Long Indifferent Poems
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I comport myself with quiet pridefulness,
plus intellectual whimsy
aware that "FAKE" pretentiousness,
could be mistaken foreign egotistical vitae
furthering, feathering and figuratively
undermining jestingly,
poetically, and zealously
oozing, gushing, bubbling over
with faux snobbish suave re:
pulse sieve literary fatuous
haughtiness, and ludicrous narcissistic pre
ning all the while chuckling to me
self, and indifferent if
some anonymous browser
with Dutchman's breeches rolled up
upon cresting wave over Zyder Zee
disparages mine harmless
badinage, hence if ye
might qualify as such nitpicker,
who doth cavil - dee
crying wading thru
quagmire of verbiage,
a gentle reply to thee
might be more wise to turn energy
toward, how in many another country
the village people haint so free
spouting, sporting, and spoiling,
vis a vis intellectual sparring
(albeit innocent) black
barbs hatch chee
ving, and raising urgent
attention against he
(who whiz squelching
constitutional rights) re:
pressing, rescinding, reviling,
et cetera access toward key
underpinnings within these fifty
constituent United States
of America beckon alacrity
for obliging citizens across
all points of the compass to alee
v8 his indiscriminate flee
sing, sans bedrock nation could tee
tear on the brink of calamity,
which political plug quite inadequate
to staunch hemorrhaging, viz upending
many a sacred liberty,
and foo to you reprimanding
against any agree
gee us objection to pen about polly lee
ticks and/or religion!
Indifference, if neutral,
is not hostile or inviting.
Indifference of nature,
like indifferent sages,
need not favor warriors detached from winning health
nor degenerative losing trends against healthy wealth,
cast in our 'hollow reed' self-neutral image
of empty potential godliness,
pure omnipresent transparency,
divine polypathic integrity
potential of reversed detachment.
This left-hemisphere indifference
allied with right-integral feeling,
so prominent in Buddhist and Taoist experience,
is only half our YangLeft with YinRight hemispheric history
of self and other full-governing
Our Warrior for ReAttachment
right-hemisphere half slow-grown differently interdependent,
A polyphonic harmonic web
for mutual attraction
of ego/eco-therapeutic re-attraction
to compassion's historic
muticultural
deep-learning Ways
and Means, universal-Left balancing unitarian-Right harmonic,
Yang remembering to respect WiseElder
bilateral
feeling/memory revolutionary reversions
past intuitions through nurturing interdependent future thoughts
imaged wombs for webs of bicameral balancing
hollow messianic dipolar co-arising choice
To remain fully resilient,
vulnerably listening teachers,
win/win climate committed
conflict inversion resolution resolvers,
therapeutic polycultural mediators,
not so much monocultural molestors
indifferently tolerant of aggressive
degenerative
left-hemisphere dominant wide, but not deep-learning climates
for differentially fragmenting environments
as if intended for nihilistic lose/lose,
by learning to indifferently tolerate
universal silo subclimates of growing despair,
Fiddling while our only and last Bow burns.
To redefine wealth as health
and not indifferently tolerate fake small ego-centrism
as if our larger Earth-centric healthy inviting sanctuary space
were not also our first and last hollow bowing place,
yet uniting and passionately sacred
in this our Great UnRaveling/CoGravitating Time
of climaxing Yang-health
as Yin-wealth opportunity
for polyculturally optimizing systemic
resiliently co-passionate Nature,
Time's Sage Bilateral Way.
Occasionally we should expose the wackier lobe of the brain
in order to better appreciate the more sensible side of the mind.
~THIS is one of those times...
I capriole between my arabesques
fugaciously spasmodic in fluxes and leaps
indifferent to their misanthropic mocking
and cheeky syncopated schisms
BUT LET THEM SCOFF!
I derogate their arrogance
in silent smirking repudiation
for they know not of the decoctions
spating rapidly through my veins,
nor of the massive assemblage
of my miscelany grey and white matter.
The mordant humor of this absurdity
is that I am irrationally rational...
psychotically speaking;
I am dripping with percipience
sagaciously intelligent beyond the measure
of those cretins who kvetch, pule, and postulate
that I am strabismic and nonsensical as a loon.
After reading this write of gelastic absurdity,
it's become mereticiously opaque to me
that my discourse is oxymoronic, OR
I am a dimwitted addlepate.
There is more than one kind of crazy!
*********************
A translated version of the above nonsense,
so now Jan doesn't think she's hopelessly lost.
I dance as if I were a ballerina,
a total klutz, but I don't care
if they laugh at me.
LET THEM MAKE FUN!
I don't care if they smirk at me because
they don't know what I feel or think.
The funny part of my silliness is that
I'm really rational, pretending not to be.
I'm really smarter than I look or act
so let those idiots say that I'm
as crazy as a loon.
Now that I've read these words,
it's clear to me that nothing I've
written is clear. Soooo....
I'm either clever at writing an oxymoron
OR I'm crazy.
She loves it; he hates it; the children are indifferent.
Max, the son, runs toward an abstract artist the others do not understand.
Charlotte, the daughter, is reading a book, loving it that she has a bench.
The largest art gallery in New York has no pull to her.
Stepdad is pretending to like what their mother is oohing and ahhing about.
A Monet exhibit where every painting is the same in dull colors.
Trees, trees, trees, trees, trees, trees, trees.
You can tell they are newlyweds.
Art. Subjective in every possible way.
It separates families, much like religion and politics.
Many opinions, ideas, and feelings.
Is there anything so excruciatingly exhausting
As to feel the need to look at everything
Through judgmental eyes
No background or context
Barely half the info
Yet so quick to jump to conclusions
Always quick to pass judgment
As if holding all the cards and criteria
Seeking perfection everywhere
How arrogant and pretentious
Like trying to wear God’s hat
I once said the worst thing
I could imagine was to see
Someone imprisoned for a crime
They did not commit
Am I so stupid to not realize
I am guilty everyday of doing
Exactly that in a million little ways
Over and over again
Of doing the worst crime I have imagined
That I am judging and sentencing
Without hearing all facts…
And even if I did hear all the facts
Who died and made me almighty judge?
And anyway…
What’s with this overwhelming urge
Needing to quickly evaluate and judge
Possibly born of some caveman instinct
To protect oneself from imminent dangers
If so, it’s way beyond that and outdated
Not only ineffective but destructive
Become much the enemy within
Blackening my heart with every cynical thought
Separating me from everything that surrounds
Isolating me empty of compassion or empathy
Whatever happened to a little bit of humility
And admitting that none of it concerns me
It is what it is good bad or indifferent
God just called
He wants his hat back
AP: 3rd place 2020
In the days of boredom and sorrow,
Showering you with ceasless kisses
Was a bridge
To a tranquil tomorrow.
Amidst my boundless dread,
Embracing you brought forth
A dawn of hope,
Like feeling of sunlight
After an intoxicated night.
Seven years have swiftly passed,
In these fleeting moments, dear,
My battered soul found peace in your presence,
In the gentle rise and fall of your breath,
In your pleasence.
Light of my eyes,
Today,
Your little body,
And that smart gaze
Have left our world,
Leaving silence in their wake.
You shivered in my arms
The light of life
Lost its brightness
In your innocent eyes
I couldn't forsake caressing you;
Nevertheless, you had gone,
indifferent to my cries.
Joyous angel,
My ever mourning heart still beats,
But as a symphony of chaos,
Grieving for you.
How can I soothe it?
You are not here,
I will never be able to.
Now,
A profound gloom
Has taken your place,
For ever.
Rest in peace my little fella.
May 21, 2024
To the ancient Norse he was Kraken
With a mean inclination,
And the Greeks called him Gorgon
With the same reputation.
But as monster of myths
He's been wrongly miscast,
So I'm here to shed new light
On this poor creature, at last.
An exemplary example
Of his cephalopod race,
With a blob of a body,
The merest trace of a face.
He has eight arms, or legs,
But no fingers or toes,
No waistline or shoulders,
No eyebrows or nose.
He can fly through the water
With the greatest of ease,
And accomplishes it sans
Catapult or trapeze.
When danger confronts him,
He's off in a blink,
And disappears in a cloud
Of stinky black ink.
Octobabies leave home
When the mother gives birth
To be part of the food chain,
Which is no cause for mirth.
Octodads show affection
With indifferent tugs,
But at mealtime they can be
Overly generous with hugs.
The octopus likes his comfort
And prefers to make his home
In more exotically aquatic locales.
It's not unheard of for some,
Who want to see more of the world,
To drift away from their natural venue,
Only sadly to get caught in a fisherman's net
And end up on a sushi bar menu.
At Christmas he's resigned
To passing out gifts,
Though as helper elf his head's too big
To put a hat upon.
And like the squid and the manta,
He can never play Santa
'cause he has no lap
To be sat upon.
Perceptions
What will the story be ?
Into the mysteries of the observing mind
one has to ponder, wonder just what kind
of tales, stories, beliefs will we see unfold
as the projections, the perceptions are told.
Will they be of nights, Knights on great white steeds ?
- of selfless acts, acts of compassion, understanding, of good deeds ?,
or will we see that they are black, cold, indifferent and cruel –
or just a man, - dressed as a mule – an aged, age old fool.
Will these Knightly images come at you in fierce
black storm clouds – thunder, the ears doth pierce.
Will your visions be of that great orb ?, and Helios’ steeds
bringing fire, passion, light – healing , filling your needs.
What will come across the impassioned – sky lit night ?,
that just might impress that third eye with insight.
Could all this be but an old, foolish man’s thought ?,
that in the final analysis, in the end, will come to not
for no one ?, will remember nor will they care,
nor will they be concerned about what is fare.
Down these rocky roads, some of us will go,
what we learn, will it be what we really know ?
Is the light – coming from within ? – to show
us, down life’s rough roads, alone we must go ?
Will a black hole become our future ?
Will shadows creep in from the past ?,
give us glimpses of - in refractive light - the present.
Will losses, changes, renewals be our guides towards the end ?
Will all this be guided by the hands of fate ?, will karma send
us on journeys, adventures ? education of the soul to mend ?
B. J. “A” 2
August 19th 2004
The world is filled with famous people, they are everywhere we look:
in our movies, on TV, in our newspapers and books
And though we’ve probably never met them, when adieu this world they bid
we’ll remember words they said and we’ll remember things they did.
We’ll remember if they were filled with love…or if hate made their vision blind
We’ll remember if they were compassionate, honest, generous and kind.
We'll remember if they made us smile or if as a rule
they were mean, indifferent, unfair, prejudiced or cruel.
Most of us, however, aren’t famous to the world…
but we are famous to a few…
and so we need to ask:
How do I want to be remembered by the people I’m famous to?
What will they treasure most when I am gone…
when I no longer cease to be?
Will they wear a smile or a frown
when the remember me?
Headed to a destination far west of my home town, I was a thousand miles from home and a thousand miles yet to go to reach my destination when I took a wrong turn. 100 miles off the path before realizing it, this wrong turn became a very long wrong turn. I met two people while in my 'state of
lostness', each of whom seemed on a different mission. I might add that never have I seen two people with distinct missions so in tune to their purpose. I first came upon a Mr. Indifferent who busied himself hunting deers and fishing for salmons. While fishing, he entertained himself by
watching golf and football replays on his Iphone. I sought his assistance in putting me on the right tract, but he ignored me all together; not a word.
It seemed I was breaking his consentration, and his anoyance of and by
me was clearly visible. He could not have cared less. I quickly moved on, thinking the 'grass was surely greener' around the next bin and up the next hill.
I met Mr. Hate over the hill, but if he was grass, it certainly was not greener than Mr. Indifferent. Mr. Hate was determined to live up to his name, and I was his next target, the receptor of his verbal wrath that had neither rhyme nor reason. It appears that he was instinctively hateful toward any and everything within sight regardless of any connection with himself. Never had I seen eyes and body language more hateful.
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