Memories of the Future

There seems to be a Hall of Fame for everything;

And an International Museum for All Things;

And a National Day for everything else;

Plus a Facebook page,

a Twitter feed,

and a LinkedIn Group

to connect them all, and then some.

Mr. Warhol’s “fifteen minutes of fame” has become

a serial virus of momentary flashes

in the seemingly eternal

digital ball of string

that is the internet.

What is memory?

Is there a collective universal memory that is storing all the experiences of the ages?

What is legacy?

What do we leave behind when we go on to the next level of existence?

What is immortality?

Do all of us live forever, one way or another?

What is heritage?

Does it change us when we discover the lives of our ancestors?

Will one small blip in the digital libraries

of all the devices in the world

remain forever for someone to discover

untold ages from now?

Tidbits of Timelessness

shoeboxes and scrapbooks

trinkets and traces

memories of love and laughter

joy and peace

singing and shouting

dancing, running, skipping, flying

tidbits of timelessness

and bittersweet tastes of time standing still

I am still standing

on a bridge

watching the water rush by below me

urgency and peace at once

life and death

movement, thunder

matching the rush of blood through my veins

and the beating of my heart

the flow, the pulse

the cleansing, the healing

as those timeless tidbits

rise to the surface

winking

drifting

lingering on the crest of my memory

Wrung Out Jungle

Brain cells colliding

Memories swirling

A whitewater miasma of myriad thoughts

Tumbling through a jumble

Wrung out by time and stress

Strained by unpleasant incessance

Shredded by the whirling blades of average

Blended and blinded and blistered

Stirred by imagery

Happy, then horrified

Nauseated by the persistent kaleidoscopic freak show

Mindful, remembering, praying to forget

This and that

And all the others

Here, now, never, forever

A moment seized

Tattooed on the colliding cells of my brain

Huddled Masses

Crowds

Huddled Masses

Seething Swirling Stockpiles of Humanity

Surrounded by Kindred Strangers

We Are Many

We Are One

“I am you and you are me”

[ …to quote a mid-century poet-philosopher… ]

Everywhere I look there are people just like me

“all the world over so easy to see”

We know each other intimately while not knowing each other at all

Famous or unknown

We are who we are

And we are all human

The same five senses for most

And emotions and ambitions

And hopes and dreams

And expectations and limitations

We Are One

We Are The Crowds

We Are The Huddled Masses

Attribution to Emma Lazarus for the term "Huddled Masses"

from her poem "The New Colossus"

Tides of Life

The tides of life will ebb and flow,

And time will not stand still.

No one has ever found time waiting;

I know we never will.

Some days seem slow,

While others speed before our eyes.

Some things change, some things don’t,

As we watch each day materialize.

Happy faces, sad faces,

Faces bored to tears

Every face, like our own face,

Has lines that show the years.

Let the lines show joy and peace,

And love and life and truth;

And may the light shine through your eyes,

To prove inside is youth.

Without Dissent

It is an ancient metaphor, the mirror.

Self-examination

Self-love

Self-loathing

Accepting the reflection as reality

But it is always backwards and often distorted

Mirrors are imperfect

Reflection representing raw reality

Leaving us to guess

At the gaps

And wonder

At the whispered affirmations

And accusations

Of a malicious mute object

That knows nothing

And sees nothing

And says nothing

Its power

Is in its wordless summarization

Of who and what we are

For we accept its judgment

Without dissent

Looking Up and Out

From first to last

Step by step

Our journey through this life

Keeps us looking up

And looking out

(if we look down

We are looking out

And we know which way is up)

Beseech the sky

Or roll our eyes

We ask and wonder and judge

We see

We don’t see

We anticipate

We get blind-sided

The light and color

Our eyes translate

To beauty, love, peace

Or sorrow, pain, loneliness

Put on a show

Pretend you know

What comes next

Then close your eyes

And sigh.