Light Bulb Thinker settled down to concentrate on work
Ideas were parading, from his job he did not shirk.
Librarians hushed their clientele, so LBT could think.
Phrases and vocabulary came to him in green, yellow and pink.
Wonder what is happening? Another thinker asked.
Not sure, said the book worm, is he comfy and masked?
Does he have to be? A patron asked in a hushed tone.
They watched the amazing thinker, as he sat still as stone.
LIGHT BULB MOMENTS
so stark
it feels
delicate
&
ethereal
involving chance
summoned
to an
alternate
encounter
an
exercise
in the capricious
so esoteric
pleasingly
conjured
to preserve
the affectionate
imbuing it
with feeling
frozen
spectacular
conceptual
illuminates
the scene
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
LIGHT BULB MOMENTS
so stark
it feels
delicate
&
ethereal
involving chance
summoned
to an
alternate
encounter
an
exercise
in the capricious
so esoteric
pleasingly
conjured
to preserve
the affectionate
imbuing it
with feeling
frozen
spectacular
conceptual
illuminates
the scene
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
A Light Bulb Moment
Miracle Man
2/9/2022
To special people I’ve bequeathed some treasure,
with no strings attached its theirs to hold.
Thinking it will give them identical pleasure,
not realizing many times their re-gifted or sold.
Just because some object has been a treasure to me,
doesn’t mean that another will view it the same.
My thinking is, theirs, this object will always be,
but out of politeness are some playing a game?
I’ve given “treasures” to others to remember me by
not realizing, that some might sooner forget.
Tom
dainty scavenger floats down
onto a mystery orb
peeks through her pretty window
wondering at the sheer beauty
of this effervescent petal
something mystical about her
An anomaly in the woods
Possibly grown by the
Felled tree
Never saw a full grown oak
landing in this spot before
A magic moment
I was lost, despondent, not figuring out my life in any way
When a flashing light bulb that was dying became my mentor.
She hissed at me, but I did not hear.
I saw her blink, but did not linger.
Hey you! She finally yelled.
Desperate to straighten me out.
"I am dying," she told me. "This is your last chance."
This got my attention.
She told me to stop feeling sorry for myself.
She had less than three hours,
So it felt selfish to keep the despondency up.
I released it, and it happily flew into the garden to try and annoy the tulips. Good luck, I thought, they are always upbeat.
"What do you WANT to do with your life?" the flickering
dying lightbulb asked.
"I wanted to be a teacher," I said," But I do not have the school."
"Go get it," she ordered. " You are not dead yet."
So I went back to school, in honor of a dying light bulb
who flickered one last time before I could get her name.
Every Idea Won't Be a Light Bulb Moment,
1/15/2018
Tom
Every idea won't be a light bulb moment,
But great ideas can begin with you!
Generally, a great idea,
is worth no more than it's core thoughts,
and no less than the elation associated with it.
My mother loved me into wonderfulness
An odd child, too unusual for school.
I was sent home the first day, with a note.
I watched my mother’s face, for nuances.
A small wavering cheek dimple would have
Confirmed my most horrid fears.
I could tell by the whisperings of the day
The teacher did not want me there
Would my mother feel shame?
Would she call me names too?
Like the children had?
Arms enfolded me.
Relief.
She still loved me.
My mother, the one person who
Believed in me when I was feeling like
No one else did.
You my blessed son, are too smart to go there.
I stared into her brown doe eyes.
She had never been more convincing.
And I was a child who needed to believe.
She is the reason I persevered.
No other teacher could have taught me
Resiliency and tenacity like my mother did.
She, and she alone, convinced me of my
Brilliance.
No one else would have failed nine thousand and nine hundred and ninety-nine times and still tried one more time, right?
So in a way I must dedicate the electric light-bulb to my mother.
God bless you, Mother.
You are my hero!
Every Idea Won’t be a Light Bulb Moment
But Great Ideas Can Begin with You!
1/15/2018
Generally, a great idea,
Is worth no more that its core thought’s,
And no less than the elation associated with it.
Tom
I felt cold winter winds upon
My face, my hands, my ears,
Wet blowing snowflakes, chilly white,
That to my eyes brought tears.
I was outside hanging lights
That would in darkness glow
And with their multicolored rays
Create for all, snow shows.
When plugged in, up atop the roof,
All bulbs but one beamed bright,
I knew that it was "climb up time",
Up there this winter’s night.
I turned around to go and get
My ladder from the shed,
When up above my roof, I heard
A whoosh beyond my head.
I looked way up and -Oh, my gosh! -
A very bright light shone
All through the sky, on houses, cars;
I blinked and it was gone.
The light bulb that had failed before
To light was glowing bright,
Much brighter than the rest of them
Here on this snowy night.
Amidst a flash across the sky
I heard a voice, I swear,
Call out, "Take care and cast your smile
To people everywhere.
It’s not the lights that glow that need
A spark, it’s those gone out.
Shine forth your joy to all the world,
That’s what love’s all about."
W.C.Hull © 2003-2013-23-12-689 (A)
I felt cold winter winds upon
My face, my hands, my ears,
Wet blowing snowflakes, chilly white,
That to my eyes brought tears.
I was outside hanging lights
That would in darkness glow
And with their multicolored rays
Create for all, snow shows.
When plugged in, up atop the roof,
All bulbs but one beamed bright,
I knew that it was "climb up time",
Up there this winter's night.
I turned around to go and get
My ladder from the shed,
When up above my roof, I heard
A whooooosh beyond my head.
I looked up in the night sky where
A very bright light shone
All through the sky, on houses, cars;
I blinked and it was gone.
The light bulb that had failed before
To light was glowing bright,
Much brighter than the rest of them
Here on this snowy night.
Amidst a flash across the sky
I heard a voice, I swear,
Call out -"Take care and cast your smile
To people everywhere.
It's not the lights that glow that need
A spark - it's those gone out.
Shine forth your joy to all the world,
That's what love's about."
W.C.Hull © 2003-23-12-689 (A)
A light bulb
that when turned on
is faint and low, range amber flow
then as it warms
the given light
glows bright and strong
filling the room.
A love
born of friendship
inspires and gives life to each other
that questions the whys and wherefores
to become more
of understanding and acknowledgement
that one is nothing without the other.
With time,
it grows
or dims
as the source allows.
(Haikus from my short poetry collection in Greek: Se ?????? st????? ??????asµ????, Perched on a few verses,
translated by me.)
A broken light bulb.
It’s dawning. The naked street.
A butterfly.
---
Upon the branches
of dawn, the day’s rustling
silk dreams.
His beat rages for hours
darting to the computer table
without time to greet Mom or Dad
as the light pops every minute; wired in
space, lost in blank words when he speaks,
enthralled to level up and gain power points
because he cares more for video than human talk.
The light on the screen aims at Tekken and aliens
raging a war against supremacy, somewhere
outside the real world he can’t deal with, now.
And he puts the light on, enticing him to dim
a special nook in a lit, closed room. Kiddie
books unread for weeks; a migraine
splits past 12 am for a kid of
nine years unable to
control an impulse.
He eats, plays
and deals with
his robot pals..
. . . . .
. . . . .
other boys take
their bikes out,
buts he pushes
another button
controlled by his
mechanical allies
with guns ,roars.
. . . . .
Video wreck,
Game