Love and other inconveniences.

The frivolous practice of being 'in love' pales in comparison to the art of knowing how to love. Elizabeth Barret Browning worked it all out in her sublime poem:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

"An early bird may get the worm... but the second mouse gets the cheese".

A quote I read today floored me and here's why;  the two sides are unequally matched.  How can an early bird be compared to a lazy mouse, and worms with cheese? Many discussions and arguments have arisen where the combatants try to strengthen their point by crooked thinking. It might win a couple battles but they're usually short lived.  In London slang it's called 'comparing apples to oranges'.  The argument is inherently flawed.  So let's not compare, because when we do we'll find ourselves in hot water.

You may delay, but time will not. ~Benjamin Franklin

To my inbox each day Merriam-Webster sends a daily word and last week the word 'procrastinate' appeared but I waited until today to open the email and (for the sake of a good story and poetic license) the definition came with a thumbnail pic of my face.  It was unpleasant, not my face that is, but the fact that I am indeed the definition of late.  My Dad has described me and my incessant tardiness as, "always late, but worth the wait".  Thanks Dad, thanks for turning cold porridge into strawberry shortcake.  I remember a job I had where my boss and patrons would place bets on the time I arrived to work.  Totally flustered, I'd burst through the door with all the "sorry's" under the sun, while a portion of them erupted and money changed hands.  I showed up early one time and there was such an uproar that they decided amongst themselves that I was to be disqualified because no one imagined that I'd ever be early for work.  Silly men, drinking beer, like puppies playing ball.  Those were the days working at The Bee and I've been meaning to talk about them for a while but I've put it off until now.

Anyway, where was I? Turning trivialities into the meaningful?  It's 2011 and according to the Mayan calender I've got one year to shape up or ship out.  According to the Mayans, we have less than one year to make something up, I mean, make something out of ourselves for the big "show and tell" performance come 2012.  I'm formulating a case convincing enough to buy me more time and at best another chance.  It's not that I'm scared of dying, I'm just frightened by the projects I've started and may never finish.  Hmm, eleven and a half months to go.  Now that's pressure, but if it weren't for the last minute, I wouldn't get anything done.

Taken from the latest Great Lake of Salt

Messages In The Sunset

Like sparks from a hot saw blade
Rotating slow-motion below the horizon
Supernatural light in distorted refraction gradually bends
Along the thin line of twilight 
Longitude and latitude
Tilting the axis of our souls in silent awe

God's translucent nocturnal art
Of divine fireworks bathes us
In His intense spectrum of wavelengths
Creating an afterglow of defused smiles
Then overcasts these sublime reflections
Catching fire in the watery eyes of humility

Stretching forth His kodachrome hand
Suspending His symphony of colors within a stillness
Displaying gentle flashes of fearful and trembling hues
Taking us home momentarily
To regenerate us in preparation
For His next gift of a new brilliant sunrise

markusurealious/windpoet

Synergy: A Collaboration. A Piece of our minds.

Dave Christensen sent me the following prose.  After ingestion and many hours I folded it into a poem.   

Friends and Computers:

For some really stupid reasons we file some away forever; yet a few eventually make it out of the bin and recycle back. A few might be in a police file, and there are some who probably should be in the X files. There are those who can play our hearts like a keyboard and whisper all types of digitized sweet nothings to brighten our screens. Other times we search for the right passwords to bring back those we have defaulted, trying everything we can to open them back up to us again. Those that we inadvertently cut might later feel like pasting us....and also think about putting a boot-up our @*#! Real special ones know just how to gently defrag us. On occasion we turn ourselves into fine-tuned engines and search for just the right one to surf through the rest of our life together with. Yet so many times we somehow never let get downloaded the right programs to upgrade us. Then there is God, Who knows us all without ever having to use google. Who can processes trillions of requests - then answer them all in the twinkling of an eye, sending his Spirit to virus scan our hearts in order to restore our hard driven souls - reinstalling purpose as He Casts His Net. He then leaves it entirely up to us if we want to be deleted out of his Facebook of life or not... but would rather have us all His best friends forever.

Mr KKBB

***

And this is what came out the other end...

An Ode; To the Few 

Seasons of men are filed
and reviled
reasons for that which they lack;
'Tis treason to assume
that a few in their gloom
can't recycle themselves from their bins and back.

A few
might be logged in police piles,
and some who belong in the X files.
There are those who can play our hearts like a keyboard,
typing with whispers in digitized dreams 
to sweeten our screens
Ice scream!

A few
are searching for passwords
with swords to bring the defaulted
and exalted.
Trying in pain
to reach and to teach
opening wounds up again,
in vein.

A few
by mistake
we've cut up like cake.
And in place of a hand
(just for good measure and with way too much pleasure) 
we've offered a swift boot to the head.
Instead.

A few
of the silent know how to coerce
and gently defrag us.
No cuss.
No fuss.

A few
are brighter than most!
Outstanding alone and tall as a post!
Winking and shining, tugging her boats from out of the bleak...
upon shores of rocks
designed for the weak.

A house of light....

Is He.
Knowing us inside and out.
Without google, or frugle, or poodles with noodles, processing trillions and squillions of rants 
twinkling His eye from out of the skies
scanning our hearts
and restoring the hard
driven souls from our wants 
and desires.
Installing the wires
again and again
in the rain.

Not a few
but for all!
 
His net stretching wide to catch the Fall;
The deleted, deflated, fragmented, placated, the Faces with and without.
Booking the lives of our time.
Sublime!

So from out of the bin
all's forgiven
He's risen!

Lending us time
to climb
back again
with renewal
of a greater precision.

***

Learning how to say sorry

I've been angry at the world lately and took it out on a friend last night firing off vitriolic emails which were unfounded and not even close to the truth. I'm up late because I was up late last night talking with my Delta airline connection which will bring me back to the WINDs of POETry. With regards to the woman I offended I have apologized and made amends and learned; It doesn't matter if one steps in s*** but how one wipes it off. And I did both successfully. One can only hope for forgiveness. I will be forever a student of life. And a disciple of the Pollen Pathway.