A Dialogue for Everyman

The gift of discussion
was lost on the way
          (perhaps blame climate change),
and position statements
rule the day.

We speak,
hearing veracity
     only in our voices,
recognizing the nonsense
     that dominates
your worldview choices.

You say words
that, to you,
     mean truth and honesty:
simply fake news
and dogma
     to me.

And I only voice
universal truth
     (it should be apparent to all),
while you demonize
with each name
     you call.

And we stand apart,
secure we are right
          (it could just be contrails!):
we can’t progress together
if we just stay and fight.

Several Storeys

Selene rules her winter sky,
clouds bask
in the reflected light
of other days.

Time is given meaning
solely by
our dwindling lives:
change is irrevocable,
tragic and eternal.
A profound thought
interrupted,
a warm caress
restrained,
a supportive smile
ungiven,
a word of love
unsaid.
Each moment
is a crossroad
as we stumble
through the days,
and lay awake
and wonder
at the randomness
of all.

Serendipitous
is our path,
and chaos
our signpost:
there is nowhere to go
as we are
already there.

This Perfect Day

(New to the series, Cannabis and Creative Cognition.  Ref: Leafly West Coast Sour Diesel)

Just contemplate
each perfect day:
     accepting
          all it gives.
Let your thought
roll thoroughly over
bumps, or slights,
     hatefulness,
          and stupidity.

Hear the singing
in the air:
     looking through
          the lens of love,
colours seem much brighter.
Let the splash of joy
cleanse your heart
     making sorrow
          a dimming memory.

Throb with the vibration
of unknown realms,
     the mystery
          that is beauty.
Let your senses blossom,
and your spirit soar,
as horizons expand
     neverending;
          Mandelbrot rules supreme.

Just contemplate
each perfect day:
     embrace the here and now,
          alert to all
within our sphere,
as well as all beyond.
No gods dancing
     across an angry sky:
          only peace, and you, and I.

Aurora

Stygian darkness cloaks the land,
without relief of light.
Enlightenment had made its stand,
then fell this mortal night.

We watched humanness bleed away,
intrigued, too slow to act,
as ignorance and greed held sway:
fictional fantasy made dystopian fact.

Now we cluster
in obscurity:
you in your tribe,
I in mine.
Now we speak
of might have been;
we weep
for our lost time.

Hate, greed, and bigotry
killed kindness,
love, and inclusion,
as the jackboots of history
trampled hearts,
destroying minds.
We were the enablers!
Political control no mystery.

But wait!  What is that glimmer
pulsing in the tenebrous night?
Like Pandora’s box, the shimmer
coaxes hope into tremulous flight.

Our horizon is brightened,
gloomy shadows disappear:
we are no longer frightened.
Love watches darkness clear.

The Reality of Stars

Snow-clad jackpine boughs
frame a winter night sky
in which the stars
seem simply holes
punched randomly
in a darkness
that symbolizes,
chromatically,
the level of empathy,
the depth of enlightenment,
achieved by our species.

The tiny spots of starlight
seem to offer hope,
a light-filled glimpse
of a softer,
a kinder
reality.

A breeze stirs the pines,
and the boughs offer
the gift of snow
to the patient
fallow ground:
scudding clouds
extinguish
stellar promise,
and metaphorically shatter
dreams of spring,
and thoughts of peace.