise or support.

Sometimes my comments were more like the beginnings of my own humble efforts, the original post being the prompt. The muse often strikes fast and hard. The resulting rush to get it all out and down on 'paper' is a heady feeling, which until now (Yes, I mean RIGHT NOW!) has been but a dim memory.

This  is when a most interesting thing started to happen. Some of my comments got + 'd. Some of them got supportive replies. Eventually, I made my own post and linked it to one of the pieces here in this blog. A few more encouraging comments and then....I got circled back by people, by Wordwrights, whose work I admire and who I was following. Imagine the rush. I mean it. Right up there with getting the diploma or the bonus or ANY other recognition!

Whew! Breathe. Got a little catharsis going on here.

Anyway, I haven't scaled Everest. I haven't been published. But I am writing. And people are reading it. Even if most of it is just half....witty, yea, half witty comments on posts. And I'm a member of the best, most inclusive Writer's Circle there is. It's all of us.

Okay. I'm done for now. Thank you. I am truly grateful and will pass it on. ...and I hope you know who you are.

Rick

Pyre

tearandstrain
mothandflame
Witness to a tragedy

birdandpane
turnsoutthesame
Oblivious to Sanctu'ry

Watcher from the shadow prison
Helpless sees the play unfold
And in the night the damage leaps
from Flame to Moth 

to Watcher.

Silent tears of rage and loss.

And yet.
Hope.

(Phoenix)

Autumn Red

There is a red which certain maples wear
This time of year in Maine. It speaks in calm
Authoritative tones that banish trans-
ient woes.

When come upon it captivates the heart,
And gives observers pause to contemplate
It's fire juxtaposed with winter's coming frost.

Like the glimpse or scent of love absent

It's bittersweet embrace aches.

 with promise.

From Afar

Can you see me?
Wishing from afar.
Transparent.
In plain sight.

Can you hear me?
Wishing from afar.
Speechless.
When it matters most.

Can you feel me?
Wishing from afar.
Numb with fear.
The dream will fade away.

Terrified it won't.

Embrace the Ambiguities

The blue box in the vortex.
Interstices.
Eternities.
Companions on a Quest.

Words between the written lines.
Implication.
Inference.
The Bard and Audience.

The paper tugboat in the stream.
Abandoned.
Remembered.
Embrace the Ambiguities

Benthic Solitude

Sweet surrender beckons.

A Siren song floats from my lips
Thrice denied the ache arises
The song is swallowed with regret
And to the Shadow I return

Familiar darkness calls.

The depths and I embrace once more
Languid motion through the water
Caressing and caressed again
Alone the journey marches on

Fairy kingdoms on display.

Life in riots on the reef
Diverse spectrum all around
Bold and timid, bright and gray
Web of niches interwoven

Flora, fauna, symbiosis
All arrangements make the scene
Bio-chemo-geologic
And every discipline between

Human history preservation.

From the gloom a tragic treasure
Once afloat on sea or sky
At once eerie and compelling
Tell the tale of your demise

Brief encounter ends.

Tortured I release the rapture
Follow bubbles toward the light
Breaking surface inhalation
Reality intrudes again.

Sweet surrender beckons.

Son of Schoodic Point Reflection

Waves smash up and over the rocks of the point, propelled by an unimaginable confluence of minutiae and chaos. This is the quantum foam writ large - no better model than the surf on the shattered bones of the earth which is the Maine coast.

There are many walks of life present. All are reverent sentinels, each in their own way. Not unlike Easter Island, though somewhat more diverse. Most are at attention, facing south, together.

Schoodic Point Reflection

A foggy day on my own. Many visitors are on the point, couples, families with picnics and / or dogs. Lots of dogs here.

The breeze is light and the fog masks the working lobsterboats, all but the sound of their engines. Deep throated, chuffing diesels in the nursery of the fog, give rise to visions of dragons and krakens idling off the coast, just hoping an easy meal will set out from shore.

I still haven't seen the seal. I bet all the barking dogs can smell him. It's when they're all quiet that the visions in the fog become compelling. Best to follow the dogs' example, lest the boojum make known that you've seen it.

With apologies to Stephen Fry

I recently picked up a copy of "The Ode Less Traveled" by Stephen Fry on the recommendation of a poet I follow on Google+.

The sub-title , "Unlocking the Poet Within" explains all.

What follows is my attempt at exercise 2 - Iambic Pentameter. I'm afraid the reasons for the pre-emptory apology number about twenty and are all too self evident.

The grass calls out. It wishes to be mowed.
The mower chokes on clippings in it's throat.

The water pump comes on when pressure's low.
When pressure crests the top it cycles off.

Today I cooked the eggs with herbs and salt.
I added milk to keep them moist and soft.
I baked the bacon in a foil lined tray.
The cleanup thereby rendered into play.

Earthworms wriggle in the potting soil.

The Doctor is a countryman of yours.

In Hallowell the path becomes the street.

The blanket on the chair needs to be smoothed.

The state of plans at work are desolate.

Coffee after eight keeps me from sleep.

Duke, the dog, is laying in his bed.

The water's smell came from the dead chipmunks.

Progressive lenses make me turn my head.

My wife turns roving into woolen art.

In afternoon the deck gets very hot.

And here's a bonus. In the course of the exercise. I realized that this tweet, resulting from frustration with the weather, also meets the criteria:

Rick Andrew (@fmandrew) tweeted at 6:27 PM on Thu, Jul 04, 2013:
This rain, in Maine, is really quite a pain. http://t.co/i6RcQNqcex
(https://twitter.com/fmandrew/status/352916698573189122

Well Professor... Worth any extra credit?

Rank x IQ = Constant

Better is the enemy of good enough.

Rank x IQ = Constant.

These words on the blackboard welcomed me to my first graduate engineering course. The professor was trying to break the ice with a new crop of grad students, many of whom had been away from the academic environment for nearly a decade.

Although his words were chosen to lighten the moment, they were imbued with serious truths relative to all large scale human endeavors. Strangely enough, out of all the things I learned in the course of that program, these two are the ones that have stayed with me the longest and resonate with my day-to-day activities. Not that they are static. Time and experience have revealed the color and nuance in these truths.

We will leave the first for another time.

Rank x IQ = Constant.

Math is a language used by scientists to describe the truths of nature. It is used by engineers to describe the schemes by which they intend to bend nature to their will.

The "scientific truth" expressed by the equation above is that higher authority is out of touch and rendered dim by successive promotions.  Stated in mathematical terms, rank and intelligence are inversely proportional. Every promotion brings with it a commensurate reduction in mental capacity.

The fact that this equation elicited wry smiles from every member of the class indicated that each of us grasped the fundamental mathematics and had, at least in concept, experienced the validity of the equation in some real world application.

The "engineering scheme" springs from a thorough understanding of the nature of rank which reveals an opportunity.

Fundamentally, rank represents an individual's position in the hierarchy or chain of command of an organization. If span of control is considered an integral attribute of rank, a promotion implies a broadening of responsibility over a larger swath of the enterprise, it's products, processes, and people. This new expanded context must be considered at each decision point. Calculation of specific outcomes becomes more complex and takes more time. The prudent executive becomes more thoughtful. This might be perceived as a loss of effective intelligence.

Where is the opportunity in this? If the nature of decision points can be tailored by rank and projected farther into the future with increasing rank, so that today senior management is considering strategic policies which impact  business relatively far in the future, while the front line supervisor is focused on tactical decisions regarding work on the floor, the truth of the equation will be harnessed to provide a continuum of preparation.

Of course this is easier said than done and requires a willingness on the part of the recently promoted to step back and release their old, tactical jobs to qualified subordinates. It also requires customer understanding and acceptance of the strategic product horizon.

Thanks for listening.