7.8b Stories….

….and mine is just one

Flying in the dark
acting the part
“I know where I’m going”

It’s much easier
Now that most if it
Is behind me

But when I watch the movie
So many scenes
Lay on the cutting floor

I look for regret
Even he has flown away
Once kept in my coat pocket

All that work
Should mean something
More than countless struggles

She kisses my cheek
Says “good night”
Reminder of my gems

So many stories
Unfolding at once
Mine is just one




The Outside World

The most used
That is, overused
Cliche
Pushed-in-your-face
Image
Becomes that
For good reason

Turns out, the outside world IS still the world. No amount of staying inside has changed anything!
Robin and I headed to Mission Beach to meet with some friends vacationing there. There were very few masks being worn (by the masses), although I had my covering at the ready.
We made some photographs of the families and headed home.
On the way, we stopped and sat on the wall at the Boardwalk.
And just watched the sunset.

Typically, when I open my “PHOTO” main folder and head to one of my main sub folders, I will find photos saved within that calendar year. There are sub-folders cataloged by year-month-day. Within each month there will be 1-3 outings per week.
Since late February I have cataloged 3 outings.
I wish I could say it’s COVID, and maybe some of it is. There are also other responsibilities tugging at my time. So perhaps this year will be a big bust for photography….through September/October. After that, I hope to resume my outings.

Metamorphosis 2

The decision
To fly to the sun
Seemed easy enough at the time.

We just wanted nice.
Agreeable.
Not prone to violent swings.

But staying aloft
The thermals failed
And pushed us to extremes
We watched each other die
Many times.

Each corpse
Each empty shell of our former selves,
Fell to earth.
Resolute
We flew against the cold
Wings stronger than previous

Where were those children
Looking for false dreams
Perpetuated by fools?
Through sheer will
With one lifting the other
While the skies folded in on itself
Did we find ourselves
On the other side.

Love is an odyssey whose only guarantee is that no one in it or practicing it will or ever should, stay the same. It is terrifying and painful, and wonderful.



ESCAPE-ISM

This is where I go
When the world goes mad
Everyone telling me
I must choose a side now
I must pass judgment now

Every man
Is my brother
Good, or not good

I mourn my brothers
Whose lives are so broken
That they find themselves
Forcefully subdued

I mourn my brothers
That find themselves
Bestowed with power
Beyond their control

I find mourning much more pragmatic than picking, or making a side, which will ultimately yield nothing of value. It requires circumspection, introspection, and a willingness to suffer at the hand of all truths.
However, as long as I have lived, and from what I’ve witnessed, mankind simply lacks the wherewithal to make this the standard.
Seemingly, we just want vengeance, dressed up in all sorts packages. That approach will never address the core problems. When will we learn?

Subjugated

Honestly, I’m not sure
What to think
Of these days of uncertainty
As if uncertainty
Was never a part of our living
And dying
Are we so much wiser
Being able to see the unseeable
Panic filling our hearts
Pretending
To stave off the inevitable
Knowledge enough
To hide like mice?

We ask ourselves
Is it enough to be alive
While not living
By what measure
Will one consider
Infinity
Coming to that final conclusion
That realization of consciousness
That those things we can control
Should never
Control us?