Fool of the 4th month (4/1/11)
In honor of this glorious day
I won’t write a single line
I won’t think, compose, or arrange any words
In a form pointed or benign
I won’t display a message or rally a cause
No meaning or value here
No remarks to enflame of insult will follow
Not compliments made to endear
In short there is nothing that I want to say
No point made within all my thought
I’m on vacation today, a break from my pen
A reprieve for my time I have bought
Introspection (4/11/11)
Have you ever considered the power of silence
The heavy toll nothing has on thought
A gap in the input that distracts and alert mind
The heavy burden containing naught
To contemplate silence is to consider blankness
To embrace silence is to submit to inaction
To endure silence, it shall then oppress
To be silent is putrefaction
Though this view inverts if you make a change
A paradigm shift shall rearrange
All manner of things from common to strange
Look different with the game board flipped
In the end, the issue depends on your view
And your interpretations are based on what’s true
But if you believe you’ll be a blind-deaf mute
I’d have to perceive you as “Not very astute”
The chemistry of you (4/18/11)
Have you ever considered what mattered with matter
When the matter of the matter mattered to you?
Why we focus on ashes and dusts at a wake
When we are really just earth, through and through
Consider your cup, or a flask, or a bottle
What purpose they have, what concept they model
Most would say as containers of that valuable substance
The unconsidered necessity, H2O
We often don’t consider the way that it’ll stay
Easy come, easy go is easy to say
But remember that most of your body has form
That is filled to the brim with H2O
But consider the cycle of molecular return
There is no identifying trait you could possibly discern
To identify past use for present use now
And so the world keeps turning
Chaos (4/18/11)
We all seek order, but what does that mean?
Why do we always wish that things are what they seem
Why do we protest an unexpected change?
Why do we fear and hate all that’s strange?
Why do we pursue the idea of truth?
Why do we subsist on lies?
Why is it we have so much difficulty?
In the end, how many tries?
Me (4/20/11)
A dabbler in many trades
A true master in none
The indecision of the pursuit of the many
The inability to isolate one
Poetry (4/24/11)
The poet’s means is not his pen
Nor paper set aside
Nor is it Rhyme or Reason set
Rules to which he must abide
What makes a poet a poet is this:
A musical, lyrical soul
The ability to take his fragments of thought
And forge them into a solid whole
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