This late morning's high noon scaling, steeply-ascending, ragged herald
Hauls himself upwards into the roaring expanse of the dizzying sky
To chance upon this, might though his very soul should be imperiled,
When lording over which is constrained within a dispassionate, encompassing eye.
From the feathered throat abruptly pours such Mellifluous harmony
As, lifting higher and higher, he negotiates a ledge inside a wisp of
broken cloud;
Those rich, dulcet notes, more decidedly sweeter than any liquid honey,
Irresistibly flowing Earthwards... a continuous symphony of unparalleled sound.
His alone the rushing glory! His alone this almost unattainable niche!
For up here, rarified and raw, the air is breathless and sparse where thins.
Then the song fully enveloping the shrunken patchwork of fields beneath...
Whereon, delivering forth from bursting lungs, that final triumphant salvo
he heroically flings.
attitude
detached
behaviour
a maze
of
oddities
to
outwardly
explore
varied
veristic
feelings
translate
as
phenomena
dispassionate
pretext
undeserved
undeniable
in
existential
reality
a potential
to
cloak
instability
nonchalantly
exaggerate
&
marginalise
figuration
with
a sense
of
universal
perspective
(“Multiculturalism Merit Badge”, 2010, original oil)
Unsolicited
Yesterday I called my daughter
To give unsolicited parenting advice.
She listened and heard me
And even thanked me after,
But then I went away
Wondering who am I to give advice
And how does my experience as a child
Compare to my daughter’s kid's today.
It’s really two different worlds
Of different values, pressures and expectations.
In our talk these key words of parenting arose;
Love, fairness, patience
And something more elusive,
Maybe even you could say the Holy Grail
Of parenting, equanimity,
That quality of dispassionate composure
Especially in the face of stress.
And maybe this is what makes me feel
My advice rings hollow
And so better left unsaid.
If we don’t embody the lessons we teach
What use are they,
And if we embody them,
What need for them to be even given.
(9/2/25)
Have you ever wondered how you’ll die,
I don’t mean the external particulars
But the inner state of mind,
When the moment comes?
Will you be consumed in terror,
Or blessed relief, or simply detached curiosity,
Or perhaps some inexplicable mix of all three?
One never knows.
And isn’t that the beauty of this life?
If it’s long enough we get to consider it
We may even come close enough to taste it
And if we’re wise enough we get to practice it.
Perhaps this planning is all it takes
To separate the fear from acceptance
Against the fundamental backdrop
Of mind’s dispassionate gaze.
If we begin young
Then maybe we will achieve our plans
And exit this world with the poise
Of someone merely passing from one room to another.
It’s always a possibility you know
For how we live determines how we die
Not the external particulars
But the inner state of mind.
(10/31/24)
Look at me as I lay dying here
The biological functions shutting down
The heart rapidly slowing to a still
The windows to my soul closing for the final time
What do you see?
A life lived with positivity and hope
A sense of purpose clear and true
To make a better life and world for my children
To nurture a future for a thriving human race
As I watch you slowly dying
The biological functions shutting down
The heart rapidly slowing to a still
The windows to your soul closing for the final time
What do I see?
We may come from different lives
We may be different genders
Our race and creed may suggest disparity
But we really are the same
Our bodies work the same
Irrespective of our colour or religion
Our hopes, our goals, our desire for future
Are for continuance, for betterment
Don't watch me slowly die
Dispassionate for the loss
I won't watch you slowly die
And turn my head without compassion
Our intrinsic value infinite
To make our children's world
A place they can live and thrive
They need to know and understand
We are at our core just the same
RAW MADNESS
It’s not a sort of gentle softness or neutrality
When it is time for the inner self to emerge
But just cold and calculating left-sided brain
Rising above it all when the heart feels pain
As in focus, there’s even a detectable surge
What’s worrying, is that this is my normality
Becoming my real self isn’t such a rare event
It is that dispassionate scientific state of mind
Whether I’m in company or more often alone
For such behaviour, I have no cause to atone
It is not so bad an image, I think you will find
And yet I don’t feel the need to ever repent
Ploddingly it took the form
Of some dispassionate melody
Our wailing voices at crescendo
For our undying we mourn
With care they traipsed the deck
A mass of notions in mind
Did ten artlessly disappear
or were held by the Atlantic's inside?
Still we stood and tried to inform
Searchers of our malady
That we living men hitherto
can presently not be seen
Still we stand on Mary's deck
To us the world is blind
As they neither see nor hear
our gestures nor our cries
Not all can be explained
Not all can we fathom
Some presences can't be felt
like the eight in seventy two
This LeftMind dominant
viral virtue
of practicing RightBody patience
Is a coverup
for feeling deep impatience.
Feeling impatient is not as hopeful
as exploring active curiosity.
Curiosity
about why someone,
including my own anthro-privileged self,
would default to live win/lose
competitively
When our healthiest,
and safest
economically enlightened
and politically empowering experiences
have always grown choices to live
liberally
radically
integrally
EarthTribally
sacredly
neurosystemically
ecologically
more fully win/win,
cooperatively co-invested.
Passionate curiosity might kill the occasional cat;
but probably not more deadly
than dispassionate lack of curiosity.
Besides,
passionate curiosity can also be more fun
than boring impatience
More joyful,
than sad
mad
bad
More curiously glad
even appropriately win/win consenting adult/adult lusty
More sad/glad soulful
preferring mindful disciplines
like healthy therapeutic dances
and well-sung
resiliently brilliant love songs.
"Under the amber sun's warmth seagulls squawk embraced in the freewheeling
briny breeze and hum of the ocean's bosom." Quote by poet
Sun ember warm light dances
a brilliantly choreographed waltz
rhythm upon the sapphire surface
an erratic glitter to a world beneath
a vessel of such mysteries that rises.
Ocean churn by the wind and waves
open in its abyss always in motion
diving into the cool dispassionate within
brackish water and its marine life.
3/25/2023
Writing Challenge - 'O' Words Poetry 2. Ocean
Contest Sponsored by: Constance La France
Ploddingly it took the form
Of some dispassionate melody
Our wailing voices at crescendo
For our undying we mourn
With care they traipsed the deck
A mass of notions in mind
Did ten artlessly disappear
or were held by the Atlantic's inside?
Still we stood and tried to inform
Searchers of our malady
That we living men hitherto
can presently not be seen
Still we stand on Mary's deck
To us the world is blind
As they neither see nor hear
our gestures nor our cries
Not all can be explained
Not all can we fathom
Some presences can't be felt
like the eight in seventy two
The bee is a-buzzing~
a sweeter time of year –
for the hive is a-growing,
has to be dearly fed, as
the queen was off a-queening
had taken fond drones
to her sultry bed –
flowers, all-efficient,
the earth's blushing, reddening
ripening fertile ways –
Spring giving all colorful
blaze, warmly enticing
brightly dutifully tinting
adding uplifting expression
to
earth's
cold
drab
definitely
needing
inspiring
far too
dispassionate
winter
phase.
If Time were only the
sweep of hands, subjects
mere tiny clicks~
then we could tinker with
metal sands, and springs
to determine life's short
or eternal ticks;
but unlike the glass, that tilts,
and turns, and drips, one's sense
of real loss with dear passing
profound...
though yet I am here...I have been
told...since your tragic unwound,
Time for me
came to an unraveling stop
with the last shovel
topping off
earth's too often
dispassionate
ground –
SEASON OF MYTHS
Inspired, but unlike all the rest
Driven, with a burning fervour
So determined to begin a quest
Not as a dispassionate observer
Assumed the mantle of a sleuth
With research and detective skills
Discover kernels of hidden truth
Once the source of worldly ills
Buried deep in a lost prehistory
A heady mixture of fact and fable
Decoding and revealing mystery
From artefacts laid on the table
Led further into darker reaches
Where surprises live in gloom
What every wise man teaches
Stay focused and in the room
The false trails and obfuscation
Exposing challenges to ability
Even to maintaining motivation
Carrying a heavy responsibility
My key discoveries made at last
As more evidence is analysed
Slowly teased out from the past
Academics will be so surprised
When things don't turn out
Quite the way you hoped they would,
Don't withdraw into a shell, or worse,
Don't scream and curse the universe.
Onto each head some rain must fall,
Life is a crap shoot, after all,
Stuff happens.
When you hold on to dreams
Much longer than you should,
You will find out, to your dismay,
With time, some dreams just fade away,
But the world keeps turning even then,
And hearts that break can also mend,
Stuff happens.
But, don't give up on dreams,
Don't banish them for good.
We all will have our turn at plate,
And call it luck, kismet, or fate,
We each get our allotted share,
Life is dispassionate but fair,
And to everybody everywhere
Stuff happens.
Said the old widow cook
to the drag queen son
feeding his/her dying abusive dad,
while offering her nurturing donation:
"I don't want your money.
We're not savages, yet."
Other words
that might have come to
desecrating mind:
not for sale, yet
not that victimized
not that wounded
not that uncivilized
not that poor
not that disenfranchised
not that disempowered
not that unenlightened
not that devastated
not that resourceless
not that dispassionate
not that judgmental
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