I keep notecards in a small box that was given residence in my desk. When I lay in bed at night my mind is often cluttered and swirling with random musings about various subjects, so to alleviate the burden of these winds, and thus create a milder atmosphere for sleep, I write them down on note cards in frantic form, that is to say there is no editing to speak of, and then place them in the wooden box which reads: RSVP. It provides ideas upon which I may later expound, except that, after review, I often find them detestable and without merit (an opinion I often hold of myself and most others).
*Oh these days... that men are more poorly written than a television pilot, lacking only in all that is original and are, perhaps, as a result of revolution, required to be less grande and civil.
* They gather together
banners waving with hope
that peace or justice should
fall in line- the other to follow
They do their part:
point out its lacking- its failure
How far from words these two
are positioned, and here I sit,
writing- not unaware of my failure.
* The garden consumed the proportionally
smaller east and south sides of the property,
and was divided unequally by an artificial
stream kept free of any growth by use of
a fountain so ostentatious the peacock turned green.
* A leaf: draws ridgid and dull in its waning days, and then... plucked by the wind (or thought burdensome by the tree)- but rarely does an item appear softer on its way to the ground.
Does it yearn for the ground? pine for the tree? know its grace? or merely fall?
* Five minutes in a day do I feel as myself
And shocked when encumbered by such an
awkward sense of comfort in my own skin.
*Chains and shackles do bind
less tight than fear the mind,
or frost the actions of free men.
*There are two types:
Those who fight the cage, either internally or externally;
and those who find it comforting.
*There is scarcely a feeling more suffocating than this:
to fumble over words as ideas spill onto the ground,
only to be cleaned up by another (much like Emerson
spoke of having to take our opinion from another).
*Minus the trappings that adorn
this worn and weary body,
I am but an ancient trapped
by modern times, and the
culmination of movements
that did arise.
*The proletariat are rarely mentioned,
lest power be the stake. Prophecy neglects
its members, save one sould come to rule
and drive them further down; or sweep them
up in a moment of evil. Kings are kings,
and the proletariat their keep.
A good wage is a blinding light.
*Study of a tree-
Firmly rooted where it stands
reaching up towards the sun
arms open to the rain
providing shade to those in need
and its food- fruit in season
thinking of winter its stores provisions
and loses its leaves accordingly-
a plan for next spring.
*From a seed do weeds sprout and spread
to slowly strangle a lush green meadow.
How low your sights have been set
to seek (or worse, guard!) a glass half full!
Water yearns to be poured without limit, without bias.
* To see how the world can nullify the spirit is a somber experience.
To see the spirit overcome the world for even the briefest of moments
is pure light.
*When you have become your parents, then you have succombed to the world.
There is more, much more even, but I resist the urge to expose myself more, or worse.
It would be sufficient to say that I do plan on posting more, maybe, though, perhaps less of what is already written, and more of what has occurred in the day or days prior (is that what people do?).
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