::imaginative introspection::

Imagine that all life is an illusion. All that exists is this moment. No past, no future, each memory, every plan, a part of the illusion. Life, in a photograph.

Do you like the image of yourself?

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Stealing Time

I am a time bandit,
snatching moments where I can,
forcing minutes into hours,
creating some semblance of calm amid chaos.

You'll see me, peripherally
as time passes on a lazy afternoon.
While you're reading, lounging
in the garden's sunshine.

I'm snatching your time,
for my own timeline,
that I might patch a few more hours
into my all too brief days.

::work in progress::

Monday, June 6, 2011

Poetry I Love: Robert Burns: To A Mouse "On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough"

Robert Burns: "To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough"

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion,
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell-
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men
Gang aft agley,
An'lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

Sunday, June 5, 2011

What May Come

in a world that changes between  breaths?
Where a future (so uncertain)
Suddenly is here, now -- and
all we can do is wonder      what
trials, gifts, heartbreaks, and joys
are yet to arrive

Uncertainty clouds plans
while determination
and sheer will to survive
carry us through the next   *moment*

With hopes that our predictions are
at least accurate,
                      and we can be warned of the coming storm.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Instinct: Gabrielle

Gabrielle shouted, from underneath the most bizarre contraption Ryker had seen her create yet.  “Its called the Summoner!  Guess what it does!!”
“Um. . .summons?”  Ryker laughed at his mud streaked sister, as she climbed through the contraption, until she reached the top.  She looked down, grinned at him, grabbed a rope and jumped-- swinging down towards him and landing, neatly on her feet a mere foot in front of him. 
Ryker never flinched.  Disappointed, Gabrielle wiped her muddy hands on her pants, “So.  What’d you bring me for lunch?”  Flashing her best “feed me” grin, she laughed, and gave her brother a hug—while reaching around to pull an apple from his pack.”
“Hey!  That was dessert!”  Ryker laughed at his sister, and followed her down a path to the front of her home, a tower of gadgets and contraptions that reached up above the canopy. 
“The Summoner.  It summons.  I can use it to send messages to Simon.  You know how he wanders . . . He gets this-- 
She handed him something tiny, on a leather cord, it was shaped like a beetle, shining metallic green, Ryker placed it around his neck.  Ryker thought of his four year old nephew, Simon had an affinity for discovering the tiniest critters.  He would rescue them from the strangest places—although Ryker suspected the forest was placing them for Simon to find—and would carry them with him for a few days, before finding a suitable home. 
“All I have to do is open mine”, she held a metallic blue beetle in her hand, which was otherwise identical to the green one, and opened its wings, “and rub its belly, and. . ..” 
The green beetle opened its wings, turned around a few times in his hand, flew directly into his chest three times, and then turned and flew towards Gabrielle, pulling him forwards a bit.
Ryker was astonished.  “This is BRILLIANT!”  He walked around her in a circle, watching the gadget adjust its path as he moved.  “How’s it work?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”  Gabrielle laughed, then continued:  “The tower sends a signal that links the two bugs, he can summon me, I can summon him, and we will always be able to find each other.” 
Ryker’s face darkened now, he had serious business to discuss.
“Elisesofia is awake.”

conquest earth

I am
a wilderness warrior

Face mud streaked
Sweat falls to mark
         the path
I choose. 

Every niche is
claimed for a kingdom
                     all my own

Every track, sound, motion
        speaks of history -  -  
             what was here__
     and gives a glimpse of 
what may come.