The student of lifelong learning
found themself lost and confused,
typing on the phone app keypad
incongruous to typing on the phone call keypad
— separate keypads in a mind
where the two ought to share the same life,
not separate
not one to make the call
not one to run the call
but one keypad
to rule them all.
The People cheered and bowed
their heads in anxious awe,
as gods decreed that now!
with eighteen centuries passed,
no more the need to sit
in rows by rows be bound,
henceforth the iron hand
go soft on wills of man
to lure the dark side’s fiends
across the universe —
with pockets lined with gold.
The night was still,
a pervasive fog
lingered, footsteps
running swiftly away
bodes foul play —
only the subtitle
gave it away.
crossroads, the basic belief
carry only four options
veer to the left
steer to the right
head straight on
into
the unknown
or
return
from
whence
you
came,
but beyond the basic belief lies
like little diamonds dancing
in the autumn breeze
across a pastoral pond
— the truth of infinite possibilities.
Is this the road ahead,
hugging cows
as the sun slowly sets on a world
in slow motion,
a road without tarmac or white lines
yet inhabited
by souls
that found
their homes
in the slow lane.
A crossroad indeed
where little lakes play
between mighty mountains,
valleys echo the silence of moths
and crows circle
above a self
at a loss.
You 🫤 at my calling it “word art”
and “wart” ~~~ you said
{in jest I hope}
was like giving hope of life still
in a piglet roasting on a spit
. {please explain}
why Maris Piper surely is a fake
when Piper Morris is a babe
on Tinder.
{please explain}
the passage of time
and my calling
the bluff.
Ascension — to go slow
towards a grey pale ceiling
high above a land that borne us
into the physical,
on a thin thread resembling life
we hoist ourselves — adagio
heavenwards
sans following,
expecting neither new likes
nor nasty notes posted
on the flagpole
of life,
we find ourselves atop
by an unpolished crown
of imagined gilded beauty
alone,
the glum ceiling broods
upon the fate of days
and comets to follow
as we await the storms
and the age of shadows.
We wander ignorant
through the Age of Regret,
stroll across zebra crossings
and forests of constraints,
towards bleak horizons
of dusk or dawn — unknown,
the debasement of life —
a festival of light and dance
with fuses blown and riot acts —
plain to the eyeless creed.
We ought to seek enlightenment
in an Age of Reset,
gallop over morning misty meadows
and bracken bound lagoons
until the dusk has set.
Let this world be — lie fallow
until again one day far away
the troglodytes emerge
triumphant.
We wander ignorant
in clouds of punishment phobia
fearing the winds of enlightenment
in the advancing Age of Reset.
Let this world be — let it lie
fallow and silent, until we emerge
deserving a second chance
in another Age of Reset.
morning hour shows no mercy,
foghorns speak to the deaf
through last night’s lingering haze,
morning hour calls to attention
a sleepy wicked son swathed
in the thoughts of fresh rest,
morning hour ends
calling forth the harbinger
of the day the world would end.
midday marvels at the azure
above the virescent needled rising,
in the mind of the ancient sage
grey clouds gather.
three cheers for the fallen.
three cheers for the dead.
three cheers — fade.
echoes of evolution fade
as eventide demands attention,
curtains to draw, memories to
— erase,
the last god watches
over sleepy wicked sons swathed
in thoughts of fresh beginnings,
before snuffing the flame.
