NAPKIN WORDS #89 2011 - Dedicated to my Brother-In-Law Mike Prevor

 

1. TIME WRITING
When I wish to get away from what I know is
right in front of me, my mind uses its imagination
to open a window, for maybe an hour and a half,
so that I am able to view things, which I know, are
not there. These images arrive in word dreams
and I must write them down immediately, else
they stream by too quickly to become a memory.

Then the window shuts upon my fingers, I feel
the pain and I just can’t write one word more!

2. BEHOLD
Love is first seen in the eye, that is where it
starts, the reaction of everything else, the
heart, the mind, the soul. I mean walking
on air, hearing angels, a strange new way
of living, so your family, friends and associates
all immediately know, and most understand.

So, if for any reason possible, you don’t want
to fall in love, the answer is simple:

Don’t Look!

3. WHAT IT IS
Wisdom is nothing but the heart thinking kindly,
while the mind is listening!

4. HOW JUDGEMENT OCCURS
When we are wise, we know it and so too do all
others.

When we are fools, all know it except for our self.

For if we knew it, who would ever desire to play
the fool?

Remember this, a fool is always judged by others!

5. THOUGHTS OF THIS WRITER
Life flipped a switch then hid it from me.

I could try to find it, have a chance to turn it off.

The fact is, within me lies this simple truth:

There would never be the question of would
I turn it off?

That is the gift of writing. A gift from on high!

6. THE REASON OF BALANCE
If life was meant to only be sad, sneakers, jeans,
sports equipment, music, kites, bubble blowers,
laughter, dancing, song, so many things would
not have been invented.

Life found excuses to create its joys, for sadness
was holding human potential down!

CAPTURED

Brutally, dawn strikes a floating object, which has no
name. Perhaps at some prior time, it was merely an
entity. It obeys a wash of motion, an exact second
when a floating hand became raised, protecting life
from racking brightness. A sinuous, rainbow colored
feather, which could not be dropped, or was ever able
to soar, assassinates its own mortality, flutters, slaps
onto a harsh, insensible surface and dies.

Time splashes quietly, heavy with abundant, bloated
images of passing. Stare, observe how fleshy fog, hazy
with each and every yearning of wishes, grasps tightly
to knowledge. How majestic silence alone owns ears of
our passage. Ask a thinning horizon, how can our pulsing heart do anything but swim, knowing neither land, nor heaven is at hand? We thinking beings learn through each singe of exhaustion, ticking life, that an ebony, unceasing seabed exists, possessing not a single qualm for our timeworn name.

Behold it shuddering; each time lifting a few grains of
ancient quartz to wrestle amid crush of waves, then with
profane simple distillation, it sinks, becomes our history.

Blessed by faith, all we possessed of joys, or of sorrows,
departure signals intent for this speck of human form.
Swiftly our time sinks beneath ancient tides, losses of love. Now it is heavy with weariness, never more to possess those billion cells of mind, that sweet heart ofreason. Releasing for eternity, another soul to soar.


by Edward Hunter