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Tag: life

Let’s Toast: stave

It makes no sense to soldier on;
the dusk looks so much like the dawn
that even should the sun eclipse
there is no cause to do backflips
or celebrate the coming day.
But come, let’s toast life, anyway!

Each day begins and ends the same;
with no specific cause to blame
except that living tends to drone
and carry on. You’re born alone,
and by exception find your way.
But come, let’s toast life, anyway!

You buy and sell each moment’s art;
it can’t survive, if split apart
from what creates it, the bruised whole
that struggles to maintain control
and tolerate each passing day.
But come, let’s toast life, anyway!

In vain, we seek to understand;
inventing myths, and gods, and man,
as if we had creative strength
except to measure, width and length,
the box we’ll fill, returned to clay.
But come, let’s toast life, anyway!

What is the point of this charade?
Just prancing horses, on parade,
whose blinders lead just straight ahead
and walk until they fall down dead.
We know this, but walk night and day.
But come, let’s toast life, anyway!

05 JUN 2017

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Eclipse: Shakespearean (English) sonnet

There is no time to lose, soothsayers tell us;
Make hay! The sun will shine just for a while,
and once it’s gone, the world will turn to rust,
deprived of motive power, warmth, and style.

All things depend on endless solar power,
that radiating energy that fuels
the moments of our lives, the days and hours,
the actions of both conqueror and fool.

While artificial light may serve its purpose,
there is no life without organic heat
extending far beyond the simple surface
into the core, where being’s heart must beat.

Such darkness none on earth have ever known
like what will come when the sun’s fuse has blown.

1 JUN 2017

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Causes Worth Fighting: Petrarchan sonnet

We each must choose the causes worth our fighting
from a great myriad of pointless quests
designed to breed confusion in our breasts
and keep the fuse inside us from igniting.

The frivolous is made to seem exciting;
it titillates and leads our thoughts astray.
We lose momentum somewhere on the way,
and valor turns from acts to talk and writing.

And then, the courage fueling forward motion
begins to wane, reduced from flame to spark;
we stagnate, turned from blood and flesh to stone.
What starts as dedication and devotion
slips fast away from bright to cold and dark;
our coalition lost, we fade, alone.

31 MAY 2017

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Day Flight: rannaigheacht mhor

Each new day is so fleeting:
like a busy bee flitting
between its sweet hits, floating,
never slowing nor quitting.

Life’s made of days flying:
sighed hellos and then goings.
Through each room we go gliding:
near colliding, then dying.

19 APR 2017

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Simple Ways: pantoum

Some say that simple ways are still the best;
as we add complication, things decline.
How we live puts that principle to test:
it’s so subjective, what one thinks is fine.

So, adding complication wreaks decline?
Stop making babies; that’s simple enough.
It’s so subjective, what one thinks is fine;
applying principles yourself – that’s tough.

Stop making babies; but that’s not enough.
End all this mad charade of cheating death.
Applying principles yourself is tough;
it’s work that needs more effort than just breath.

End all this mad charade of cheating death!
The purpose of this life is growing old.
it’s work that needs more effort than just breath;
those simple ways, if possible, are best.

11 APR 2017

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Blank Canvas: kyrielle

Believe it: in a moment’s time,
what plans you’ve made can all unwind
and with a splash of turpentine
your canvas is again a blank.

No matter the expense and time
in pigment, brushes, sweat and wine,
no other act is as sublime:
your canvas is again a blank.

Perhaps it’s opportunity:
to start again, to disagree
with first intent, to be set free.
Your canvas is again a blank.

Or maybe just a timely prick;
ego’s balloon deflates so quick.
True art employs such dastard tricks:
your canvas is again a blank.

The simple blinking of an eye,
and one’s whole lifetime flashes by
before an ounce of paint is dry,
your canvas is again a blank.

The painting is your legacy,
but won’t reflect the means, you see,
only the end is guaranteed:
your canvas is again a blank.

31 MAR 2017

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Time Travel: katauta

What is this thing life?
Even stuck still in amber
the passage of time remains.

What use is living?
Even the largest river
remembers the breeze touching.

What is this thing life?
Keeping track of each minute
wastes yet another minute.

30 MAR 2017

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