Split in to two, too

I was born on June 13th, which, depending who you are, may mean a lot or nothing at all.  For a long time I didn't want to admit that it meant anything, but recently it has become more difficult to ignore some striking qualifiers I possess that bear semblance to those of the so-called Gemini.  For instance, the longing for balance that I have for so long strained to see or realize in all things has become more necessary to me as a part of my personal well-being, more so than any perceived form of principled opinion of the world.  I have become more contemplative about my place within a world of people, a step above my old meditations of my place-in-world/universe, where relationships to others seemed unimportant, or at least like a distraction.  Now there is more focus.  I also have started a career in teaching, which brings me joy and inspiration, but also routine.  The Gemini in me requires a steady diet of harmony: One part spontaneity to every one part routine.  This has proven difficult, leaving me many times feeling very glum about the entire matter.  The most successful I feel is when I simply allow myself to be spontaneous, within certain boundaries of safety in accordance to myself and those I care for.  Risk is necessary sometimes, but it is a capricious beast, and should you drop your guard, can turn on you with claws extended.

So, how to reconcile two sides of one being?  Both of whom feel, think, and have a world of experience to contribute to the character and wisdom of the bearer.

I welcome your own stories of experience.

Jim's Face

Jim walks around with a difficult face. It is a hard face, one might say, for it is not soft. It is hard, and difficult; similar words, but different meanings in regard to Jim’s countenance. His face is difficult because it is hard all of the time; upon waking in the morning, when making love, or when watching something beautiful, and he is a perceiver of beautiful things because he is a real poet.

Groaner

See my youth, unkempt and uncouth,

everywhere, like truth, or is it reflection?

That would mean a mirror be poised, 

to catch my image as a boy, then

turn it ‘round in my mind’s eye

to frame a fearful symmetry.  

I wrote a letter to the Devil last night

for I knew he was coming some day

and I thought, instead of shaking his hand,

I’d hand him my missive, written in cursive,

and send him on his way.  

I sat for hours with pen in hand,

in the dim limelight of a single lamp

wondering exactly what I wanted to say.   

I sit in an Idiot’s trap,

repeating senseless things, 

thinking far too much,

beyond the point, if it exists, 

of where an answer sits,

irrefutably correct, 

invisible to my brand of blind;

the kind recalls with clarity, 

but when it must, it cannot see.

War Poem - Hiroshima

Surprising things happen sometimes, like having a poem published...

http://www.statesmanjournal.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20090820/OPINION/908200318&GID=vRseOwdhn3f3pRou%20w60/uyMlGlyFYGIeRXjdlQRojY=

The Screaming Silence Of The Pacific

The rocks in the sand at Matador

point up to the sky

And the seagulls fly overhead

and laugh at the rocks

But the rocks don't know what laughter is

they know nothing at all

Not the sand upon which they sit

though it shuffles in the waves.

Nor the waves that caress and shape them

the rocks are silent through it all

Nor the wind that pushes into them

the rocks are silent through it all

Nor the sun that lights upon them

the rocks are silent through it all

Nor the rain that beats upon them

the rocks are silent through it all

But the waves roll back to the sea

where they drift eternally

never lost, never bound,

never memory,

but the rocks in the sand can see.

Northfork

Here is a bridge that was built long ago

long before the playful leap became the local dare

to plunge the heavy plunge full of gravity

like a boulder let loose from a cliff over the river

further down that way, northeast.

Cars go past, one by one

maybe ten a day over the cross-hatches 

of wood and iron wrought with love 

and maybe one man's hate

now left in the care of lichen and rust

and underneath where the young boys

gather and wait for the cars

like the troll for his goats.

Old, rotten, decaying machines

dead giants in tarpits stick

arms and torsos out halfway

from the topsoil and, mid-scream, 

died decades and decades

for us to watch with foresight

for our brushes and pens

to record in hindsight.  

Friends

I have friends in many places.  Lots of them are not in North America, but that's where I am.  Some of them are usually in North America but are currently traveling, and some even write about their experiences on blogs just like this one, because everyday is a new day, and new things carry with them new experiences.  Typically, blogs like these - travel blogs - are pretty interesting to read since the person writing them is immersed in a whole new world, not just a new day.  This also means that a chance visit to such a blog, without any prior knowledge of the writer's experiences, would most likely be a compelling one, because the experiences being written about are most likely going to be relatively detached from the experiences written before.  But it could also be flipped; perhaps the travel experiences are consistently being built on top of one another and to read for the first time about a mid-travel experience would prove disconnected and reserved for those vicarious followers.  

Other people think travel blogs are just plain boring.  Others, still, believe the act of blogging in general to be disreputable and vainglorious.  And yet, blogs remain.  I think it is rather innocent.  

The internet is a marvelous place, but of dubious distinction.  It is the only encyclopedia one shall require, perhaps ever again.  But that is dangerous thinking.  The internet is also a lonely place, but most people would probably tell you otherwise.  

A computer cannot replace a friend, even though you can use one to talk to each other when you are miles, miles away.  

You and a computer, together, cannot:

share heartfelt moments.

carry poignant conversations about the human condition.

have a tea party.

drink beer.

play duets on piano.

have sex.

cook brunch.  

play water polo. 

Maybe you can, but that's pretty weird.