A poem on openness even when working and pondering the local and the cosmos.
Swirls of galaxies
in my coffee,
a little cream of the Milky Way
in my thermos.
“A Taste of Ashland”
with local wine and art galleries,
costs $55, but shuttles are available.
That’s April during the film festival.
It snowed heavily a few days ago,
now it’s all melted,
but wet everywhere.
Not too many browsers today,
but the one was happy and friendly.
I got to know her well in a 15 minute exchange.
She bought some felt.
It was for a gift so I gave her a box,
even though it only cost $3.00.
I think I made a lifetime patron, though.
Maybe I’m too nice.
Maybe I give out more than we take in.
Maybe I smile too much.
Maybe I pretend to be joyful
and become so as my heart warms up,
as my stomach warms up
and my throat,
like vodka in a warm brown this drink
like eyes of beasts unknown
in a cosmos unknown.
And planetary wonder abounds.
Could it contain water, air, life?
Are they advanced,
do they have coffee and art galleries?
Have they transcended biology?
Can they live forever?
I stare into the open thermos
and a figure drawing teacher has lost her lid.
Like them, we are open.
Always remain open.
I have never thought that one can 'stare into the open thermos,' as my communication with it is always by means of my hand, sometimes the right, sometimes the left; I have never thought that 'we are open, always remain open,' as is said, because, as I know, to be truly open you have to shut yourself for a little while ;)) a kaleidoscope of moods this spring-autumn poem is. Cheers, alex
You really touched me with this one. I thought of all those tours ($55) that I missed and did them myself because I was cheap and more adventurous. I thought of boredom except for the occasional interesting person that has time to talk and share ideas and art. And then, I see you looking into the coffee and viewing the Milky Way, and perhaps, the universe beyond contemplating much more than the affect of vodka, but on the wonder of it all--life.
Anyone whose mind oscillates between the ordinary and the extraordinary as quickly and as smoothly as yours, need not worry much about it. It is the stuff that separates you from the pack, and we are all the better for it. Keep on keeping on. And thanks.
In the waning days of World War II, a man lies injured in a London hospital, shrouded in mystery and confusion. He is an American serviceman, stripped of his identity and memories, save for the name John, and plagued by vivid visions of battles that
Book 3 continues the Commander and the Chief's adventures in political intrigue, superstition, old feuds, and the search of Nikola Tesla's missing papers in this Close Encounter of the Weird Kind.
Jack London’s cousin writes a heartwarming, young adult story about the glory of life. It is also a heart-pounding adventure to a new and strange world.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
enjoyed the read, well done!
Never stop writing !
m
Ron