alapip

a haiku one's history writ in code or visible scar there we entire are LLP - dA - feb2024

Yes - we must keep in mind we humans endlessly sort ourselves ethnic ideals endure and expand to the self-excuse of one's "tribe" - "my God is stronger - better than yours" - "my skin more pure - my ways more sure" - "it's alright for me to shun and deceive" - "you're just one more 'they' - you're other" - "and I remain ready for war" but perhaps - just perhaps if a threat loomed large endangered us all - Climate Change! if everyone saw it and shared its threat realistically environmentally existentially - might we bond and band in defense together? might we then each see the other as brother? we could finally no longer be girding for war LLP - dA - dec2023

We - emerged of infinity who eternally fall in a seemingly endless tumbling sprawl We - programmed by the random in an unfathomed cosmos defined by changeable chance - yet claiming we have personal control Yes - Some do have 'quite a bit' although - many have 'not a bit' We're formed by our nature/nurture Still the few do learn free will via thoughtful singular mullings At least that's what I believe Those of us not inclined to mull but driven by evolved emotions assume they're making decisions but don't know they lack control thus don't own any thoughtless damage Though they sure do plenty of that being manipulable by narcissists who use misinformation and vapid lies to ply the hapless fears and pious certainties the many hold Are those the "fat, dumb, and happy"? Should they just be forgiven "for they know not what they do"? Or being dumbly driven by emotionalism are they perhaps "deplorable" and deserve negative judgement for both? I know where I

Some of us men are cast adrift at birth never to land securely ashore. We might spend forever seeking feminine beauty the solace of it, to maybe glimpse it daily silently enthralled at each passing. This drifting may be our normal. It can last a lifetime. It has for me. Yes - I've had loves - was even married, fathered two sons of whom I'm proud, but have had no permanent life partner. Here I grow elderly looking beyond images of yesterday, knowing satisfaction is awareness of now, of the freshness which still appears and pondering of its symmetry. We may hold particular past epiphanies in ongoing reverential stasis due to value and timelessness or visions of wondrousness. There is justification for remembering, a worthiness of mind and existence. But it's surely not enough. I'm not alone in needing to know more. Life and the universe remain mysterious. Philosophers and physicists question reality. They even ask if free will is possible. Nearly all of us believe we have that

Go with small hopes some needs might be met. Be grateful if one is partially so. After a deeply cold and dark night receive with thanks any weak warmth of day. Vicissitudes leave certainty unfound. Nevertheless know this one basic truth; No matter how sad your tidings may be, it is much worse for some other folks. Yes, that's fact. It will always be thus. Coincidence means this will be true. Wishes and prayers cannot change a thing, though chance and happenstance do. Keep in mind win-loss living is false. A zero sum posture negates 'common' sense. "All in this together" is certified fact. There's no such thing as "the self-made man". Live life open-eyed. Give thanks for good luck. And don't ask for more than your share. LLP - dA - sept2023

They want the world - our minds - our bodies They think They own our personal selves - Their reasoning being so totally shoddy They can't - They won't - They never shall I'd rather my ashes be strewn today - having lived and died by "duvide l-appel". A transgressor in a bottle? no! to display upon some nicnac shelf - or in a grave six feet below? "Fool some of us all of the time" - though a few won't be so easily gulled All of us can't be nickled and dimed You say I must live by your magical god I won't even be brought to believe in you - you and 'he' [with no capital nod] The wages of my so-called sin will not inflate your self-claimed wealth - Deflate yourself and think again And by the way - there is no Hell LLP - dA - oct2023

:| pip

Time and the universe with or without us always continuous - thru replication or change. Though we're seen as somewhat constant in particulate memories in dissipating echoes - what's based upon wishes or upon our dreams thought to be fated or not - will surely fade. Till cosmic heat death or the next moon's breath - some say we go on. More likely we'll be gone. LLP - dA - aug2023

Does anyone within listening [or reading] distance have answers to these existential questions? Is consciousness a field or just a cosmic ability? Do each of us have a field - or maybe many fields? How many fields do we exist within? Do various fields interact with each other? Is dark matter a field or the result of fields? How do fields attract? React? Repel? Combine? How many different types of fields are there? Is what we perceive as reality just fields? Are fields made up of particulate information? Is particulate information made up of fields? Should "fields" be a dedicated field of study? What kind of field am I? - [Sammy Davis Jr.] Last yet most insufferably least; I saw a farmer who was out standing in his field. Contemplating his "amber waves of grain" I guess? Was his "corn as high as an elephant's eye"? I'm sorry :( no - I'm not :) LLP - dA - Aug2023

Extraneous noises: - neighbors - traffic - tv commercials - various levels of bothersome In defense - our brain adapts to ignore that which could eventually drive us rather mad But concurrently - our brain emphasizes that which might threaten us endanger our well-being - or alternatively and simply what might pique our interest something fascinating perhaps. Of course - this is not without error as our moods intervene things can irritate us destroy our focus plague us to distraction - all of which would explain why both externally and internally "silence is golden" LLP - dA - jul2023

The years have passed since last I penned, When fingers fluttered keys, An age worked deftly to ascend From abject poverty. Yet written word’s soliloquy, Her softly spoken dream, She summons and entrances me As iambs start to stream. The person who was here before And she who writes today Both live intensely- deeply raw But walk quite different ways. The wisdom gleaned from lessons learned, Rejection, boundaries – praise, All culminates in balance earned, In peaceful, calming days.

My mother, once, She tells me Tending her garden Pull the weeds up close By the roots She said Be sure to get all of it Be sure The roots still grow Deep into The empty earth Height reaching height Just as strong As they were before

We are blooming with vacant pleasantries, hands miming gardens out of air. We cradle a silence that cannot be pruned, holding quiet vigil for second chances. Repeat funerals in barren soil, because this is not the second time, nor the third or fourth. But again, we contort ourselves into planters and we fertilize with hope. We plant seeds, and we may not know what will grow, how to nurture a fragile, living thing, but we know the shape of space taken - stolen or given. We may not know the pace or the patience to trust what's sowed, but we do know how to brace for unknowns; palms uncertain of how to hold life in deserts, coax the quick rhythms of pollinators buzzing to and fro. Might spring flourish, and pin satisfaction between our hands, the tips of our thumbs turning green. As long as we have hope. As long as we know the shape of gardens.

Salt came flooding over fumbled laundry; a dam exploding as the pain-levees broke. The sob of the air sirens came deep and shattered- -then stopped- -gone as they began. Far away, someone whispered; ‘if you cry, I’ll cry.’

Mine? Robert Terrance Mulcahy Jr. The junior part says I have the same name as my father. Mulcahy is our family name - Irish as all get-out - But from when or where exactly I don’t know. My father’s father of Irish descent My father’s mother of German descent. My mother’s parents of German descent but I don’t have her name. So what’s mine mean? Terrance was the name of my grandmother’s doctor. An English name. In first grade it was laughed at At home I was called Terry Which was fine But in a 1950's world it was ambiguous also a girl’s name and a childlike name I came to hate it. Robert was my father’s name He was called Bob his mother called him Bobby I wrote Robert on my school assignments but I was known as Terry until high school. Then Away from my parents I was Bob. At home I was Terry. A dichotomy a split person. Two ways to act two ways to think. Later, at work I was Bob still an adult name a man’s name. One day I left town to travel to get away to see the USA but not

The winter is replaced in the leaves Mushrooms growing On the bark of a tree The grass is green Half light The river flows Cold with the pain Of new life

I don't know your name friend... One of the many nameless and homeless Existing day to day, moment by moment Hands extended asking for money From those whom fortune has smiled It has been many years that I know you Always in front of the same store A tall, young, Afroamerican man In whose face shines an odd beauty As your clothes hang in tatters about your body There are days when I see you Fighting invisible enemies in the air And I wonder if it is drugs or mental illness That has cast your mind into darkness Perhaps they are demons you see And you are fighting a spiritual battle A silent unknown warrior of the downtrodden Who am I to judge you? For I have walked these same streets Stripping my body bare Fighting against principalities with my spirit Wrestling with the authorities Sent into the timelessness of the asylum Over and over again Yet still believing in who I am I see you my brother And recognize a piece of myself For it could be me standing there If not for love's infinite

What is that? Earlier times, today's times? Former light, relaxed, funny, lively, colorful and bright. Today more serious, more mature, more subtle. But nothing has changed In terms of helpfulness and friendliness. Love of animals - yesterday as well as today, Dear friends from the big crowd, Great art and commitment, Stay as you are! Yesterday is yesterday, Yesterday is history, Live only in today, Because today is reality.... What about tomorrow? Tomorrow is still a mystery.... Which is perhaps a good thing, At least interesting.

Yellow clusters bloom murmurations of sunshine bobbing in the breeze.