The Girl

I am a disgrace to youth, in my agedness, yet wise...wise of a kind. I have never been seen, so sweet, as in your eyes...that time. So, small town girl, you are, yet more than could be dreamed, I pray, I do. And then, today, I saw you with your kohl eye'd 'mean', being someone, that cannot be seen...hiding in your kitchen, ringing up orders. A man cannot love like that, inside himself, for long, and I...I could neither judge, nor own you for an hour...even though, I know your beauties power...that you could cost me everything, is of no matter. Just know, that we are present in the time, when birds must flee, and if we come together...it was meant to be. You have seen this, and foreseen this, and you know...I cannot come to you...you must come to me.


Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico

Photo Credit: lookanimals.com

Winter

There is a snow white bunny, in his cage...we call him, Winter. He's the sire of the flock of baby bunnies, we now have living in our bathroom, with their mother.  Winter lives and waits and grieves, for his females, his wives...in his cage, where he munches his alfalfa, and his pellets, and sucks from his water bottle. Our snow white Peking ducks, have pity on Winter's plight, and for many hours each day, they sit with him, outside his cage, and chat and chat...quack quack quack. We began to believe, because, Winter is white, the white ducks, might believe he is one of their own, But I think, it goes beyond mere color...in the animal kingdom. It goes to care and to empathy...beyond necessity. The ducks know, Winter's misery...so, they go, and sit and chat with him, to cheer him up. Today, my daughter, Hana, and I, spoke of this, and we determined, it would be well to let Winter out of his cage, to wander in the larger animal enclosure. We kept the female bunnies penned, so that the bathroom wont fill with more baby bunnies for awhile. All of the bunnies, Winter, and his girls, were like spring rams...leaping, speaking, kissing, through the cage. He got filthy, and enjoyed himself to no end. He wandered into his cage, this evening, with a little coaxing and wrangling, from us...his minder's. He will sleep well tonight, in the knowledge, that those he loves, for animals do love, to at least, as great a degree as humans, are safe and well, and very nearby, and now, he may visit them each day or they to him. He knows, as well...we humans are animals too, and we care. Some of us care so much.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico

Photo Credit: warrenphotographic.co.uk.

If man could have created one creature, in the likeness of his own creator...would that have made man, god? No, the best man has done is a box with buttons, and some rather messy abortions, in deep dark labs. We should not congratulate ourselves, just yet. Let us see if we can extricate the flesh of our folly's, from the cold science of our decisions...


Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico

If 'illusion' were the real base, of all we know...and science has deified, it's prestidigitation, supporting a god, they profess, does not exist, for one, who does...that we've forgot...then, are we not, doubly, in error?

Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico

We should have remained with our first love...if it were love, for in trading what we knew, a part of, for that, which professes to know all...we have given over our trust and our key, to the lock of heaven, and we know not, what will become of it...


Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico

Technology pretends to make our lives easier. Is anyone's life easier? It prophesies of better times. It asks us to trust it; put our faith in 'the cloud', and everything we hold dear...believe in 'science', for we are god, reduced to an explanation. Man is existential, science says, but we can make things better...there is no god, but 'science', science says...follow us, we know the way...


Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico

A Traveller

I only came back for a while, because I missed you. You are strangers, I don't know, and yet...you are a representative sampling of humanity? I can't be sure, but, even though...you are my candle in the dark...the other campers, I can hear your hearts beat...feel your warm breath, when the wind passes gently. I stand among you...in your millions...alone. I would know you, but you will not let yourself be known. It is sad, this avoidance. I tell you of your selves, your warts, your zippers open...your slippers clinging to toilet tissue. I gently urge and nudge, to find you balance, when your balances are blown. I have told you, you are beautiful of face, or if not face...of spirit, then...you turn away, as if I were a ghost. I meant no harm, ever...no cruel torture. I have arranged no trap of concupiscence, to lure you my way. I was only a friend, and you were never. It is sad. It is sad for you, as well as I, that we may only know, such loneliness, rather than the love rejected. I will pray, though not for you. I will pray that god rescind, this slight I am, that you may go, your way, without infliction. I will not share your camp fires, or know your hearts, and you will not know, the love of my heaven, but be at peace, for I am not to trespass, where unwelcome...your wars, your jealousies, your avarice and miseries, may continue...as you please. I will plant no further seed in this place. I will move on. It is done.


Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico

Art: artuk.org, Gypsy Encampment