Where Have All The Madmen Gone?

Out of Synch
Out of synch madness

 

Lost opportunities
Missed people
To avoid
Out of art’s mind
Mis-fitted driven mad
Beauty un-enjoyed

Curated eyes delighted edges
Whom seek unseen art
Deprive a brocken world again
Already locked apart
Of crazy is insane

In Synch Madness Waywardspirit Art

Paradox

 

Scars

Make me human

Scars

Tell my story

Scars

Give me character

Scars

Don’t define me

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Sunshine

Admiration

Sprinkled abroad

with glee

 To regard each

 Person20160426_160959.jpg

Just as fine as me

*

 

Stairway

Stairway

To heaven

Or

Stairway

From hell

Depends

Where you start

And how far

You fell

*

 

 

Painted Days

Some mornings

Need More color red

Afternoons more Bright blue swirls

Yellow stars of expectation

The color palette’s yours

Abstract

*

Soul Tan

 

 

 

Solitude

The sun

 Sweet twisty power

I

I

I

The

Sunflower

*

 

Obstacles

Don’t feel it

Not today

Too much to do

 Look away

Sleeping doesn’t satisfy

Watching isn’t bliss

I need to be a part of things

There’s no way out of this

*

It Just Does

He makes you

Belive the sun

It shines for you

All night

The crossroads is

It’s true

It is

Just not here from him

To you

Net Intellectual Develompent

A place

To risk a whisper

An ear

As big as light

  Connected minds

What substance matters

Woven stars

All Night

Return It

Borrowed to be

This to do list

Of what

  Why

 A story of me

Ways

Unquestioned reasons

A copy

Place

Dissapointment compost

 Dirt after it rains

The smells it grows

Feeds you from pains

Life Cycle

Somehow knows

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You

Twirling

Around the sun

with you

What fun

What fun

What fun!

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Earth

us

Currencies

 

Value in what

Priceless for sale

Art currents

Fake fate

Discounted souls

Surrender

art dying heart Waywardspirit

Out!

Closeted beings

Asleep in your bed

Body’s un-life

Crouched starved smothered head

 shriveled 

Dying – undead

 

Posted hung secret

Collectively held

Bodies melt to skeletons

The smell the smell

The smell!

Dinnertime

To consume the beauty of the moon
Like cheese of light
On bread of quiet
Every night

Dinnertime

Out-caster

Of smiles and time
Simmer disaster
Lock up the circles
Social out-caster
Armed the langth
unfurl uproot book
Show it defeat
with a look

First Drawer

Suitcase

 

It has an ugly cow on it in yucky orange

But all my stuff fits in it

The bottom is hard

But I can carry it

Big words on it are not my name

Like I thought

But All my shirts and pants fit in

The yucky cow is dumb

But it has handles on it

I want a pretty cow

But the zipper zips

And all my stuff fits

I can carry it

It’s all mine

Zip zip zip

Giggle

Giggle

Giggles creep
From Neverland
Echo melts
Cream skies
Willowing divinity
The very same
As cries

Bedtime

 

Bedtime

Sleep
Come to earth
Dream tears
Wonder mirth
Mare life
Play this game
Giggle
From till birth
*

Green Superstition

Superstition

Archaic

Modern device

Keeps a world

Coherent

Till green wonder 

More than

Twice

 

Newspaper

Who is paper

What is news

Morning and mornings

Like coffee persued

The same

Reincarnated

Daily

or manic

Newspaper

You?

 

Reality. Really?

Security richness joy
Already installed
Reboot

Power switch
Re-create experience
By feeling what is not

Neither is heart
Nor want

Not that
Not art

In this life model app
Desire attracts support

LIght Way

The Missing- We Miss Out

Missing people strangers

Out of art’s mind

Mis-fitted driven mad

Beauty un-enjoyed
wpid-1349802363048.jpg
Curated eyes

Delighted edge

Seeing un-made art

Deprive a brocken world again

Already locked apart

Of crazy

Is insane

Story Existing

Existing Between Story Lines

You make me
Feel

I live in

The books I read
Still

A cyber story space

Nowhere in story

Somewhere
To meet you there my friends

We all exist between the lines

Of the words that we create
Life

A living spirit jumps

Peacefully off this page

I keep it

It keeps me

Waywardspirit Art Existing StoryCompany

 

Dare

Government immature ineffective

I immature ineffective

Not only are
Bad guys bad
I am bad
For how I see
Bad guys

I am everything bad
Everything good

You need me

If I don’t,

It won’t

Become

World-peace

Done

A person lost

-A horse shoe nail

Modern horseshoes are most commonly made of st...

 

Does Life Give You A Choice?

Hardness or Harness -A Poem

My passion  she –
She chose her Way
My now
My choice
How to
Not
Or feel
Today

   ***

Family-Waywardspirit Art

Hardness or Harness-A story

My baby might not live she whispers; hollow calm lands on my stunned disbelief.

I’m staring at nothing, holding my breath mind goes blank. It’s about the phone. How did I get a call here?

This is a clinic. I’m at a clinic for my pre-natal. No one is that interested in my baby or my check up. It’s just us now. Who would call here for me or care how my check up went? When I walked out of the exam room, The nurse blankly informs me I have a phone call. Before I can protest, some confusion, she qualifies.

You are Jessica LeBaron right?

I nod.

She leads me to the front desk. Confused shock has me when the receptionist staring at the file cabinet hands me the phone.

I’m bewildered.

I didn’t give anyone this number.

Shock didn’t know which to choose, Eva’s unexpected voice and those words. What do they mean? How did I get any call at a midwives’ office.

Eva knows I would be at a clinic on Ben White. That’s it. She is seeing her doctor today too. We were going to talk about our maternity checkups when we got home.  Our random appointments ended up being on the same day. This serendipity delights us. Not as much as finding our we are due within the same two weeks though. We thought of riding together to our appointments, but it hadn’t worked out. Our appointments were at almost the same time like our babies, at opposite ends of town.

We were room mates after I got separated, till she got married. We are best friends. We are having babies together. We are excited. We both laugh a lot-till now.

I lose control of my jaw.

Did you hear what I said: My baby isn’t going to live.

She is quiet till I grasp and gasp.

Oh, Eva! I whisper into the receiver.

My baby is not going to live, she repeats with stunned emotion.

Oh. All I can do is sigh.

I’m calling you first because I know you would understand. Would you come over?

Yes, I’ll be right over. I’ll be right there.

Okay, then.

We hang up.

I turn around and rush back to the midwife.

Please help me! My throat clenches tears in my eyes. My friend. She just found out her baby may not live. What do I do? How do I help her?

I don’t feel like I can do her any good.

They tell me how to just be there, to listen and allow her to grieve. I can help then, I figure.

We were going to meet at my apartment. But I go to hers, now. She is on the couch wrapped up in her arms staring into space. She turns and stares at me. Just stares. We stare at each other. The emotional territory was to expansive and explosive to enter. Everything is numb and blank and hurt.

I’m going to a specialist for another sonogram. The doctor is sure of what he sees, or doesn’t see, but he sent me to a specialist. I can’t believe he knows what he is talking about.

I need to calm down.  I need to call mom and dad. I still have to tell Jon. How do I tell Jon? I can’t tell Jon!

Jon is out-of-town for another few weeks on in-between job training for the new one. Eva’s parents live in Arizona. She asked me to come. We go to the second appointment together. It’s scheduled around my classes. It was the quickest appointment she could get. Either way I was going.

Five happy moms smile contented almost cooing rubbing their bellies or reading baby magazines in the  comfortable deep cushions of the waiting room. I try to do none of those things. We only glance at each other, hoping not to convey despair to the blessed. We don’t talk or leaf through baby magazines or act blessed however. We fidget till we are called back into the brightly lit sonogram room.

The sonogram technician had a softness about her gentle way. Eva lies on the table. I sit in the chair next to her. After she introduces herself and settles Eva she squeezes warmed gel into Eva’s hand then waits for her to rub it around her belly with hopeful stokes. Eva wanted to apply it herself. She places the ultra sound device on Eva’s belly. We all turn to the screen.

First we hear it. A familiar heartbeat. Everything good and normal so far! Eva sighs, fights back tears, stays calm.

We follow the image watching intently as the tech labels and describes the sonogram in a matter of fact way.

The amniotic fluid is very low. There is almost none.

This is the heart here. It’s located on the right side.

Here are the lungs. They under-developed.

Kidneys should be here. Pause.

All of this could be good or at least okay or remedial, we are hoping. We look at each other with another flashing spark of hope. Get some synthetic amniotic fluid inject it, no problem, or something like that.

So what is the problem then? So everything is really okay?!

Well, kidneys are not visible.

What does that mean?

I assume she will just keep on looking till she finds them.

I am not finding kidneys.

What does that mean?

Kidneys manufacture and filter the amniotic fluid.  The amniotic fluid gets breathed into the lungs. It is how lungs develop. There is not enough amniotic fluid to develop the lungs. Kidneys are not producing it. There is only one and it is small.

Can that be fixed? Can one be added or something? I could give one.

Even if we could fix that. This shows that the heart is on the right side instead of the left.

Lungs this small won’t catch up in time to breathe at birth, or ever.

Eva whimpers and hides her face.

This small kidney here. Too small to filter enough blood. No kidney visible here…

Stop stop!  Stop it! Please stop telling me wrong things about my baby! Don’t tell me! Don’t tell me anymore. She breaks down sobbing shaking, just contained urgent wailing trapped in her not catching her breath.

Tech leans forward pats her and lets her cry.

I understand how hard this is for you. I am sorry.

When she recovers her voice after a while, the tech asked if we were ready to see what the doctor had to say. She Tech led us to the waiting doctor.

His gentleness let her fall apart, again.

She wept then cried out: Why? Why did this happen?

There is no reason. No cause that we know of.

So this just happened to my baby for no reason? She demands.

I’m sorry there is nothing I can do to make this easier, but yes. It’s sad that someone like you who really wants a baby doesn’t get one when I’ve seen babies survive a whole bottle of Drain-O, just fine.

We look at each other horrified.. How could someone not want a baby?

We know the stories, yet we are incredulous. Unfairness is deep.

When you are ready, we can talk about what you want to do next. Come back as soon as you are ready to consider what course of action you want to take.

This is a great loss for you. You and your husband must have been very excited about the arrival of your first child. Take a day. Come back in a day or two. After you talk to your husband, to discuss what you want to do. Be back within two days, I’ll see you whenever you come. He soft smiled warm reassurance then he got up and left.

Like what? What we can do, didn’t hit us till we got home.

Next appointment is about risks and options.

Should I go full term or terminate and start the healing process?

The child can’t breath. It will never breath. It won’t ever function or live. It will suffocate as soon as it’s born, if it doesn’t die during the stress of birth or even before then. It could die at any time.

You could decide to carry to term. If you decide to go full term you need to be seen every week in case the fetus expires and labor doesn’t start. That could  lead to blood poisoning, a risk. Otherwise, you can go into labor at any time. There is no way to predict an outcome.

Then in the middle of bewildered not, letting go while not wanting to hold on, or prolong anguish, and wondering, he drops another bomb:

If you are going to choose to end it, he pauses with a sigh of frustration, you have three days to decide. In three days third trimester, anti-abortion laws come into effect. If you don’t choose to terminate in the next three days, after the three days, we can no longer assist you in termination. You must either go into labor, or your life be in danger for the pregnancy to be terminated.

I have to decide now?

You must decide, if you want to take action, yes, within three days. After that there is nothing we can do. Our hands are tied. The law is clear. No exceptions. No third trimester procedures. Third trimester starts in three days.

We sit on her couch staring into space and crying. Her crying makes me cry. I feel the loss of my son all over, plus her loss. By heart about bursts. It has been five years, but when I found out in the middle of getting divorced that I was pregnant, I considered not going through with it, just to be responsible to myself.

I’m in the middle of school with two kids to keep and figure out how to support without a partner. I’m still not able to describe what is going on, but the idea of losing  a baby on accident or on purpose both add up the same in my feelings. The idea of adopting my baby out to someone else is unthinkable. We may have no stable future, but in the world I exist in now, I have no other choice. In about a week I love the baby as I knew I would. It would be stupid for me to put my heart up for adoption, or to end the relationship. Even if it’s not responsible to have a child without support, I surrender to being a single mother and feeling happy with Eva.

Now this.

Her parents arrive. I go back to school grieving indignant, and remembering.

While I volunteered for Campus Crusade for Christ and attended the meetings that rallied Christians and got Bush elected in the early nineties I was into the anti-abortion campaign, especially no third trimester abortions. Now something is happening. It’s not black and white anymore.

I can’t just not be pregnant anymore just like that Eva steady wails!  The kids at school…the other teachers..the girls they pat my tummy lined up on the way out of class.

If someone asks me if it’s a boy or a girl when I get back I don’t know what I’ll do. Everyone will ask.

Have you got a name yet Miss?

How are you Miss?

How is that baby?

I couldn’t keep explaining there is no baby, her voice cracks, for another three months…but it will be right here…

For  three more months. I couldn’t work this way. I couldn’t explain it either. I will just bust out crying, for the next three months. I couldn’t work this way. I’d just be knowing the baby is not going to live or already dead. I don’t know what to do!

I could stay home and be with the baby. It’s to soon to make this choice. I wish Jon could come back and be here. He can’t take off till the end of the week. We have till tomorrow to decide.

Now, I’m in this government class writing a paper about laws. I have allot to say about how stupid this anti-abortion law is. It’s taking Eva to a whole new level of misery, like insult on injury.

My government teacher read only my outrage essays to the class while I skipped it. I went to the hospital with Eva to celebrate the sacred death and birth of her son. Jon couldn’t get back in time. The law couldn’t wait.

We were into our babies.

If she had not been into her baby there would be noting to cry about.

Abortion is like a break up with the baby when this relationship just isn’t working both ways, before you marry…When I’m just not into you.

A shaman woman I know, went into a sacred meditation to talk to the child when she discovered their relationship. She talked to it and listened. She acknowledged their relationship.

I’m thankful you like me she told him. It was a boy. You chose me to be your mother. So I am. Yet, it’s not a good time for me to be in this relationship. Would you try again later?

She got a “sure”.
Next day she started bleeding and thanked her child for honoring her choice.

Wonderful woman I know made their choices to not be mothers when they were not ready. That choice did not include being an oven to bake a child for nine months then give it to someone else.

The adoption choice works good for some people, which is cool.

Pregnancy in the 26th week. Pregnancy in the 26th week. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Me? No way is my body gonna be forced to make a lonely baby whom I’m not attached to. No way would I choose to be sick for months, throw up constantly, gain forty lbs, go through labor delivery blood spouting major surgery that takes weeks to recover from, while everyone is wondering, family asking as I’m to wiped out to take care of myself, with no support just to give some one a baby for free.

Pretty dumb all around, if you ask me.

There is nothing wrong with adopting out. I’m personally not into it-at all.

It’s defiantly not the only valid response to birth-control malfunctions. There are as innumerable appropriate valid responses to unplanned pregnancy. As many as there are woman and situations.

The relationship between mother and child is what it is to me. I am in or I’m not. Just like any other relationship.

I can break up. A possible child need not force me.

Babies don’t force me to become their mother. Nor does a baby need to endure a horrible non-wanted toxic environment. It’s a crappy co-dependent relationship that way.

I choose if I want to invite a spirit into a body with my body, into my life. I choose if I want to help someone else by baking a baby for them. I am a free woman. I have lots of choices! Perhaps unborn spirits have choices we don’t know about.
Wouldn’t put it past them. I bet, babies would choose to be happy and mom be happy, too.

Or maybe babies are the selfish assholes?

Baby Baby (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Playing With Space-And Stuff That Is Not There

Waywardspirit Art Yellow

Painted Honey

Terrified
Swatting at 1986 killer bees
Today

Agreed upon sanity
Scarce Sweetness
Called sane

Madness’ taste of fairy honey

Holding on breath
The way of our bodies
Whimsically true
Parallel planes entwined
***

Weekly Writing Challenge:

Playing With Space

http://wp.me/p23sd-4wo

Interesting:

http://wp.me/p2CdMi-G

Imperfection-A Poem

Human Perfection

Imperfection’s part of love

Wabi sabi‘s story of

Frayed edges of insane

Being ecstasy and bane

Cracked heart chipped cup

Shattered then not giving up

Hero and villan of our tale

We’re  all the same

 Be real

 cherished

Evolving imperfection

EqualsDaly Post

Daily Prompt:

Imperfection:

http://wp.me/23sd

Turn Turn Turn

Passion Wants You! Surrender  It Comes Out

The Seasons

Turn

Life morphs her form

Season reasons

Moon cycles burn

Creative season Springs

Work zodiacs then learns

 Favorite season creates

Contemplation Falls on me

Play dances us away

Random Harvests time

Dark Night of Winter’s Soul

Summer is Winter riding low

Two weeks vacation sweetens

Two month’s fruit

Then, forced a Season

English: Lunar libration. see below for more d...
English: Lunar libration. see below for more descriptions Français : Librations de la lune. Voir une description détaillée en dessous. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Daily Post

Daily Prompt:

Turn Turn Turn

http://wp.me/p23sd-4xW

Alma Mater

image Waywardspirit Art : My Straight and Narrow Path
My Straight and Narrow Path

***
Alma Mater
Stillness my speech
School of Life
We all attend
Most unlucky
So fortunate
No school trapped me
Sweet Alma Mater
My library
***

image

Most Prized Possession-My Own Attention

Lost

My Attention

Riot of peace

Currency to pay

My best companion

Fountain of joy

The Observer

Gone away

Kidnapped

Wafted off like smell

Forgotten-what are you?

Wooed away

Trapped

Stuck

Wrapped up by emotions

Squeezed out my mind

wpid-1349802722437.jpg

Daily Post

Daily Prompt:

Most Prized Possession:

http://wp.me/p23sd-4sr

National Poetry Writing Month

NaPoWriMo:

http://www.napowrimo.net/

Third From The Top

SAMSUNGWe shouldn’t be best friends

Doesn’t change

In the realm were we are still

Written, unwritten letters

Advice you would give me

It’s “you said”, not “he said”

Because I talk to you

Tipping his head, your  head

Back against the mattress

To look up at me

Feels the same remembered

We are not friends anymore

And always best friends

***

Daily Post

Daily Prompt: http://wp.me/p23sd-4tQ

Third from the top: The Size of Life:

Post: Story Try This: “We shouldn’t be best friends,” he said, tipping his head back against the mattress to look up at me.

 

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Share the Love

Worldwide Magic

Ingredients for magic
Or a spell
Studied or cast
Present or past

This magic you weave

Weaves me

Into a glowing tapestry
Invisible by heart’s hands

Mind’s omnipotent body

World Wanted

Daily Post Daily Prompt: Share the Love: http://wp.me/p23sd-4tP

 

Transporter

By Edward. Original painting  at Austin Discovery School.The Road for Transport-A Poem

My Most Precious

Willowy sapling Attention

Blown away

Oft transplanted

Run over

Mowed

Uprooted

You may be

A Presence of redwood ent

More than shade fruit or would

Transport-A story

It wasn’t the crush, or a temptation. Her shape and bright color captivated me. But more than that, and deeper. The choice is already made. Discovered this the first time I lay eyes on my iMac.

What is this?

The sales guy gave me the info to back up my preference. The colors enchanted me and fueled mysterious passion. It was so hard to pick one. The Steve Jobs story of exile and come-back woke my asleep. The sudden reinvigorating of the market and turn of share. When I stood close that wind of change, stands  my hair on end. I feel it blow. Right there in Best Buy, in the isle, next to the iMac display it blows.

Should have known by then, that choices click into place without explanation. Logic is not banished. It just lives in the other world. I invite her blindly back, slow, by comparing prices and waiting three days to bring my love home with me.

I wanted blueberry. Strawberry was the only refurbished model at Best Buy. That was back, way back before the Apple Store or the Apple Story.  In the days of three-point-something-percent market share Apple. When Apple still allowed Best Buy to carry her precious babies. More than the sum of its parts, love at first sight, experienced not described. Love got me. A love story told me.

To compromise with my wallet, I bought a refurbished strawberry iMac rev C. It was three hundred dollars higher than a way-more-options PC, even so.

After I brought Strawberry ShortMac home, two sample chapters of a Steve Job’s story found me. Couldn’t afford the book. That was all I needed.

I received a blueberry printer cover  in the mail after ordering a strawberry one from Epson. My taste for blueberry, satisfied. Having two printer covers is luxury endowed. What else can I upgrade with?

I download anything Mac compatible that did anything I might want, and didn’t have. install, try, it. The thing was a lemon. It had issues. I fixed it or called tech support, or both every week. Finally the tech support dude, asked me what I was doing to my computer. Strider wasn’t  always there, but I always asked for him, cuz he led you through a Lord of the Rings quest as Malady till your iMac worked again.  The guys back at support finally asked why I installed all those patches when the machine was working fine. They were mystified. I wasn’t satisfied.

The software it came with was all good but, I was swept away with upgrading. I wanted it to do things. To do something I didn’t know what, but it was irresistible, to try to find out.  That and surfing the net. My computer is the bomb. I love it. I play Nanosaur and Bugdom. My kid and I bought Bugdom before it came with all rev D iMacs. Then, we upgraded Nanosaur.

Chat rooms I discovered are dangerous. After three days achat, I vow to never return.

I love iMac so much, sometimes I just stare at her.

When I sat and just look, at this pink form, noticing it, pink love and wavy feelings bubble up then spout like pink gold, Texas tea. I noticed this and sometimes just sat on the bed staring at my iMac for the joy of the delicious feelings that came up. She was my first computer. I’d been hurt-bored by the sea of old sandstone hardware. She though, is gleeful to behold.

Sometimes I’d look at other beautiful things. The angles of my rustic pinewood chair, just so in the light were I’d set it to sweep the dining nook. It’s beauty makes everything soft, the world shimmer. Swept air tastes me, time stands still, the feeling delivers me to the glory my  iMac feels of. The floor is clean, a vast place to sit and be eternally swept away. So there I sit and let it. My iMac is happy. I’m happy, and there will there be upgrades for her, that really do stuff. The thought feels like a first encounter. Yes!

Again, pointless love at first sight thought.  Feeling rushes crashes on me like the surf.  New cool upgrades! I wonder what they will be. I sit in that meditation while a love for something that I want, that feels human, maps a place in me that has always been there. Steve Jobs and Apple are making something I can’t live without. When I checked out the newest stuff though, it was not there… There was noting I couldn’t live without. I was pretty happy with my Mac and printer, anyway.

Old iMac and older
Old iMac and older (Photo credit: goron)

This kept happening.

Meditation gets intense: iMac, Steve Jobs, Apple, making something for me surges up like candy ocean. When I stay there in the feeling intensity billows like clouds of light making it with lightning. They turn into a river of gratitude for this thing I want that Apple is making for me. It about bursts my chest, till I let it strike me, while I focus on Steve Jobs making this, and flow it to him. Then just like that chaos storm turns river. Washed through intense emotions of rushing light serene flowing, a delicious river in an artery of gratitude to the guy, who is making something for me.

Almost every time I meditate it happens. The feeling, this delight about the new something. It tumbles my feelings into explosive gratitude firing up water turbines, shooting a six-foot cable of light at me. I focus it on Steve Jobs and Apple. Like focusing on the feeling of being in love, with delicious electric current flowing fast as light yet still. A pre-emptive strike of ferocious gratitude. I sit with it till the fireworks turn off.

Multi-colored iMacs thrill me. I kept the folded pictures in my school bag. I can look at it when I want. Not because I need a new computer. The picture induces idolatrous transports like porn.

For a months this happened a few times a week. Then less. After a while I could look at my iMac and focus and nothing would happen.

Other things came up and turned into tornadoes and reflected different places. None felt like a heavenly river of light though. And every year even after the years of the experience dwindled, I’d check out what the hell I was expecting and still don’t find anything earthshaking at Apple.

Bought my second iMac.  Nothing special Apple is making for me happened. She is my friend. And I figure she chose to come home with me. She and I bond and enjoy each others company. My new mac is my friend, too.

Then, last year, I got an android smart phone. Blasphemy. I wanted an iPhone. This phone fell into my lap just when I needed it bad and had no other way.

A few weeks later, I’m out with my phone in hand walking in a fascinating wood feeling connected to the world in a friendly intimate way by my phone. A whisper from the Earth’s every voice resonates low in me. Wonder strikes my inner, deeper echo place. Not lightning struck, voice of the world deep rock struck.

Oh, so this is it.

Hmmh no wonder!

It makes no sense.

It makes perfect sense!

Ha! This is what all that advance gratitude was about!

Oh, I love my android, and the World it holds in the webbed palm of my hand.

I love my friend, my phone. I smile when I think of Steve Jobs.

I never met, never saw him. Never wrote and mailed, or talked to him.

One day though, my heart broke in an instant as I raked last years leaves in midsummer Texas heat. Grief torrents and whips me like a blizzard without provocation. Sinking to a log on the ground I weep like a child. My parter thinks I’m crazy for suddenly putting down the rake in subdued grief.  Sitting, there, I cry bitter tears for half an hour. Something about my iMac and a dear friend has died. I can’t explain it.

Next day I find out.

Steve Jobs
Steve Jobs (Photo credit: Kashmir Global)

Poem

Eye response
Acceptance smile
Image moved
Pleased hunger
Receives again
Delicious Words
Feelings explode
Ideas gleam
Touch me more

To be enjoyed
The greatest gift

Enjoy you-

Communion

http://wp.me/p1ho8l-FN

The Social Network-City of Light

A City of Light

Star light rapids

Pillar of day

Water rafters

Sweep hearts clean

Hearts swept away

Ravished blood night

Unimagined communion

City of light

City of Light

Daily Post Daily Prompt: City of Light:  

http://wp.me/p23sd-4sp

National Poetry Writing Month:

NaPoWriMo: http://wp.me/pf2B5-48H

Without Conscience

It’s hard to tell if my conscience is more like a tar baby, or more like a hand rail.

Maybe it’s a tar covered hand rail. A handrail along the straight and narrow that get’s me all sticky, and glued to it. I’m wondering if my conscience is meant to keep me on my path, or meant to keep me stuck.

Or, it may be meant for something totally different, perhaps outdated, or just very basic.

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Conscience must be one of those special use tools. It’s like a hammer. It works real good for nails, but not for scraping ice off a windshield. Or a tool like the weather station, which may predict hurricanes, and tornadoes, but isn’t any help with earthquakes or volcanos.

If I count only on this conscience of mine to guide me, I still get into trouble, and karma. I stay stuck. Or even dig myself in deeper trying to defend it.

It seems my conscience plays by the rules I already know. It does not cover what my consciousness doesn’t cover. Whatever my consciousness is, so is my conscience. If my consciousness is narrow, so is my conscience.

By narrow, I mean it has a small umbrella, doesn’t cover much. I can do everything wicked outside my umbrella without a pang. It’s how, when I’m a soldier, under orders, committing murder somehow doesn’t equal murder. That’s conscience for you. It plays.

Or maybe it’s following some life purpose or blueprint like what I came to learn or perhaps what I learned in a past life didn’t work. I don’t think it covers what I haven’t, at some time, already learned.

As I grow, so does my conscience. I have to believe something is wrong for my conscience to work me. It doesn’t function with what anyone else believes. It only works with what I feel, and believe is right or wrong. When my beliefs change, so does my conscience. I don’t have a conscience, without something to base it on. No one has the same conscience, I guess.

So, now, I’m only counting on it for what I already know, or have known, sometime.

The unexplored worlds beyond my present experience, for these, I figure, my heart knows, and will know what is right for me. My feet know their path, too. They can keep me on my straight and narrow: straight, because it is always the step straight ahead. It’s narrow, because only I fit on it. My path is only mine. My heart figures stuff out, then tells my conscience. That’s how I must have come to have some conscience so far.

I learn by experience, vicarious or otherwise. My personal conscience also seems to be made up of what I’m taught, when I actually believe it. If I don’t believe it or feel it, no conscience for that one. If I believe a lie, then my conscience may bug me for something like walking barefoot, or telling the truth.

Until my conscience grows up, I’m dangerous.

A wild-eyed, grinning toddler.