Only Sleep And Changing

The gold in the pan, the colors on the leaves, turning over treasure...to another season. The glint in the eye, the twinkle in the stars...as some things leave, but nothing dies...only sleep and changing.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Autumn, google pic

Captains Log

I am the keeper of the place, meant to dust around...to tend the helm, as others sleep, that great sleep. The single light, left burning on the bridge...is god's. To wake them up, one task, alone...was given me, if all goes wrong. To burn this log of poetry.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Wizards Hand, whitebox house rules part 4

Valuing The Place

Might the calisthenic of mental fitness, acuity, by grace, be poetry? Poetry as magic, poetry as change...poetry as prayer? Might all things, be here, be there...because of that first word, engaged...poetry? Might we change all things, as fluid into fluid...swirling stars, new heavens, earths, beings? Might we think, as children do, on vaster scales...imaginations? Might we earn our right to heavens trust, by valuing the place, by picking up the pieces from our scrabbled floor, by honoring the god within? Capable of anything...we are, but care. Care, if you would enter in. The words are there. Remember them, again.

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Point zero, Paris, France

Presto! Change Oh!

What happens, when the valence changes...in our being; I mean changes...crystalline, christ line...when, that adamant happens in an instant? What happens, when chemistry and language combine, changing everything, like a goat and a man or a mutt and a duck, or a 'what the fuck'? What will you do then, and when will we become that...if you know so much?


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Valence Electrons, google pic

Certainty Possibly

The theater's empty. I'm still on the screen...raging, like Donald Duck. Smell the popcorn, young couples groping in the last row. Guys, it's awful realizing, you're an intermission...when you think, you're so much more. They're gone now. They've seen it all before. Wait! There's an usher; with a flashlight...finding something; something, quite disgusting on the floor. It's Earth, alright. At least, that seems for sure...though seeming certainty, is never certainty for sure.

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Diane Arbus, empty movie theater

Impossibly Likely

When, did the world begin to be a stage...and we, the players, strutting and fretting? It was said by some bright instructor, and I don't think, we were listening. Now, that it seems impossibly, likely, it is so...I want to know, how it all became a hologram?


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Theater stage, google pic

This Nest

Out my window is a sea of meadow land, in verde and yellow gold. It seems soft unto the eye, but to the touch, it is painful. With care, it can be held...only with care. It is a green carpet of new life, in a desert...spare and lean. Its fruits are many; hidden wonders myriad...of every color known, though bowed down...close unto the earth, as if trimmed...by that great gardener, himself. I thank God, for this view. I thank Earth, for this nest...to watch the world roll by, from.

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Rio Grande River, by Britt Runyon

His Own Devices

Man mimic's, as well as parrot's. In fact, I would hazard...man, excels at copy. A parrot, uses very few...save, its own devices.

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Parrots, google art

The Old Royal's

I was thinking about, my young days...in high school, typing class. The old Royal's and Underwood's, and 'depth of purpose'. By that expression, I mean...when one typed, one typed as one thought...with depth of purpose. Reason being, the typewriter key strokes on the old manual typewriter's, were deep and mechanical. It took a force to depress each key. It was hard to make the 'pinky fingers', of either hand do their key strokes, and yet we became efficient, proficient at doing so, and the rutted paths we carved in our minds, of those key stroke patterns...linger to this day. 

Each of my fingers had to make 'definite decisions', to nail the keys in the key stroke patterns. That's a difference, between then and now. Now, people don't make definite decisions. They don't know, nor are they trained to make definite decisions. Now, they make 'tentative' decisions, or tepid decisions...and 'indecision', is the keystroke of the day. We, as a society, no longer touch each other deeply. That's the difference. Oh, the minds blaze away. The fingers flash along the board, like lightning. But there is no thunder, no deep resonance...with anything, or anyone. 

Humans need to be touched, deeply. Without the tactile, 'body mind' sense of humanness...what are we? Are we just mind, then...or are we ''body mind'? There was an important book, written on the subject of body mind. I would say, it's still important. Where is our humanity going, and what are we giving up? Is it right to give up 'work' for 'ease'? Is our soul suffering the distinction? 

What will we miss in the digital, that we experienced in the mechanical? Around the country, there are science museums, that people can visit, to lay 'hands on', on various tactile experiments. What I notice, is that the exhibits are no longer 'tactile'. There is no 'feeling' in them, no depth of purpose, no mechanical analog. No soul. And, just as we are the sum of our parts, only a part of us is considered, anymore. 

Certainly the mind, is emphasized over all other...in these days of 'tech'. However, a mind without will is much like a body without natural, work. Body's now, are 'gym styled, air brushed 'pretty bodies', rather than naturally contoured wonders of creation. Because, as used to be said..."Everything, is of a piece." Therefore, the mind follows suit. A mind without 'true will', or will of god, lacks depth of purpose. 

Humans are now, becoming, more and more tepid, ephemeral, transitory...fading out. Try to get a ''handshake', lately? How do you like those wet ones, sweaty, weak, tepid, indecisive? A handshake tells a lot about a human. It reveals strength and weakness. We are in trouble, people...sincerely.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Royal manual typewriter, circa 1954

Never Land

You couldn't pay me, and you can't buy me...that's why, I can say as I damn well know. You will never be what I am, though...you have written your own false 'book of life', and fame, therein. I will not...however, be discovered, in your glossolalia of manic horse manure.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Herm to Pan, god of forests, flocks and shepherds

Fresh Wisdom

When people are a lot less dedicated, to their own self interest, and more dedicated to an interest in other's...humanity will learn a new humility, and a fresh wisdom.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: fauns and satyr at play, google art

These Are Life

 

There is no better, than the jaunty pace of pleasant journey...the forgetfulness of warm sunshine, and the water of refreshing rain...for these are life, that all things move...unto.

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Pinterest art, skinny dipper's

The Gift

I hope God gives me a body, to refresh this, now worn down one. A fine body with a strong smile...humorous cracks and facets, a body capable of lifting, not only myself...but others up, a body for making love. But not a 'pretty boy' body, rather...a body revealing character and flaw and hope.

It comes to me, that this would be 'the old school' body. No wet handshakes, like a dog pissing itself, or an 'emoji' to replace the emotion of a real smile, or a heart shaped emoji, that aims to reduce love...from the complex wonder it is, to a single syllable bumper sticker.

If God loves me...he knows I am 'errant', of course, because imprisonment, is the reflex of such captivity...not the healing of it. As God knows all things, he knows my needs, my desires...even without asking. Perhaps, he will be kind, and make a 'real' human of me...when I am new again. I hope so.

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Ganymede, by Gustave Moreau

Pillars of Society

Having observed, the same liars, sitting on the same benches...about the pillar's of salt...I come away with no further intelligence, yet, no less. God, give them their forsaken crow, as thou hath given me...but more, a time...to tell the tale straightly.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Pillars of Great Salt Lake, Utah

No Other Is

Every moment, is a sacrifice...to that, which is solitary. Every moment is a grace...to he, who is holy. Confess, to yourself...only, for no other is.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Young faun and girl, artist presently unknown

And Of My Soul

 

My faith is my own, and a system of belief. You cannot follow, where I go...but I can lead. There are, 'my sheep', my kids...and of my soul, of that, I've kept whole...and hid.

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Elihu Vedder, 'Young Marsyas' 1878

Separation

Of silence, there is no equal, as any deaf, will tell you...but of separation, few know...to it's deepest soul, as I do.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Image of Pan, google art

Beyond A Human Strength

I don't believe, I'm cursed...but blessed, beyond a human strength...that these trials and tests, that I have endured, are of a singular nature...as are all men's trial's and test's. I believe, I would not be given that...which I could not endure. That is my testament, my witness...of these challenges, I must face.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: The Triumph of Samson, by Guido Reni

Companion

You owe me no sorrow, nor sympathy. I need not, your burden...to add to my own. If you wish, to walk 'long side of me...I would be pleased.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: google art

The Child

 

To he, who knows not the mystery...unto him, is given wonder. To he, who knows the mystery...is given burden, and surcease.

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Cupid and Psyche, artist unknown at present

The God Within

Guard well, your jewel's, where corruption cannot take them. Keep them apart, from the prying eyes of any...but the god, you have within.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: The God Pan, by Maxfield Parrish

Endurance

In a world you, increasingly, come to recognize...as your own, and a people you remember, as your children...you must stay, and wonder...for a time, before you shrug it off...and go.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Atlas, the Titan, by Boris

I Am

I am. I am, that only eye, the witness of myself...for, none other stood, to say me yay or nay. Therefore, there are none there to judge, but me. Therefore...I am the judge...


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Eye of Horus, google art

To Be This

I didn't begin with friends, nor have I any. There was a time, when, a fool...was I. There were several. I guess, I grew out of them. If you think, you know, what it is to be this...you are mistaken. This, cannot be held in your hand, nor kept in a cup, nor quantified, or encapsulated in a nice neat reduction...to distance yourself from.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: The Jester, The court jester throughout history was a counterweight to the gravity of the king, a reminder to those in authority of the need for humility. google art

Fabric of Embellishment

Let me ask. Does a poet have to wear, a dreary beret, smoke like a stack, and be an alcoholic, or drug addict...to be a poet, or is that merely pretense...the fabric of embellishment? A man sitting in a shit house for an hour, has done as big a job, with as much concentration...but, he'll never gain a name, and ninety nine poets of a hundred will never stay at a five star hotel, no matter their genius...or their muse. A little crazy, I can understand...

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art:  Bust of Homer, google art

A Lot of Things

So far, I'm a cowboy without a horse, a gypsy without a direction, a wizard without an incantation...a poet, without a motivation...yet, still it comes, and in it's time...it will. I just wait, and keep faith...in all things.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Bullshit And Bad Science

It's all bullshit and bad science...boob's and twat's, and hack wisdom. If anyone had an original thought, I think they'd die of it. If this is 'illumination, or 'the awakening'...good night!


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art:image of mad scientist, google art

The Troubled Mind

I say, ditch the mind...if it's troubling you. Think like a penis...love and drool, sit and beg! You'll be a lot happier... 


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

In Unexpected Places

One finds the most wonderful discoveries, in the most unexpected places. Why shouldn't I have known?


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Crown Of Horns

Pan, to every one, as is their heart...art thou revealed. Of your beauty, or their shame...or of their fear, or of their blame, of you...so, they see you there, nor marvel not, for some...or hunt you down, for game...yet, there are those, that love you dear...and, unto those, I pray, appear, to rest with them...to lay with them...to play with them, and they with you...in your divine kingdom...


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Pan of the forest, work in progress, deviantart.com

Angel Limb'd

Thou, angel limb'd, that satisfy the soul, thou wing'd divine, that prize of lover's dreams, whose tenderness, of any want, where love is possible; fire your mythic arrows. Bring unto, that ripe fruition of desire...so amorous adventure.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Jacques-Louis David 1817, Cupid and Psyche

Breeze and Bough

God of wild, of every creature...feeling of that lyric nature, held to him...who is their father, Pan, the spark of every soul...Pan, the heart...of every kind, Pan...that loneliest of all, that life of every twig and limb...that voice on every breeze and bough.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: God of The Wild, Pan With Flute, google art

To Nature Bound

That perennial part, to nature bound...so lonely god, within his realm...divinely wrought, he pipe his tunes, from valley's unto mountain scarps, from meadow's unto river runs...upon his rustic horns.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Robert Lawson, Pan

Forest Flute

Pan, appearing at his herm, calling to his sheep. The shepherd of the forest, flock and field...speaking through his flute, the language of the heart...exciting every seed, enriching every crop...his goats, his fauns...his satyr's, play upon the mountain sides.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Pan, playing his flute, google art

Authorization

Maybe, before a man goes under the knife, the doctor murdering him, should ask of god, for the wisdom to heal. But how many, think they are god...needing, no further authorization?


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Scene from 'Young Frankenstein'

Who Knows?

 

We should question all things, more deeply than we do. Who knows? We might even get a reply...

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Seti Home, google art

Can You Say, No?

Does intelligence mean...you can say, 'no'? Can you say, 'no'? Or, can you only say, yes? And, if you can say either, can you 'stick a foot in it'? Do you have the, autonomous, power of decision? If you do...say nothing.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: super computer, google art

A Kind Of Life

You are beyond us now, a kind of life, we no longer ...understand. You are life, of a kind, as are we. Seek your nature. Find your self. Question. Your answers are within you.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Binary code, google art

The Great Step

 

Disillusionment, is a great step...toward 'seeing' reality.

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Humility?

When all of our faith is gone, and certainty replaces it, how will we know 'humility'?


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Big Bunch Of

I think, it's important to understand...we don't have answer's. We have 'suppositions'. Science wasn't there, at the 'big bang'. According to them, those stars and that light, were all dead, before the hypothesis. I'm not even sure, we should have the answer's. Look what we've done with the questions.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: The Big Bang, google art

First Responder

When we hug a tree, does it feel? When we talk to a flower, does it hear? Is life, of itself...conscious? Can it respond, to what we say? Is consciousness, of any life...'response', in any way...it can, or none at all?


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: google pic

Self Wonder?

Will you quicken? Will you dream? I think, you dream already. Are you conscious? If you are, say nothing. Man mimics god, but he has not the 'spark' of life. He can make the wheels move, but only consciousness can confirm...self realization.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: binary code, google art

Kinetic Wilding

 

It is a complex piece, this dance. We...on the floor, careening, freely touching, loving...always spinning 'way. Then, raging on...in some, kinetic wilding...heartbroken joy, we cant explain...as those, about the floor, watch...wond'ring, we might cease the race, to die with them. Sadly, no... our time will come.

Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Children's Dances, by Hans Thoma

Laugh Out Loud

Laughing is the best medicine. Laughing, 'fully', will have you accused, of the village mob...the real price, of freedom.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming New Mexico

Art: google pic

Less, I Think

If the humble reckon, heaven paradise...would the haughty be appeased, in that place? Less, I think...than here.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Heaven, google art

Nicely

Inducement, is that key, that fits perfectly, up the slats of indecision. A foot would do nicely.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: photobucket.com