TRUTH

It is getting so we can only discuss natural phenomena in their own limited context. This must be driving philosophers crazy. “True” statements are now only true in their own neighborhood. At the onset of the scientific revolution, there was optimism that we would soon understand much about the universe and our place in it. Even after Einstein’s General Relativity, we still had hope. But, with Quantum Mechanics the ground beneath our feet began to crumble and Heisenberg only added to the uncertainty. Now, gravity has turned too strange to contemplate and the enigmatic dark matter and dark energy have in our time become the leading actors in our play. Ordinary matter and energy? Only bit players. So, what is our play about? Who the hell knows?

EYES CLOSED

Why do we close our eyes to see deeper? Can
I perceive what I feel for you with open eyes?
No, I must close my eyes and lay my ear upon
your breast. I must hear the beating of your
heart. I must touch you, in order to know how
deeply you have touched me.

A WOMAN

Never made love to a woman
Too near her to see but a part
The curve of her bosom
Played a tune in my heart
Along the track of a nerve
My hand and my cheek
Fit each perfect curve
With no effort to seek
For this we’re blessed with touch?
May be assuming too much.

TINY HANDS

Now, shorn of indifference, I, the aged warrior, found my heart overgrown with memories. Tears come easily. Not the nurse’s hips but the infant’s tiny hands bid interest rouse and follow the rolling perambulator. The suffering of others is personal with me. Who would have guessed?

Fellowship of Learners

MY STORY

Does a grain of sand
Know about a beach
The meaning of my life
Lies far beyond my reach
Deep inside my bones
As sure as I am me
My story is somehow
The cause of all you see

UNSUNG HEROES

Once I thought on it

It seemed so unfair

That very short words

Are called upon

To carry such heavy loads

We, us, our, them

Crucial facts for sure

I doubt they were told

On leaving home they

Would be burdened

With such responsibility

Matters of great import

Perhaps life or death

Or the ruins of a ravaged heart

They seem so ill equipped

Their shoulders puny small

Their backs incapable of

But like heaving Atlas

They steadfastly bear

Their ridiculous loads

With not a word of complaint

GOOD MORNING

Today I just turned eighty
My musings are thus weighty
I know which today it is
By what my pillbox say it is
I never thought to trod the stage
So long as this held-over age
And though my carcass isn’t well
I think I’ll hang around a spell
For each new day unwraps a zing
I wo’d not a missed for anything