IS IT FRIENDLY
Suddenly I heard myself saying: it’s someone else’s preconceived notion of who a person is based on what they like. It’s a stereotype. And we don’t base Our Lives on other people’s stereotypes. The neighborhood cat asks, is it friendly? just above my head the hummingbird chirps.
Tomatoes (A Poem)
In honor of my home state of Washington legalizing human composting I dug up (hahaha) an old poem where I consider the alternative to burial or cremation, although I didn’t know it was a thing at the time I certainly was intrigued by the idea and the beauty it holds in it. https://www.recompose.life/ or https://crosscut.com/2019/05/dust-dirt-human-composting-coming-wa…
You are the twisted pine shaped by salty sea winds and held down by swollen knuckles. sitting on the precipice above the waves which belt out ceaseless foamy crescendos spilling into craggly shores. soaked up by the deserts of eyes and you’re only participation is the attention it takes to let growth unfold, line after…
cently we had an HVAC technician come out to look at our furnace. It has been down for a few years, for various reasons we’ve never been able to have it fixed, or looked at. He was able to get it up and running, but did confirm our fears that it wouldn’t last long and…
Walking the narrow sidewalks cobbled for immigrants of the 1930s under grayscale constantly moving towards the horizon past houses framed for the laborers in the ’50s chain link fences put up to keep out the drugs of the ’70s and ’80s under trees sprouted a hundred years befor pushing my way through decades of History…
Dozing with light behind closed eyes, lost in yellowing dry summer grasses.
Remembering the Morning Drive
This frost bitten fog diffuse traffic light halos crystallized, traffic sighs
The heart beats and with it the whole of our past; all we’ve stressed and all we eat, collecting all of perceptions impressions, thumping like streetside construction, constantly building a soul
He tugs at my heart / strings like spaghetti noodles / needs more than I have.
While you’re walking down paths of progress, between redbrick post- Victorian apartments and new construction framing, under berry laden but otherwise bare branches, through the din of robins and chickadees, finches and sparrows, the ancient cacophony spills out from every direction, you know it intrinsicly and realize it won’t be long forgotten even in the…