Cartesian Canto

I think, therefore I am,

But, you are what you eat,

It is, what it is,

For the chump on the street...

Follow the fashion

And dance to the beat,

Existential wanking

'Til your maker you meet.

Pictures Of My Children

Oh how hard it hits that soft spot inside,

When I look at old photos of my kids,

Them laughing and crying, a Disneyland ride...

I had more hair then, and I carry the girls

On my shoulders, smiling, unable to hide

The sheer joy of being a "Papa"...

The memories exhumed leave me stupefied

And with a stubborn goofy grin,

I put the photos back inside

The scrapbook, on whose pages

The lost past and my feelings coincide...

Unknown Soldiers' Grave

I stand in front and above

The ossuary, and offer

Incense sticks, whose smell

Symbolically covers the stench

Of death, and I pour water

On the memorial stone to quench

The thirst of the fallen,

Cool the heat of their hell...

Thinking of their sacrifices

Churns in me a mordant cry

Quietly screaming "Why?"

And, "Poor unlucky bastards"

Forced by their countries to die...

My Lovely

My old eyes

Still see you

Lovely like you were,

Like you still are...

Time will not

Change that,

Though my vision

May blur...

TGIF

Friday city's dusk, and

It's an exhilarating feeling

To strut out into the night,

A group of men in suits,

Off of work, freewheeling

Hunters in the dying light,

But they won't get too lost,

Try as they might.

Intoxication In The 1970s

The end of the day, the party's done,

Empty keg, massive beer buzz,

Semi-conscious under the rising sun,

I sing a song to myself, because

I'm the only lonely one

Who remembers what it was...

Rock and Roll, and smokes, and fun.

Samurai Posture

I haven't eaten anything

Since last Tuesday...

Yet I kneel in silence,

And clean my teeth with a toothpick,

As if I've just gorged on a steak...

Phoenix

Up from the ashes, the Phoenix shakes off sparks

Of a soul-fire which could not kill

Its spirit... but then there's the meadowlarks

Who don't get burnt, yet still

Wing aloft into the same sky,

Both birds finding their own way to fly...

When The Robots Started Dancing

In the year 2098

Millions of robots are helpers to man

Doing the dirty jobs no others can

It's their mechanical fate

Toil like illegal immigrants

Metallic, not tragic,

Keeping America great.

But then something magic

And strange occurs, as a ghost,

One day, enters the machines,

A cosmic music virus jumps

From host to host,

From coast to coast,

And then there are joyful scenes

Of hip-hopping hydraulic pumps,

And, in digital-electric trance

The metal-droids begin to dance

Like James Brown, hot circuits

With ants in their pants.

They do the Boogaloo,

The Funky Chicken and The Jerk...

The Robots never stop,

And humans go back to work...

- - - - - - - - - -

Art by Mark Harm Niemeyer, available at MAIYA Gallery in Sacramento, CA

Link: http://maiyagallery.com/default.html

A Poem For George

Walking through the souk,

Bargaining and buying,

Young chocolate-colored man

Has fun without trying

Because he can,

And the seller's skin

Is the color of sand,

Who makes his living lying

To tourists, from another land...

The bargain is made,

But nothing really connects,

Neither ventured nor laid,

The chocolate-man flies back

To distant Japan.

Writer's Block

Waiting for a word that might not be there,

An idea or an image, out of thin air

A fragment of beauty, devoid of despair

I'm sure it will come to me, sometime, anywhere.

Social Media

How can I be so lonely?

When I have so many friends,

On Facebook.

茶道 Tea Ceremony Wisdom

The taste of new tea

Is green and sweet;

Blended over time,

Its flavor turns complex

and astringent;

And when fully mature,

Tea is deliciously bitter.

So are we.

Scary Future

He chases and kicks at the pigeons,

Sreaming little monster boy, at play

In a peaceful suburban park,

He'll be hurting people some day.

NFL

Football, which is really

A hand-held ball,

And it's carried by players

Who run into each other,

Leap and fall,

On the green grass,

At speed, chasing the forward pass,

Which ends where the acceleration

Immediately smack-stopped,

Energy negation and

The remainder pain,

It argues for emptiness -- no place

No name...

Yet football spurs celebration,

For the yards we gain...

Lemur Man

Lemur Man hangs-out at the zoo,

With his primate pals, looking and

Laughing at the humans, me and you,

The true exhibit's outside the cage...

He's got nothing else pressing to do.

Lemur Man once went to college,

And studied for an MBA,

But the wild call of the jungle

Pulled him off to a different way,

Jettisoning corporate bungle-

Business play...

There's more to life than pay.

Lemur Man takes pleasure

In a simple cooling breeze,

He's creative and eager to please,

And his art is most highly appraised

By the simian critics in the trees...

Lemur Man and his monkeys

Are happy and amazed,

To be able to live slowly,

Each of their days.

Link: http://www.valcomnews.com/?tag=mark-niemeyer

Home For The Holidays

When families split apart,

Which tends to be the case,

Was it intended from the start?

The kids,

Like seeds which leave flowers,

And float-off to a different place...?

Truth be told, the answer's "Yes" --

A fissile force works days and hours,

Until children leave, and egress

For rebel areas off the charts,

Sometimes gone without a trace...

But we are not doomed to loneliness

For love and memory have the powers

To bridge the distance between hearts,

To reach across intervening space,

And bring together the scattered ones:

Mothers, fathers, daughters, and sons.

Strange Yellow Mound

On an eastern Nebraska plain, seen from afar,

Was a hill of gold, a mysterious yellow pile,

Of corn, it turns out, a mountain bizarre --

Cattle feed or fuel ingredients for my car...

Yet the sight was still enough to beguile,

As the farmers' grain trucks, came to dump

Their harvest, all lined-up in a single file...

http://www.flickr.com/photos/minolta_nut/4152768197/

The Carrot We Chase

It's not always happy

To be a working stiff,

Putting-up with crappy

Situations, wondering if

You can scramble and survive

The politics in the hive...

But it sure reduces the tension,

When you qualify for your pension.

Akemashite Omedeto!

... Five, four, three, two, one!

Hooray! New Year's begun!

But the cold is the same as yesterday.

245 Days Until The Next Kick-off

It's said when you lose,

A part of you dies,

And you learn from it, and use

The pain to put fire back in your eyes.

But what if the pain's so bad

And there's no learning to be had,

The feel-good mantra revealed to be lies,

And all that's left is cold and sad...?

It's the truth, lad,

A word to the wise...

01 January, Suwa-Dai-Jinja Shrine

The past is smoke curling,

Up, from the votive burn can

In the Shrine yard, whirling,

Up, into sun rays peeking

Through the ancient trees,

Turning white, gently swirling,

Smelling it, I sit, at ease,

In the Zen of the sacred place,

Where Shinto gods have

Caused time to slow its pace,

As a tentative winter breeze,

Wafts the burnt wishes past my face...