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The Future Is Here
I met the future in a man, yet to be; Flesh of my flesh, child of my child. A perfect body, active limbs, wriggling toes, My finger clutched in his, our family nose, Intelligence in his inquisitive, sapphire eyes. In awe of the possibility That, as a man full grown, This seed of my seed, whose future can fill our need In a world we’ve made as safe For him as we’ve been able to Where he can grow to be Our next big man of destiny. My hope, my trust is in world peace. A state of affairs we’ve never reached. A futile dream perhaps, and yet, A dream wish of possibilities For him to fulfill with his peers Our next, and his generation.
My Machine I have a machine that works with few if any repairs, down time, capability, loss of efficiency, working daily for three score years or more. . A machine that repairs itself, runs on animal, vegetable, or mineral fuels, adapts to the harshest climate, yet its productivity remains stable and measurable. A machine that learns by rote, has a computer’s memory, Calculates mathematics, houses a dictionary, a vocabulary. And it spouts homilies, wisdom and foolishness like an oracle. A machine that cleans itself, evacuates waste produts Produced by its movable parts, upgrades itself, speeds up or slows production at will with unfailing precision. A machine that has intelligence beyond computer design, Is mobile and can operate with efficiency and adaptation anywhere in the world with its constant source of energy. A machine that generates wealth, health or corruption, That can reproduce or reduce itself to scrap with drugs, booze, lack of fuel, poverty or component failure Pushed aside by internal or external buttons, a loss of major mental capacity Or failure of its internal combustion propulsion.
Florida’s Orchestra Tap. Tap. Tap. Maestro lifts his baton. A palpable silence reigns for effect. An arcing stabbing baton takes control. Violins and violas whisper to each other. Stretch, stretch, stretching a note. Cellos come alive. Flutes stream in. Drums roll. A salutation in brass! Timpani roars, cymbals crash! An angelic harp. Basses growl! A haunting melody of lilting perfection Makes way for piercing piccolo and oboe, Chills the soul; then warms the heart. Kettledrums drive in a chasm of sound! Violas tiptoe not far behind, Take marching orders from violins. Trumpeting cavalry charge the ranks – threaten to overwhelm restless strings pushed aside by brash brasses Slashing, driving in a climactic crescendo! Drums, cymbals, and percussion explode! Violins and violas, thought lost in the charge, go wild. In waspish fury they swarm; taming all at last – As Maestro and baton lead in Grand Finale’. The audience stands as one – roars approval
Thor’s Hammer The God’s Offended Race To Chase Us Back in Place. Insignificant Mortals. Thor’s Hammer Thrown Down Thunder! Lightning! Drown Us in Wind! Rain! Hail! Surround! Cracking Flashes! Jagged Fire! Massed! Unleashed! Fury! Man’s Atomic blows are tame Even by Any Other Name As a Lover is Spent In an hour of Passion’s Pent up Sexual Release Thor, Son of Gods, Relieves Himself, Again! Again! Again! And Man Trembles.
Like a Pelican Like a Pelican in my dreams I can fly. Yet wonder why I can soar be graceful and admired only when I fly. On return to earth I try oh I try To be graceful and admired as when I fly, But I become myself again Plain, awkward, ordinary, Shy.
Blue Bikini She walked At shoreline In a bikini Blue. Pale Sky color Bust and Butt Vanished Her body Now thirds Accent then Blonde hair Shiny nose Straight back Firm Belly Tanned body Long legs Red nails. Accentuation Left to your Imagination |
Updated on September 22, 2008 |