The Biophysics of Breathing

Let us render clear,
The vital items
Of our lives,
Not the things of pleasure,
But those things without which
We may find ourselves expired,

Or at least impaired

Beyond
Those greater things that are
The sustenance of life,
There is a list that can be made,
Food,
Water,
Air,
The last is mostly critical for
Oxygen,
What if we were to lose
That critical component,
The oxygen of our life,
Not the O2,
That mixes with the nitrogen
We breathe,
But that very something that
Sustains us,
That very life line
That we each might have,
Some of us,

Are more tightly
Interwoven with it than others,
For some it is

Like unto the umbilical cord,
As critical as that to which they cleaved
Within the womb,
Without it they wither,
What is it?
For some it is a place,
For some a drug,
For some,
A person,
For all,
A vital element,
Defined only by them,
The level of criticality unknown,
Until it is lost
In a moment,
Wherein they are,
Perhaps for the first time,
Truly working without a net,
Or even a sense of direction,

And they begin slow suffocation,

Not of the lungs,

But a different kind of drowning,

That of the soul.

Occupying Wall Street

So they wanna occupy Wall Street, eh?

I do believe that it is already well occupied,

Occupied in making money,

Not in makin' stuff,

That would muss those custom suits,

And chip those polished nails,

You can't see Wall Street's residents,

They're busy behind smoked glass,

Trading the most expensive vaporware

On earth,

Buy it for a thousand,

Sell if for a hundred,

Heads they win,

Tails you lose,

Try retiring on that,

It's working out for them,

They're important people,

Don't hurt their morale,

Mayor Bloomberg is worried

They might get sad,

(Sigh).

Don't turn around,

But while you're occupying,

Your jobs are occupied,

With migrating to...

Another hemisphere,

Enjoy your camp-out folks,

And your three weeks

Of fame.

Jerry Falwell's Last Audience

Jerry Falwell died,

You know,

He entered to eternity,

St Peter wasn't at the gate,

The gate was plain

But well maintained,

He had to open it himself,

He entered in,

And found an escort,

Found a place to stand in line,

Eventually he came to stand,

Alone before a holy shrine,

A disembodied voice said 'Hi,'

'Welcome,

We're a perfect fit for you,

Jerry smiled that smile,

The one he saved,

Saved for preaching on TV,

He told the voice,

I always gave,

All faith,

And honor,

And all glory,

To your only son,

And Jerry smiled

That famous smile,

Again,

Too bad his congregation

Wasn't there to bask in it,

And then the voice said,

Puzzled,

What son?

Equinox

The hay will have to sit,
A few days more,
Too bad,
It was just dry,
Ready to bale,
The clouds that sat,
Just halfway down the mountain,
Are now down 'round the house,
They've turned the pasture into
A perfect picture -
A cottony smooth mist,
It makes you want to stop,
Just to look,
And stay quite a while,
Maybe watch the crows,
Before the sun burns it off.
We couldn't get this in August,
Just hard baked drought,
And doubts about the future.
Now a billion droplets
Breathe new life into
Every green thing,
We've escaped nature's worst
For another year.
The streams are swollen,
Again!
They're safe for trout sex.
In August,
We had to wonder,
Would those tiny rivulets
Come back?
Just when we had our
Deepest doubts,
The wand of nature
Said Yes,
The cycle was safe,
In her Faithful Breast.

Haiku for the Raven's Nest

(A fine coffee house, in Culpeper, Virginia, where I do much of my writing)

Nest fans have taste,

The right stuff in the right place,

Always a new scone :)

Thinking In The Dark

Comes the time

When work must end,

When games expire,

And the boundaries

Of social intercourse

Are set firm,

When shades are drawn,

Our heads can no longer

Remain upright,

We can at last retire

From all the sad

And unfulfilled

Anticipation of the day,

Snuff out the light,

At last be in

Firm equilibrium

With nature,

And lie alone,

In the ether,

With our thoughts unseen,

And there commune

With death,

Fence with sadness,

Joust with heartache,

Lay upon

That silent field of play,

All that we dare not

Set forth in daily life,

Hoping that before the dawn,

We may divest ourselves,

Of all the cares,

Impossible to take back

To the light.

For if we fail,

We'll carry this great burden

Back to the light,

The truth is that,

The darker forces,

Aren't beholden to us,

It's us beholden rather

To them,

And so they are to be

Respected,

Kept at arms length,

In the dark,

Not permitted out,

Lest our demons

Cross that boundary,

Where their presence

Will engender,

Fear and loathing,

Take control,

And drag us into

Endless grief.

And so,

It's in the dark,

Upon that silent,

Sightless grid,

We struggle with

Our demons,

Each and every one,

And never cry for help,

Lest we be forced to share

Our darkest parts with others.

Homage to Our Investment Bankers

We salute you,

Gentlemen,

And Ladies,

God bless you,

(He clearly has)

We bless you,

We support you,

At par,

So far,

Lest you bring us all down,

(That was the threat,

Was it not?)

You are so

Wicked smart,

Except those few,

Who couldn't hold on,

For our gravy train,

To respond,

For those few,

We hope last year's bonus,

Will help you survive,

Your trip down the tubes,

(Sigh)

And for all,

We are led to believe,

That you're back on your feet,

And doing quite well,

We were glad to help out,

Your derivative pleasure,

Just makes our hearts soar,

And to help you to help

The economy heal,

We're taxing your janitors

More than your managers

'Cause we know you're the source

Of all job creation,

Within this great nation,

How do we know this?

Well,

We've been told this

Been told by some very fine folk,

Some folk whom you... own?

For sure there are doubters,

But we question their wisdom,

We don't even think that

They're being good citizens,

But there are some suspicions,

My well heeled good friends,

That what's good for you folk,

Might be just a bit toxic,

To those of us few,

Who compose,

That diminishing remnant,

Of what once we could call,

The vast middle class,

Today,

We ain't even,

Half vast.

Sad to say,

Now a few of us wonder,

If you're not quite our friends,

If you don't have our best int'rests

In your schemes and your ends,

All of those yachts,

They're critical – right?

We believe in you now,

To make every thing bright,

To bring our economy

Back from the dead,

To create all those jobs,

With that barely taxed bread,

So,

While we're eatin' those grits,

In this world that you've made,

With the pols that you've bought,

Just Remember my friends,

Rot infects not just wood,

But your hearts and your souls,

And the Fire Next Time

Might be more than a book

It might be unhappy folk,

With your ass in their sights.