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Tag: bob and wheel

The Bright Pearl: bob and wheel

Published on April 23, 2025

The world is filled with ancient stuff;
it came alive before our time
enslaved it, chained to days and hours,
and thought its might could humbly serve
our desire.
We thought we knew the way:
might, right, and fire,
And so hastened the day
when our kingdoms expire.

The world is always new and bright;
it births each day despite our work
to cage and bottle energy
and dole it out to better serve
their masters.
We think we rule alone.
Despite each new disaster,
pretending the unknown
is just hell’s ever-after.

The world is what we make it, yet
its underlying stuff persists
far past our lives and then beyond.
It does not care much for our whims
or dreaming.
We think we know such much:
that being is in seeming,
and jewels we can touch
for only us are gleaming.

23 APR 2025



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The World Begins: bob and wheel

Published on January 20, 2017

Today the world begins or ends;
we celebrate both birth and death,
and in between, our lives stretch on
in days and nights all much the same.
Who is to blame?
Some fools would blame the child,
while others seek the cause
among the sick, defiled,
and dying who create our laws.

What is the truth we seek to find?
Some reason that our side is right,
to justify our lust and greed
and bathe ourselves in light.
But what is right?
No system forms its cage,
no moral code defines its bounds.
Not boundless joy nor rage
can claim what is not found.

The world transforms from night to day;
we bask in light or hide in shade.
In neither state do we reflect
a righteous sense of purpose.
Are we then worthless?
What use is thinking so?
While there is breath, take air
and seek out those who throw
their lot with you, out there.

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I Will Not Dwell: a bob and wheel

Published on November 18, 2010

I will not dwell on might-have beens,
nor doubt the world’s slow turn;
but fill my world with verdant greens,
with love’s unending yearn
    to learn
    of things beyond my reach,
    just out of sight and mind;
    what dreams and shadows have to teach,
    what fools and dreamers find.

I will not drown in endless tears,
nor mourn the days now past;
but instead relish those sweet years
as bricks and mortar cast
    to last
    what’s left of my short time,
    an edifice to stand
    in memory of me and mine,
    the work of my own hand.

I will not fear death, when it comes,
as it does for all things:
when my life’s constant, beating drum,
desists its pulsing ring
    and sings
    instead in silent song
    of energy released
    to other use, that moves along
    and finds, in new life, peace.

18 NOV 2010

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An April Morning: anglo-saxon prosody with a bob and wheel

Published on April 6, 2004

The sky was shot with grays and greens,
and clinging clouds that hung low;
from the west, the wind was slight
against my face that April night
     when first
     I found I’d lost my way;
     and more, what’s worse,
     with nothing left to say:
     a writer’s sad curse.

I stood in silence, stunned and mute
and watched the world continue on;
Despite my dumbness, nothing changed
in how life lumbers slowly on
      and stops
      for no one, rich or poor;
      both thieves and cops
      react, and nothing more,
      as each moment drops.

For quite a while, I watched and waited,
’til the lights lowered and dawn was near,
as the darkened earth began to glow
with the soft shimmer of newborn day
      and awoke
      stretching its tired limbs,
      the spell of gloom broken
      by a small bird’s hymn.
      And only then, I spoke.

06 APR 2004

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