Caveat: Poem #983

In philosophical discourses
the trees and ravens have their say,
while solitary thinking forces
the passing meditative day.
The churning mind can seem so fragile
and its surroundings strong and agile:
a soul made up of colored glass
and tangled in a vague morass.
The mental gaze can just distinguish
a cloud enclosed in blue and gold,
but all the world spins, gray and old,
that simple words will not extinguish -
instead, imbrute the thinker's skull:
a cloud up close is broad and dull.

Caveat: Poem #982

I'll take some time now, meditating:
my strange relationship to rain,
which often boils down to waiting -
you'd think it feels somewhat mundane -
but no, in fact it's more like soothing
and letting clouds present their smoothing,
on-flowing torrents for the trees
to drink. This flow of water frees
not just the pebbles from the seething
and urgent earth, but also thoughts,
which surge and dodge life's random lots,
but then are loosened from their wreathing
constraints to fly against the dark
and overarching sky's gray arc.

Caveat: Poem #976

…and we were stuck in Cairns for just a day
and walking from some mall where time was killed
and crickets sang and rain made rivulets
and randomly my spirit sister waved
and stopped her car and turned around quite quick
and said hello. We told our little tale.
She laughed and grinned and drove away again.

Caveat: ikr

Excerpts from the chat app on Abraham’s smartphone:

God: kill your son
Abraham: srsly?
God: damn right
Abraham: um…ok
God: holy f* nm
God: jk
Abraham: jeez…
God: hah on that topic i’ll prolly kill mine tho lol
Abraham: wtf?
God: ikr

  • Credit where credit is due: I found a joke, online, similar to this, but much shorter and not “all in” with respect to the chatspeak. Inspired by that, I expanded the concept to the above.

Caveat: Poem #974

They swarmed: a cloud of tiny bugs that –
distilling atmosphere with wings –
as if hyped up and stoned on drugs that
impelled orbits more than stings.
The green of trees and breeze-bent grasses
made better views than bug-strewn glasses.
In water standing by the road
they buzzed beside a flattened toad.
Unreadable unlike books’ pages,
the path unfolded asphalt planes
and hiding mother earth’s hot veins,
concealing geologic ages.
I stopped to take a picture then
and waved my hand around again.