It’s an intestinal thing Guts telling me what is what Surveying the landscape Pairs are everywhere
In the air On the ground Then
A single shadow Falls As tall as a eucalyptus
The dreaded pang Grips the soul Compassion-less Without conscience Or intent It just is
Perception triggers chemicals Small voices speak You are Lonely “You are.” A most horrible, immutable declaration?
Over the chasm Balanced on the taught line My love for being alone Staying focused, on the line And becoming lonely, Falling headlong Into the chasm
Over the last several years it has become apparent that I have some sort of focusing “disorder”, although fully functional in the work environment. But when my time is my own, I go to multiple expressive outlets for peace and self-understanding. This “syndrome” requires “plate spinning” when it comes to important relationships. To walk away from these expressive outlets leaves me unfulfilled. But to lose someone I love dearly to these addictions would be a fate worse than death. So, a wide view and awareness is always required. Nothing is more valuable than when someone says “I love you” or “let’s do something together”.
I might be too old to write about the birds and the bees. That’s alright. I went ahead and added some music and video just to confirm what I already knew. It’s the little things that make life interesting. I wrote a poem for this project, forgot about it, then wrote another one with a slightly different perspective. They’re both here:
We are obsessively enslaved To our own sense of place and order Every room has a function Every place, a purpose
Rarely do we consider
The genius of nature’s chaos
Sing for a mate
And in the same spot
A rabbit is torn
Limb from limb
To feed a coyote
In that same spot Sweet pea feeds a hungry bee In symbiotic friendship
Grass dies quickly Tree claims victory, Sleeps during the cold months And again fights Grass’ resurrection in the spring
We see disorder Because we are blind To what real order can be We are disruptions to harmony
Listen to the song Join the chorus
Birds called to me Singing songs of lifted joy “You must have seen her! This path Of long lost journeys.
Her beautiful legs Now brightly adorned In skirted magic All aglow in purple And yellow Brighter than the sun.
Even the bees Can’t escape Her seductive sweetness Drawn to her Unknowingly, Hopelessly hypnotized.
Have you ever seen Such full, thick trim? Stroked By gentle breezes Braided By fiddle-necks and mustard
Everything Is drawn to her now. Everything Even you. You have no answer for it Neither have you the will To fight away Her calling”
Red were those evenings That year was to be extraordinary Although, being my first I had no idea And to this day Everything has changed
It was 2009, or maybe 2008. Not sure any more, and it really doesn’t matter. I could position myself north of our little lake and wait for the ducks to fly in. It occurred like clockwork for many days. The sun would have fallen and I would stand in the shadows making multiple exposure dreamscapes with these fast flyers. What a rush. I have tried many times to recreate that scenario only to wait in total futility.