PAPER, WASTED


I know I waste too much paper.  I throw away stacks of paper when one of my characters takes a wrong turn and I have to rewrite her direction,  her moods, and her new plans.  If there’s a conflict a whole chapter may be filled with worst case scenarios. Only the final scenes determine which pages remain and which ones burn. Even poetry burns hotter some nights.

Long ago stories were chiseled on rock pages, and were much heavier than paper. Happy was the poet when he could do a little trimming and make his story lighter before he put it on his blog. A long story had to wait until paper was invented and ready to waste. the first story had to be short and sweet. It might have been told like this.  “I threw my spear with skill, moved village near kill.”

The Romans cut the stories even shorter. “Veni, Vidi, Vici.”

There were no paper magazines to advertise clothing. It was use hides and cloth or nothing. Paper was still gaining status until finally it was used as waste, one catalogue page at a time.

Pulp fiction took on a new meaning and paper became the norm. Those who star in the program, “Naked and Afraid,” must have tricks up their sleeves or hidden somewhere or they couldn’t turn down “paper or plastic.” Natural materials are not always as soft as paper.

Once in a country with less wealth and less waste, I discovered huts with cardboard walls.  I was amazed to see toilet paper used once, dried, and used again. I was more careful with waste paper after that. I want to leave this planet cleaner and as a responsible man, not as a paper tiger.

june 22, 2017

CREATE


CREATION

How can something be created out of nothing?

do existing building blocks

determine whether new creations are formed?

What is new? Something that grew?

Or is that simply a step away from 

something we already knew?

I shudder to think the world is on the brink

Of changing what was originally created,

building and connecting and welcoming

something which could survive in a nuclear sea,

something we could eat or drink,

but not eat you or me.

My idea of creation is a more gentle view,

where love and life may begin anew,

and all things, artificial or natural, are beautiful

without hate changing any part of me or you.

June 17, 201

 

A LAMB WITH GOLDEN FLEECE


A LAMB WITH GOLDEN FLEECE

And lo, I saw a lamb with golden fleece,
Asking for reason, pleading for peace.
I asked my friends, “What does this mean?”
No one could describe what they’d never seen.
The lamb’s eyes were bleeding, swollen and raw,
There must be danger in something she saw.
From the mountains came a man from the East,
With a fierce countenance, and the mark from the beast.
The man asked, “What would it take for a war to start?”
He saluted and said, “I’m ready to blow this world apart!”
I thought about that as I traveled towards the sun,
He was right. The world’s troubles have just begun.
It only takes one crazed leader to light the fuse.
He could be already well-known and all over the news.
The lamb was quiet and then she said,
“Why do you ignore me? Do you wish to be dead?
Three large countries are ready to expand,
Where will they get their new-found land?
Will they destroy the people who live there now?
Will you defend the weak and helpless somehow?
The rules of war say be cautious, you can’t use gas,
Or other weapons of destruction, the threats will pass.
But I know your hearts,” the lamb said sadly.
“Nuclear bombs will be used, and the war will end badly.”
I could see in her eyes how the war would unfold,
Countless men lying on the ground, lifeless and cold.
And the deaths will include mothers, daughters and sons,
No one will be safe until the carnage is done.
There is one final chance for the world to have peace.”
She walked into the sunset in a blaze of golden fleece.
But I heard her words of wisdom coming from high above,
I listened then and thought she said, “It’s all about love.
We must speak up now. Every person must have a voice.
It’s now or never. We have no other choice!”

I’m only a poet trying to make sense of what I see.
I’m not ready for Armageddon and I hope you agree,
We can learn to share the world; it’s not too small for me.
We can’t ignore it much longer unless it’s meant to be.
May 15, 2017

Nothing More


English: Wind Turbines located outside of Palm...

English: Wind Turbines located outside of Palm Springs, CA (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Nothing More

 

Who is that walking past my door?

 

It is the wind and nothing more.

 

For a moment a shadow hesitates,

 

Then it goes on and through the gate.

 

Who is whispering outside this wall?

 

I’m sure if I looked I’d see nothing at all.

 

Is there a person playing a mean trick?

 

Doesn’t he know I could be really sick?

 

I’m holding my breath within this cell.

 

The shadow is back and I know him well.

 

Around this bed my friends gather and talk.

 

They remember how we used to walk.

 

All voices hush as someone passes the door.

 

I thought, It is the wind and nothing more.

 

My friends are leaving with tears in their eyes.

 

I’m puzzled and ask, “What’s the matter, guys?”

 

But they ignore me as they go out the door.

 

One said, “It is the wind and nothing more.”

 

I don’t understand this turn of events.

 

I’ve tried to comprehend but it doesn’t make sense.

 

I turn to my new friend as we go out the door.

 

I ask, “Is it really the wind and nothing more?”

 

“Your friends are mistakenly blaming the wind.

 

But their way of thinking will come to an end.

 

Some will greet me as I enter their room.

 

Others will panic at my voice of doom.

 

You heard me walking past your door.

 

I enter with the wind, but I’m much, much more.

 

 

 

An Increasingly Fast Pace


This image was selected as a picture of the we...

This image was selected as a picture of the week on the Malay Wikipedia for the 47th week, 2010. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

I Could Use an Update

 

Using old equipment at an increasingly fast pace,

 

I’m lagging way behind in the human race.

 

I think about my situation and find,

 

I’ve downloaded too much data into my mind.

 

My head is spinning; I could use more RAM.

 

I can’t keep up just the way I am,

 

My hard drive is limited; I need to defrag.

 

Everything takes longer; I’m starting to drag.

 

The now generation is in virtual reality,

 

While all I’ve got is just the real me.

 

If I replaced my processer with something new,

 

Perhaps I could speed up a few seconds too.

 

When I get going and think writing’s a breeze,

 

At that precise moment I start to freeze.

 

I guess I’m not made to be more than I am,

 

So give me a new motherboard and pile on the RAM.