The Wheel

 

Double Helix / watercolor

 

The wheel of life after life,

of karma and revenge.

The victim in one, the tormenter in another,

The roles reversed again.

Shall we play the game of an eye for an eye?

Or rise above and pay the debt for good?

Life after life in an endless cycle

of here and there, of then and now.

A seed is planted, grows, wilts, dies to return next Spring.

No one gets out alive, no one stays dead forever.

The Wheel of Fate turns-- it's your turn.

The Journey made hard with forgetfulness.

The rotten kid does not remember his faults,

Then a monk who pays for past sins with compassion.

The selfish taking another chance at domination,

Then a mother who holds her newborn, with tearing streaming,

and gladly sacrifice everything for the child in her embrace.

Past sins erased with redemption,

Past hatred replaced with love.

Our fate--will it be the same seed placed in poor soil

or will the plant flower and spread across the field?

The wheel never stops.

 

 

Time Goes By

 

Sunset in Creswell /Photo by A McLaughlin

    I never get tire of seeing the trees out my window change with the seasons, even though it means another year has passed.

    I never tire of sunsets even though it ends another day. The same for the moon- how a month goes by so quickly.

    I never tire of watching a small tree I planted knowing it will offer shade to the next generation.

    Time moves swiftly to the impatient, yet it takes ages to wear away the rocks in a river as it changes course.

    The passage of time has its pleasures to those who watch.

The Watch

I may have posted this long ago, I don't remember. At any rate, enjoy 

        

           

The Watch

I have a watch I said-watch

A marvel of mechanical magic held out before me.

The phases of the moon, stars and mythical creatures whirl in an arc across it’s face.I opened it to show my sister, it moved in my hand.

        

An ancient view of Ptolemey and his heaven of spheres spin and shrink-one inside the other with the Earth at its center.

“I don’t understand this,” Sister halted the watch with her comment.

I also paused, in order to think.

 

It started again as we walked through a gallery, before us came dioramas and little chimes spelling out the story of it all.

Curiosity got the better of Sister who stuck her finger into the cogs

 and the universe altered.

 

One Stone broke off the French Renaissance.

Sister was upset, “I’m sorry I faltered.”

“But I just bought this,” I panicked. I surveyed in confusion as Ptolemy’s servants glued the pieces back together in bliss.

 

We continued in time, it was really quite comical

as things disappeared right out of our minds.

The monks wrote nonsense in the dark.

Boats wouldn’t float and planets flew in circles.

 

Strangest of all-people walked backward,

as they pointed ahead crying “This way, this way!”

When we were done, I put the watch in my pocket for safekeeping,

but when I felt for it, it was loose parts mixed in with spare change.

 

“Oh no!” I cried in dismay but Sister knew for sure

it would rebuild itself without us

 

 

 

 

 

A Poem to Ponder

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too tough for him,

I say, stay in there, I'm not going

to let anybody see you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I pour whiskey on him and inhale

cigarette smoke

and the whores and the bartenders

and the grocery clerks

never know that

he's in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too tough for him,

I say,

stay down, do you want to mess me up?

you want to screw up the works?

you want to blow my book sales in Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too clever, I only let him out

at night sometimes

when everybody's asleep.

I say, I know that you're there,

so don't be sad.

then I put him back,

but he's singing a little

in there, I haven't quite let him die

and we sleep together like that

with our secret pact

and it's nice enough to

make a man

weep, but I don't

weep, do you?

Charles Bukowski "The Last Night of the Earth Poems" c. 1992