Seeking The Source

Anciently arcane? How about a
time before time existed? As for 
place, and being, none at all. 
None, as in nothing, blankly absent
existence. The teeming presence
of atoms and gases, chemicals, ice 
and dust that powerful telescopes
visualize and present that we are
not alone in the Universe have
taken the place of the void that
once was. So this is the ultimate
mystery: What propelled existence
into being, what force beyond the
insipid imagination of mere
humankind initiated existence
out of total absence, to produce
an expanding Universe, its
diversity of forms and its yawning
endless timelessness of being?

Landscape in White

A persistent, flickering mist
of snow falls on the naked forest
canopy, minuscule droplets
flash-frozen like stars falling
through the sieve of the lowering
sky divesting itself of its slight
burden of beauty and light.
A languid breeze directs the mist
in white plump drifts to furnish
the winter stage. That is the
aesthetic of the landscape. This
is the practical reality: It is
icy, damp and windy, but our
eyes capture the exquisite arras
as our boots bite deeply into
the plush comforter tending
the sleeping winter forest.

The Departures Gate

A poet in his tender hours of literary
elegance, he was also an intellectual 
whose acquired wisdom he generously
shared in opinion pieces that awed
reflecting experience and an intimate
awareness of humankind's failings
liberally leavened by a deeply
mordant wit. His acerbic avuncularity
gained him favour as a raconteur of
extraordinary dimension, and as a
sought-after political pundit. With so
many creative and practical insights
at his command his published books
enjoyed wide appeal and the oeuvre
of this man of letters whom history
claimed as one of its own was peerless.
When he died, much, much too
soon, a pall of regrets engulfed his
colleagues and admirers. Did that
sad news hit the media? Just his
misfortune to kick off this mortal 
coil on a day claimed by a pop 
celeb in a departure of poor timing.

The Glib Pitch

Not to be rude, he was after all
only performing a type of public
service I did myself for years
as a volunteer for charitable
groups, knocking on doors
soliciting donations for
health research, so I politely
listen to his slick telephone
spiel while thinking bad timing
since this is the cusp of a
new year, the old one barely
out the door and donors'
funding fairly depleted. His
well practised verbal coersion
endless and my patience not
I advised my caller of my
unpreparedness to pledge
then and there. At the canvassed
door some people are naturally
welcoming while others are
brusquely disinterested and
the volunteer faces them all.
Over a distance the caller
becomes an emphatic bully
sweeping away negative response
to forge on with his intent to
convert those who resist; a
cowardly adversary emerges.

 

Weather Alert

It is a wet dishrag of a day.
Dismal it is, grey and soggy.
On the sidewalks singly and
in  groups vacant-eyed people
wander aimlessly, coffee cups
in hand, a desultory scene of
urban anomie. Trucks bully
cars and transit buses speed by
empty of passengers. The sky
is a bleak spectacle of metallic
fusion in a downdrift of
persistent rain. The winter
snowpack is disintegrating
in this January thaw. The two
rivers alongside the city --
wide ribbons of churling grey
with gaunt defoliated trees
lining their banks speak sad
volumes of de-energized
landscapes. A silent air of
miserable discontent breathes
disconsolate damp dejection.

 

Winter's Guests

How quaintly unexpected that 
a committee of doves would
assemble a quorum as a tranquil
symbol of their faith and trust in
those who live in the home whose
porch they have assembled upon.
Five pairs no less whose habit
has been winter-established
to dine out in the company of
cardinals and nuthatches
chickadees and juncos, their
endless source of seeds to be
had for the taking, and they
unquestioning, do. A minyan
of gender equality expressing
gratitude in an unforgiving season.


 

 

Lèse majesté 

One has earned his state of
magnificent arrogance as a 
powerful and majestic force of
nature at her imperious command.
The other imagines itself a
natural force making up in
exuberant impudence what nature
failed to endow it with, but
modesty and humbleness does
not figure in the life of a tiny
black furred creature of the
wild who imagines that all it
surveys represents prime fodder
for its exploitation. Aeolus, in
contrast, a noble and consummate
marshal of the winds truly is
king of all his blowhard subjects
ensuring they remain within the
bounds given them lest they 
trespass their allowances. The
juvenile squirrel on the other
hand cheekily makes familiar
with the deity and there is no
agency of divine retribution
to give it reason to pause.