Lulled by the electronic funk
A willing participant
Hypnotized onlooker
In a hazed stupor
Television
Time eater
Droning
Rest
Glinting and winking,
Bending to the will of the air.
The coin worked its way down:
Slowly,
Heads over tails.
The coin refused certainty.
And undecided it fell:
Heads over tails,
Down,
Down,
Down.
Until,
The pure bronze hovered,
Above the ground.
Without will or decision,
It turned one last time,
To leave its face,
To stare at the sky.
Down,
Down,
Down,
Reached the boy.
Picking up the decided coin.
He Frowned,
Flipping the coin in his hand.
And,
Looking away,
It hit the ground.
He walked back to his bike,
Eagerly awaiting his return.
Only to be dragged away,
Leaving the forked road behind.
“Valentine’s weekend,” is performing well in 2026’s attention economy.
I know I like the sound of it - it sounds industrial-strength hopeful.
Romance has always been packed with impulse and desire,
but today’s lovers aren’t just flirting with emotional destruction,
they’re literally kissing it on the lips - those digital images are hard to erase.
Surfing the lonely Internet,
in that boiling AI firmament,
are the ashes of emotional content.
Luckily, on that ever vibrating web,
every now-meaningless moment,
competes with the last.
Me, I have a straight-up brag this valentines weekend.
I have a guy who, out of nowhere on a Sunday,
texts me his undying love.
Winner winner frozen dinner!!
.
.
A song for this:
I Fall In Love Too Easily by Chet Baker
BIRDS OF A FEATHER by Billie Eilish
Her first time on a board,
was February 1922,
at Muizenberg Beach, South Africa,
then again, in August too,
the lady surfed Honolulu,
Hawaii, where,
by Duke Kahanamoku,
there she may have been taught,
and in Waikiki lost her shorts.
Who would have thought,
of all the girls
in the whole wide world,
she was the sort to shoot the curl.
Tho' a novel way to spend the day,
no crime this time, yet still a mystery,
was the surfing passion of Agatha Christie.
The Ballad of the California Surfer
Early morning waves rise high
Looking like it touches the California sky
While surfers glide through morning waves,
Sun shining down on the sand
As ocean mist wets his hand,
There's no place I would rather be
Then on a surfboard out at sea
Through the horizon
While waves are risen
I will surf the california seas
Through that wet misty breeze
When I surf the waves with such ease,
Because there's no place I would rather be
Then on a surfboard out at sea
While the sun is risen
On the early morning horizon
I will surf the California seas
Where sky meets ocean and air meets water,
and these two approach land,
a novice surfer
glides ever sideways along the borderline
between the graceful, smooth glass of intention,
and the turbulent, chaotic crash of execution.
This eternal moment is called life.
In love, it is called marriage or fatherhood.
Poetry in motion
Pretty lady surfing high
A sight for sore eyes.
She's surfing like
Graceful dancing
Beautiful moves.
Surfing the tides of life
I'm still riding the waves duck diving my way through
Or occasionally having to ask for a hand and toe in when I need to,
Sometimes I'm amped and pop up and ride a perfect ten without any hassle,
I can make it, I'm charging, it's as if I'm a natural,
My eyes locked on that doggy door at the end of the barrel,
Other times the water is chop and nothing but aggro,
And honestly I end up bailing bro.
The waves are out of my control, all I can master is the technique to ride them,
How I pop up, my stance and how I manoeuvre within and around them,
And that my friend is life in a clam shell.
Sometimes you find a pearl and other times it's just an empty vessel.
It is at eventide
When scarlet turns red
We feel the light of God inside
Our presence by bliss beats led
Rests in the toroidal heart
By soma nectar fed
Stillness is an art
Requiring identity to recede
That flow of magnetism may start
Negating desire, living as of need
Light within heart is revealed
Seeds of love thus breed
Drenched in bliss, soul is healed ~
Such is the power, God does wield
Waking up at morn, before thoughts arise,
when dawn drifts into enchanted meadows,
our soul delights in God’s offered surprise,
as lotus of pure love, within heart grows.
Presence both immanent and transcendent,
bilocating between form and vast space,
is head to toe, fully bliss resplendent,
breath by breath gently imbibing God’s grace.
Stretching time thus, in the in between stage,
we paint rainbows in the sky of our mind,
as with music of the spheres, we engage,
conjuring a soft rhythm, divine aligned.
Heart the fulcrum, from where we operate,
all nodes within, in childlike joy gyrate.
5
Deep November,
a shallow time, nonetheless.
The snow is high packed with a cryogenic
amnesia.
Not yet dawn,
a sunken bed
muffles rising thoughts.
An eyelash of cognizance
flits across
thawing synapses.
Then the elastic nature
of sleep and wakefulness
snap alive!
November is howling still,
like a stray dog it scratches at my window -
wanting in.
For a while intelligence is a thorn in my paw.
Outside of the brain, November
is the same,
the darkness is still deep,
and friable as charred bone,
yet by now I am a candle flaring,
a flicker and gleam
within a neuronal time-machine,
and mind-surfing
on an ever-cresting awareness.
it's like surfing;
over lifetimes I can't
remember, but
carrying little pieces
over, adding new drops
to sugary, rolling waves,
falling, riding; shouting
occasionally at the devil
or you when you're
nearer
Observing the onset of pain,
within mind-body, acid rain,
presence offers no reaction,
so suffering gains no traction,
since we neither cling nor negate
the happenstance which will abate
in time and meanwhile, the bliss chime,
conjures in heart, love’s sublime rhyme,
a healing balm, ushering calm,
as we amble on, with aplomb.
The wave breaks soft yellow tinged
Slow rising on the hoar frost night
Thickened sap retreats in weakened sun
And yet the leaves rejoice in nature’s call
Party hats and favors drape them all
In windblown timpani they fall
Lay their warming truth upon tree roots
Join their crinkling souls in vibrant quilt
Last refuge of the mole and shiv’ring slugs
The wave will break, in raving red display
As squirrels bid adieu and idly play
Fall’s tide will ebb and take the leaves away
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