CLVII
Another papered pier from which
to cast
Randomly into the pool of time
That I might serve you
In whatever way
Your essence
In chance
Directs mine.
* * * *
A day in the mists of time
In one madman’s mind.
* * * *
Pure awareness transcends all.
* * * *
You must be very subtle to
discern oneness,
For it is even more so.
* * * *
What goes up must come down.
The trick is not to tumble too
harshly.
* * * *
Even the most routine, menial
chore
Is profound in its mystery.
* * * *
Ranting away
A pleasant day a-scribing this
way and that.
Nowhere to go but now.
* * * *
The scribbles of eternity.
* * * *
Peer into a mind of madness
beyond all recognition.
* * * *
A day for all to tell.
* * * *
Is there any end to the vanity?
Only in the moments most still.
* * * *
So much absurdity the root of all
minds.
* * * *
You are your most worthy
opponent.
Your most appreciative and
deriding audience.
* * * *
The challenge: To play the play
in such a way
That its repercussions do not
Harshly bend
In the morrow’s sun.
* * * *
Sometimes hard against all walls,
Sometimes soft like winter’s
drizzling,
Sometimes cried out, sometimes
whispered,
But always a reply in the echoing
halls of eternity.
* * * *
Prove me wrong if you can.
* * * *
Every peak has its valley,
Every valley its peak.
* * * *
How seamlessly time really
travels.
* * * *
The winds of time sweep through
your veins.
* * * *
What will be the zenith of your
existence?
The benchmark, hallmark,
milestone, landmark,
The kernel of why you were born?
What is your calling?
Your most compelling reason to
continue?
* * * *
Why are you here but to be here
now.
* * * *
Best dreamily unread.
* * * *
You will not likely find too many
people
Less motivated by thoughts
Of personal gain.
* * * *
In the beginning, all beginnings,
Beginning and beginning and
beginning,
Again and again and again, until
the end of all endings,
Ending and ending and ending,
ever again and again and again.
At least in your endless
imaginings of endings beginning,
And beginnings ending, again and
again and again.
* * * *
If there ever was such a thing.
* * * *
Let the children
Have their innocence.
There will be time enough
To trample their dreams.
* * * *
You do many things in this world
Of which scant few are even
remotely aware.
* * * *
A work written by the casual
observations of daily living.
* * * *
Water does not stay motionless
for long.
* * * *
Life can be very serious,
So be sure to play as much as
possible.
* * * *
A good shot inevitably leads to
bad,
And visa-versa.
* * * *
Perfectly done in such a
mismatched way.
* * * *
Divine riddles for those who
would discern the jewel.
* * * *
Wisdom says be done with it soon
lest time’s passing
Make suffering all but too
painful to bear.
Oh, but the next moment
Again entices
The mortal eye onward.
Ahh, there’s time enough for
dust.
* * * *
A dig at which you can scrape all
day,
And still come up empty-handed.
* * * *
Why are you always confined to
“other”
In the choices given?
* * * *
The sweat and toil and travail of
all time
Glistened from that one drop upon
your brow.
* * * *
From the shoulder of Captain
Black,
The parrot squawks irony and
jest.
* * * *
Can one moment truly be more
profound
Than any other?
* * * *
No greater vanity
Than to think you are god
Above all others.
* * * *
With ill-reputed aim,
The barbed point
Doeth hit its tender mark.
* * * *
Is there a more unhappy fate than
to be cast away
On some desolate reef-bound
shore?
Good god, yes,
You might be a FedEx executive.
* * * *
Take care, you abide
Within the ever-changing
tolerances
Of your mortal container.
* * * *
It is pleasant to feel so rich
with so little.
* * * *
Do not wander into the shoals
Before your craft is ready.
* * * *
Fly high,
But be sure your landing gear is
working.
* * * *
The nice thing about being a
mystic
Is there’s no such thing as
senility.
Dementia is the closet thing to
home.
* * * *
Even the dullest blade
Slices through mortal flesh.
* * * *
These words are like the snippets
An electrician leaves behind.
* * * *
Editing and re-editing
Is an ever-likely, on-going
function
Of any creative process.
* * * *
Death is only a deprived breath
away.
* * * *
How deluded those who believe
what one ingests
Has any correlation to one’s
spiritual awareness.
* * * *
Debunk it all.
* * * *
Another pad fallen to these mad
scribbles.
* * * *
Look closely,
And see clearer still.
* * * *
To be known as a philosopher,
What kind of fate is that?
* * * *
What tawdry excuse this time?
* * * *
So given to spontaneity
That on this fine day
You did knowingly, and with great
intent,
Ingest one small square of
perforated, light white cardstock
Colored on one side with an intricate
decoration,
About which you did not much
bother.
* * * *
A pleasant day,
Cooking, cleaning, eating, doing
laundry, exercising,
Writing away all the while.
* * * *
Well, little eight-legged,
You have every right to exist,
But not in this zone, so out you
go.
* * * *
Well enough is good
As the table yawned, its jaws
glistening.
* * * *
You would think me convincingly
mad
If you were to see me scurrying
From task to paper to task
Again and again and again.
Such pleasure dallying in
wordplay.
An amusing passion if ever there
was one.
* * * *
A pleasant day,
Cooking, cleaning, eating, doing
laundry, exercising,
Writing away all the while.
* * * *
Another useless, exhausting
project
Looms large upon the horizon.
Will they never cease?
* * * *
We cannot all be ambitious for
the same fool’s gold, can we?
* * * *
Another lesson learn,
And probably soon to be
forgotten.
* * * *
And what do you do in the face of
such madness?
* * * *
The agony comes
When you try to figure it all out
Without a twist of paradox,
An ironic smirk,
If you will.
* * * *
Is there anything more tasty
Than fresh-cooked rice
With a little olive oil,
flavoring,
And a full mug of green tea on
the side?
Mmm, mmm, yummy-ummy good.
* * * *
What so many call intelligent
Is not really intelligent at all.
* * * *
Let us not tarry over a rag.
* * * *
Politicians are merely bumps on a
log
With more tolerance for being
there
Than even the most resolute bump.
* * * *
Often time the perfect match
Is not discerned at the time.
* * * *
Surely Sir, you cannot reasonably
expect
That we can keep up with every
royal regulatory whim.
Get a life, dude.
* * * *
Feeling a bit scrunched out of
shape,
We are today.
* * * *
Of all the nerve,
Don’t you people know this is my
laundromat?
* * * *
They were,
And they’re gone now.
Get over it.
* * * *
The universe dances before your
senses.
* * * *
Ye who would throw the first
stone,
Look to your own flaws.
They are many.
* * * *
From that deep, philosophical
place
From whence arise such questions
As “I wonder when I’ll get laid
next.”
And “Do you think he likes my
hair?”
* * * *
Try not to do things you’ll
regret later.
* * * *
It is for days such as these
That you drudge on
Through the knee-deep slog,
The endless “Very Important
Business”
Of this human condition thickly
steeped in absurdity.
* * * *
Looking as though he has
something to hide,
He moves about with poorly acted
nonchalance.
* * * *
To what ends will our play of
language take us?
Would that the material plan
could stay so fresh.
* * * *
How much sweeter the world would
be
If there was more common courtesy
to each other
And the many others yet to come.
* * * *
Drying out as we speak.
* * * *
Not sure in what way
That’s supposed to be attractive,
But if it works for you, carry on
as best ye may.
* * * *
For some, much easier
To be discourteous to strangers;
For others, to one’s relations
and friends.
* * * *
Sorry babe/dude, in your case,
gravity’s already winning.
* * * *
Look to Easter Island
For the answer to questions
Of this world’s future.
* * * *
Don’t quite know what it’s like
for other mystic sojourners,
But I can tell you it hasn’t been
easy at this end.
It’s taken a lot of very adroit
foolishness
To become such an adroit fool.
* * * *
Time better spent
Might be time
Contemplated less
Spending it elsewhere.
* * * *
To do and re-do again and again
All that is the same, no one to
blame.
* * * *
Another day funneling into
memory.
* * * *
To see the infinity, you must be
the infinity.
* * * *
You are all the proof required.
* * * *
Surrender to eternity, not its
forms.
* * * *
Not a good idea to let food
relieve your boredom.
* * * *
One vast movement
In which you are such a tiny
witness.
* * * *
The end, you think?
No, only just another beginning.
* * * *
The
issue with any learning curve
Is
the length of the curve, and the situation.
And
learning curves are, by their own merits, fathomed.
*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The
Stillness Before Time (Compendium)
©
Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World
Rights Reserved