Is there a status setting on Facebook that says, “single and don’t even bother because it will never ever change”?
Is there an alarm built in that if you try to change that setting, a box pops up that says, “You bloody idiot! What the hell do you think you’re doing? Haven’t you gone through this before? Why would you do this to yourself again? You’re worth more than this and you need to take better care of yourself!”
Is there an algorithm built into Twitter that activates to the words “new love” or “true love” that automatically alerts all of your followers to bombard you with reminders of what happened last time? To help your friends keep you safe from yourself?
Are there RSS feeds to subscribe to in moments of lust or infatuation that will help clear your mind of such ridiculous notions? (And do they involve Rush Limbaugh? {shudder})
We have found so many ways to connect to our “friends”, some of whom we’ve never even met in person and probably never will. We reach out to find the things, the comfort, the people we think we need.
So much interconnectedness.
It all gets very loud. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it’s just background noise
Is there an app to help us find ourselves?
For My Grandfather - J.R. Lewis
Feed the birds, Tuppence a bag
I sit in St. James’ Park, London watching little old men feed the birds by the bread bag full.
Brown geese, Canada geese, small geese I don’t recognize looking a bit like Nenes
Pigeons, ducks, coots with their black feathers and white heads.
Seagulls with their raucous screaming, “Mine! Mine!”
Ironically it smells a bit like roasting chicken in the background.
My Grandfather imported birdseed to England to sell to the little old ladies during World War II because you couldn’t get it here.
Knowing him, he made a considerable profit and flirted a great deal with the “old dears”.
I wonder how he would find modern day London, full of older men feeding the birds.
Would he laugh?
Would he scoff?
Or would he be one of them?
With his gym bag full of loaves of bread, scattered to the wind to make the birds happy.
St. James’ Park, London, UK 2/10/2010
The moss covered trees of my memory are dripping with silent tears of unspoken pain
Unsaid hurts and sorrows flit through the branches
Yet sun filters through and allows things to grow and be nurtured in this strange little grove
Where have all the Yesterdays gone? Where have all the Yesterdays gone?
Lichens cling to the rocks like children to their parents legs
More a md more I see the sadness of my former years
Yet a stream flows through this place bringing music and laughter
Where have all the Yesterdays gone? Where have all the Yesterdays gone?
October 6th 2009
My mind is like a puzzle box
Lots of little shapes to move
Fiddle with and come across
Then put back as unused
Where is the secret to the center
Where the treasure jewel is hidden
What combination must I enter
To find the magic all unbidden
I feel I’m under lock and key
Hiding from a certain something
All barriers there put by me
When will I open my own conjuring
A mother watches over her brood. Does that mean she’s “brooding”? I always considered that to be a darker form of pensive. Perhaps something witches do on stormy nights while the clouds gather over their heads so we all know where the storms come from.
When we are brooding are we creating? Are we creating our own inner darkness and fears? Do we then accidentally share them with the world like the witches’ storm?
A brood is a group of young, yet “brooding” is seen to be bad. Is this post-natal depression setting in for all of us?
And why do we brood? Do we end up birthing something beautiful out of it in the end? Or is that where the monster under the bed and the things that lurk in shadows are born?
Light shines off the inside of my
Sunglasses reflecting my
Eye back at me
Showing me my
Own soul penetrating my
Deepest thoughts where you
Reside lazily on a red couch that you
Found at a yard sale and you
Drape yourself in royal purple velvet you
Caress your own shape as the soft light of your
Arm shapes an arc over your head my
Heart beats to your pulse and my
Eyes are drawn back to their own stare as my
Light shines off the inside of my
Sunglasses
I feel the weight of my own pain
Pulling me down like an anchor
I feel the warmth of the sun
Buoying me up like a balloon
I see the children run
Sweeping me away like the wind
I hear the water tumble
Letting me flow like the sea
I taste the salt on my lips
Grounding me to the earth like marble
I smell the smoke from the fire
Lifting my prayers to the sky
I touch your hand and know
The love that you share with me
Now and always
September 22nd 2009
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