Sunday, April 30, 2017

You know you’re in Paris when




Looking toward the Seine from La Place Saint-Michel

Say you’ve had a cold, or maybe an allergy, and you wake up with your head thick as pudding, common sense nebulous as thoughts scatter in slow motion in the galaxy of your mind and you know that you have things you must do like small planets rotating light years away so you pull on your shoes and the dog pulls you out the door and presto, you’re in another universe where you can breathe and the world sparkles like Christmas just bustin’ out happy to be alive and the streets suspend gravity, so you run and jump for no reason, and the trash looks cute as popcorn as you skip between crosswalk lines and those young men who took your money with your blessing, well just maybe they’ll turn out okay and the chestnut flowers hold back giggles in a sunset so rosy it feels holy as the dog leaps onto the lip of the fountain yet doesn’t fall in and the whole world is waiting, watching, because this day is here.



Looking toward Boulevard Saint-Michel





Tuesday, April 4, 2017

In the Beginning



We say
“In the beginning”
as if that’s where
things start
when it’s really
a pre-existing condition.

“Beginning”
is already there
happening
in media res
in the middle of things
was when God created
heaven and earth.

Perhaps there was some cosmic
halftime
and instead of going to the bathroom
or buying a Coke
God decided
the universe would be
a good idea

and while He was at it
infused every creature
with inchoate love
magnetic attraction
electrical pulse
tidal waves
of gravity and levity
irrepressible
eternal
desire.

So maybe death
was something He created
because halftime
was over
and He had to get back
to the game.






photo from public domain
by Nadalcuba, 
Wikimedia Commons, 2003




Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Who let the Djinn out?

time blows
past my ears
desert sand
sea spray
arctic ice
pine hush
baobab
chirr blurs
memory
to a rush
of air
collapses
civilization
in white noise
ripples
off bat wings
from a colony
in flight
as I bob
at the prow
kiss good-bye
Iram




                                                                            



Sunday, January 8, 2017

Serif Defiiency






“Sans” sounds like “sang” in French, meaning

not a song, but blood. How does one compose

a full-bodied question in a sans-serif world?



Sleek letters in simple shapes use words that observe

primary colors as full spectrum. They ignore

the coition of commerce and philosophy, distrust

complexity in favor of bold plastic form.



Google’s new logo reflects a psyche that accepts

with childlike reverence answers provided.

Dropped serifs reveal how industry

pegs the consumer mindset, baselines by design

intellectual values at the elementary school level.



Rather than raising the bar to more elegant

solutions, more eloquent connotations,

sans-serif Google asserts the palatability

of policy and analysis that acquiesce to roaring

rhetoric over harmonious solutions.



Past history, long-term viability, the nuance

of consequence require the more difficult

process of thoughtful reflection, yet all

are lost condensed in bold immediacy.



In their stead, only giddy anticipation

remains like a weanling calf bleating,

“When can I have ice cream?”
 

                               ~*~