Author: William Cowan

We choose the starling over the rooster,
the apricot over the plum.

In sum the tastes of one
are from long striving

to understand what composes
an identity to fill out as your own.

There are paintings I “enjoy”
though I know not why.

The compatibility of vision is
perhaps unknowable.

Describe this wine without
terms of preposterous stretches

of linkage to tobacco, slate,
the smell of burnt cloves,etc.

The skiff sits in the placid bay
as the sun sets beyond the harbor:

A scene of serene meaning
possibly beyond explanation.

Let me see you dive.
Call Friday if you have a clue.
Liquid refreshments arrive & peace reigns.

Nonflammable renovations hover outside.
I ponder where this goes in the stream of flings.
What to choose & when arrives.

Outside the cosmos wink at us.
Plastic cups are filled & the party
continues.  No way out it seems.

The batteries have died and pa
or ma in kerchief have fled the screams.
Help me, please, hold back your flight.

1.
Lists help us break up time.
Before the list is disorder, chaos.
After the prioritizing is done
comes purpose, a sense of fulfillment

at least if life is a set of things
to do. I have walked a long way to get
to here pausing for libation
in all its variety.

2.
The farmers’ market was full of abundance.
We meandered through sights & aromas,
past the guitar & harmonica man
contented with his place

in this parking lot under a calm, blue sky.
We are receiving all that is given.
Without a list we purchase the randomness
of whatever, discover anew what sustains.

We are rogues in the gallery
of ever more darkening whys.

All humdrum & piddle-paddle
we rattle, prattle on ’til dusk.

The orchard of time’s diminishing venue
has dropped its fruit at our feet.

We plaster the pictures on the wall.
Judge not until you heed the call.

Line up. You have a number.
When asked say, “present.”

In your wonder you have wandered
to a clearing of the mind,

outlasted your resistance,
to find that each and every path leads here.

(remember a haiku consists of three lines with five syllables, seven, then five)

Earth Haiku

Husbandry is due
to bring our sacred earth through,
fix mistakes renew

Mothers haiku

Mothers nurture us
with a purpose plus they re-
furbish forever

Hermit haiku

Oh, look at this world
I’d rather knot my brow in
sage rage far away

Fresh nature haiku

The whispering pines
say have nice day, butter cup
to the blonde bombshell

The way things are
in this declining empire
and our thoughts that transpire
about the rules & “choices”
that we have are not our own.

They are the products of those
who control all that is around us.

When you live mentally inside a cage
it is hard to see “outside thinking.”

“What profit a man if he gains
the whole world, but loses his soul?”
—the Bible

In this our land that which is produced
requires an excess profit has to be made
by someone. That is the root of our problem.

Analysis: To see clearly that the material
interest of those that produce is in conflict
with those who control production.

Long ago, something was imagined that was
rational, human & democratic, and
other humans modified, distorted, & destroyed
that vision.

Karl Marx upon reading a contemporary
interpretation of his writing,(paraphrasing,)
“one thing is sure, I’m not a Marxist.”

Jesus, today would probably look at what
is created in his name by men & say,
“one this is sure, I’m not a Christian.”

“In the Soviet Union capitalism triumphed
over communism. In America capitalism
triumphed over democracy.”
—-Nora Ephron

It is time we seriously consider &
move toward a better economic system that
has as its goal the enrichment of all mankind,
not just the few.

When you are mad at yourself,

who is mad at whom?

The perfectionist berates the lesser

achiever.  The clumsy at heart

seeks the suavity of the dresser

of presentations, honing his part.

Some continue to go over the past

and its hall of mirrors.  Even

now we observe as in a badly

synchronized movie, always delayed

just off the present.  The shoulder

tires from from looking over it.

Why do we remember some moments

of long ago again & again

while other years are gone?

In the public square

I watch the flare of nostrils,

the waving hair, the unguarded stare,

no care truly hidden from

the knowing eyes of strangers.

We all pass each other without

the details that fill us all out.

I see the moving lips in the crowd,

but I am somewhere else

putting the touches on my presentation,

so you will see me

as I want to be seen.

Some of our masks fall

in our private mirror.

Oh, see me

as I see you & may we

be satisfied with

the reflected truth.

“After”
refers time
to subtle degrees:

an artificial breach
of forever

in which we are
contained

if only
as compost for

what is
to come.

We process
the known
day

thru the filter
of verbiage

making
mulch

of real events
not recalled

because memory
holds
only

the wisps
that do
not

blow away
from

lack of context.

Next to the bathroom sink is
a small picture of Christ,
a button, a paperclip & next
to his face, a Bluetooth

which caused me to wonder
if he again walked physically
among us, would he be
wearing one? Once more both

God & man: eating, sleeping,
sweating, receiving messages
from elsewhere as we do.
How would he see our short-attention

span theatre? Would the beatitudes
be pared back, the ten commandments
be three we could remember?
We would want him to say what is essential

then get on with it. Living
in the moment we forget how we
got here. The calm look would
be disconcerting, the silences diverting

us from streaming on to
where we do not know. There
are so many daily messages to
decipher, we elude the silence

that holds place, slows the race.
Many have their place in a community
of “ghosts” with hundreds of “friends”
they never see. It is pretend reality.

In the zen koan when
you have received the small bowl
and sustenance, wash it clean
for there are others to follow.

Take what is given to you,
use it wisely. For my burden
is light & I alone will always
be with you. Here, take my hand.