Stasis (Ephemerality)

There is no such thing as time.

Never-ending.  Never-beginning.

Always There.  Ever and Ever more.

What is now, is also then and that is also what has been.

{Cue the neat opening credit theme music.  Something that gets the audience in a particular type of mood, say unexpectedness, something that preps them for what’s to follow, and we want them to think that the future is profound and deep…if only to eventually slap them across the head with what comes next} 

But of course, only if what comes next is

Something that’s happened since.

Mechanized

Regarding machines
out shadowing man's shadow
They don't need to sleep
We do. They don't need to eat
We do. More than they need us

Regarding machines
Technologically advanced
species made by us
It is our own misfortune
Our price for acting like God

Regarding machines
Time to upgrade once again
Reboot before sleep

Regarding machines
Regarding machines, again
Regarding machines

Regarding machines
Glitches likely reoccur
Purposely planted
Seeds of automation. They
Remind us daily

Regarding machines
I dare not say another
word. For the fear that
Reassembly will transpire
Somehow…they can always hEAR

Mechanized
Neutering of man
Intellect
Artificially
Wiping clean

What man was
before man became
What man is

Charles Miller presented us with the challenge of the machine.  Head over to D'Verse to read the article and to check out the poetry that it helped spawn.  Meeting The Bar gets wired tonight.

Timetables

Every story has an ending

every ending a beginning

and the beginnings…

 well, they started someplace too

there was a before

there will be an after

there was a time…

there’ll be another

very few certainties exist

but time…

is absolute amongst them

Then-now-whenever.

The Ghosts of Past Lives

Like footfalls and hammocks

And snails and cured salmon,

The hoof, then the roe flits undertow,

To the peen of the hammer’s red, red ends

Old gypsum and christening

The newest glad tiding to

Bestow, ill-flavored pathways

Marked by delicately placate hues

Fairy dust and prawn shells

And magicians in stairwells,

That knew the words,

 Yet to stain the cellar’s dwelt

Chamois and lilies

So softly knitted, giddily we

Sip, upon cola and sloe gin, fizziest

When beside tall grass and silted sand

                                    Where a tomorrow’s yet been dealt

                                                      And a future’s yet to dry

A presence can be present, even for the ghosts of our past lives