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Elusive presentElusive present, where does it exist?
Some mathematical place, epsilon
Before and after an event. Persist
And it will disappear, never here, gone.
The present's closer to the past when all
The options have been closed; there was no choice
When it came time to act. No wonder shall
Was just like had, pathetic, ancient voice.
But sometimes present is more like not yet,
The tiny band of epsilon extends
To wide enough. You jump, you swim, you bet
On something new: the recent past still bends.
Accept elusive present, here and gone.
Take aim for tiny bands of epsilon.
While lacking praise for some historicalWhile lacking praise for some historical
Event of note and being quite unsure
Of which beliefs (ones theological)
Deserve a riotous response, inure
Yourself to celebrations without cause.
Symbolic excess is the cost of loss
And feelings of resentment. Never pause
Or they will know your joy is just a gloss.
Instead develop blander smiles and feign
The good that holidays can cause, and give
To some philanthropy. Ignore the pain
Of seeing people you dislike. The sieve
Of life will strain the harsher bits and serve
One truth: all good is such that none deserve.
They understand the nowThey understand the now: it means perhaps,
And possibly, and maybe sometime soon,
And also, this is what we hope. The gaps
With cold reality ignored, they croon
Their little songs with funny words held fast
Through memory and cake and spice and cold.
And never ones to throw away the past,
They glue the newer symbols to the old
Until the flavor of symbolic stew
Becomes inscrutable to me and you.
Just yesterday I thought, for me, how few
I'd keep and what I'd champion, old and new.
Feel free to paint those winter scenes that make
The world make sense; but give and do not take.
The king of sonnets had iambic downThe king of sonnets had iambic down
But sometimes found himself in quite a jam
When at the end of every line the gown
Of words was much too long and on the lam!
The queen of sonnets had pentameter
Well-mastered but her rhythm was askew.
She counted well but stress was not for her.
She finally asked her friends, what shall I do?
What happened next is not quite rational
for at a party king met queen and queen
began to criticize his verse. The wall
between them crumbled, words no longer mean,
When queen composed iambic lines and king
Put periods on each. Let poets sing!
Sometimes I wave, sometimes I particleSometimes I wave, sometimes I particle.
At times, particularly when I'm late,
I like to wave. I stream and flow so well.
The particles are clearer, but I hate
The way they shed and flake. It's good to have
Two ways to go, to glide or trot real fast.
My mother always said, you must behave!
I gave that up; behaving days are past.
I fly around the universe, consult
Myself from time to time. Just once I said,
Am I a wave or particle? Result?
I went so slow, my orbit fell. Trashed. Dead.
So never analyze the way you go.
Momentum is the thing. Go fast, not slow.
Of course you cannot bear the bloodOf course you cannot bear the blood. The snow
At least if cold is clean. Though winter threats
Are real, it seems as if the manger show
Has saved the baby, for a while. The treats
And gifts have calmed you down. Perhaps no blood
Is needed now. The soldiers do not come
Again for many months. And you will flood
Your fears until they drown and squelch the drum
Of heartbeats. Rock the cradle, sing lul-ly,
Lul-lay, sometimes you cannot hear the beat
At all. The hum occludes reality,
So hum and feel the falling snow. No threat.
But I like Mary ponder in my heart.
I keep these things and ponder blood: lost art.
I went to buy a shirt in purple mistI went to buy a shirt in purple mist.
The clerk said all we have are black and beige.
But I demurred. I think the sales clerk hissed.
Why shouldn't I be fussy at this stage?
I searched online for shoes in amethyst
But all they showed were black and brown and blue.
You see now that the color is the gist
Of what I seek, it's all about the hue.
Some things to give, some things to get, the list
Of each should pass this test: don't take in lieu
Of beauty ugly things that won't be missed.
Remembrance has an image, color, hue.
I finally bought the shirt in simple white.
I'm waiting for the color that's just right.
I want to be an elfI want to be an elf, a Christmas elf.
My clothing will be tights and wool and felt.
My shoes will be red leather clogs. The shelf
Of winter stasis tips, I fall, I melt.
My fellow elves are greeting me! My day
Begins. I muck the reindeer stalls, I brush
The shiny coat of Prancer, flake the hay,
Produce three carrots; run, but never rush.
Then Prancer says, come, take a ride, I trot
Just like a horse. I promise I won't fly
I know it makes folks seasickthen he shot
Ten feet into the air and flipped. Oh my!
I wish to go where cold is friend and friends
Are warm and joy begins and never ends.
The prince of power derives his daily fillThe prince of power derives his daily fill
Of homage, praise and simply saying so
By stepping on the necks of those who will
To leave but won't or can't get out. The glow
He feels from saying so makes justice, peace
And common sense infuriate his mind.
He gets ahead so why would he release
His grip on what he has. His friends, you'll find,
Have got a little club where saying so
Became philosophy, and power redounds
To those who say where none oppose. To go
Against the prince has yet the softest sounds.
The prince of power shouts, "Let us make a ban
On little people, just because we can."
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More