Morning Noises

The mocking bird came by and watched without a sound/song.
It felt odd to me to see a mocking bird in an all-business sort of mood.
The humming bird flew by and stopped just beyond my reach.
I thought of the thousand men that go up into the mountains to find the meaning of life and here before me was that meaning.
I did not go anywhere I was here.
These seemingly senseless muses seem to go nowhere but the point of all this volume of chatter is to point out the earth at
this very moment we see the light of day, this flashing moment before the future and just beyond the past.

Wet with dew the garden and grass are green.
This grass is a soft green living mass; this carpet of green is alive.
My feet are wet.

Out here it is quiet and yet in there; there are a thousand voices speaking simultaneously;
most are acting out a charade of pleasant banter,
hawking goods with no down payment;
spinning a yarn with stockings and bottoms aligned.

Black boxes warm with electricity lighten up our rooms repeating Gilligan’s Island,
charming Cary in a dark suit, a white shirt, and a bow tie
while our heroine sits and shines with jewels.

These are my morning noises.
 
 
 

 Gollum is learning the meaning of ....

badaba

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