Posts Tagged life
What means solitude?
Is it the freedom to think
without the intrusion of the bore?
Or is it the quiet required
to contemplate what lies before?
Is it the unsated lust
who’s quiescence just wants more?
Or is it the unusual beauty
of love only imagined?
That gentle curve
from neck to pretty shoulder.
That imagined amalgam
of beauty and brains.
Those twinkling eyes so wise,
and those seductive curves.
Mystery of someone exquisite
who may be wiser
but also answers something animal.
Someone who echoes my needs.
My call that answers me.
Solitude is the absence of these.
If you could be without cognisance of
or involvement in the human world,
and simply be an intelligence that’s
aware of the wonders of the universe,
then you would be a supreme being.
If you’re a supreme being
who’s existence depends upon
the cognisance of human beings,
then you’re a contradiction in terms.
The essence of all is consistent.
What adds difference
and lifts the plain to shining peaks
or reduces it to valleys dark
Beauty stands proud
as the mediator
that defines mediocrity
and all that is foul
and all that inspires
and all that gives life value.
It slows our time
and distracts the mind
and the eye
and causes the soul to cry
and to laugh
and to ponder.
Be beauty science
and the grandiosity
Or the pause that knowing gives
And the gentle confusion
that then arises.
That response we have
to a mere curve
or to a change that’s different.
Or some shift in balance between weights
that has some hidden mathematical rhythm,
or some subtlety that knows
real wisdom and causes us to falter.
Some subtle insight that speaks
of an embellishment to our view
and which stands just slightly out of reach.
That soothes our heart
as might the passing glimpse
of a friend who smiles
but who we don’t know.
Hot air cicada song thrum,
constant in the smokey heat.
Peach drips across sweat sticky skin
as orange sun casts long shadows over dying land.
I loved you and meant well.
A future once seen cascading like a waterfall,
became a trickle.
Birds dip in dusk light to chase fly by nights,
and land burns red in quickly blackening foreboding.
Cicadas still sing. And I do too.
I may as well be on a desert island.
Surrounded by sea seamlessly connected to sky.
With a magic supermarket run by AI
That feeds me and provides a regular supply
Of washing up liquid and beer and tobacco
And sausages and pizza and shit like that.
Sometimes I see shapes like people
Walking amongst the stacked shelves.
They move slowly and sometimes they stop.
But they don’t see me.
And outside in the baking hot sun
That dazzles off glass and distant splashing waves,
I pause for thought and listen to the sounds around me
That seem like silence and never carry my name.