The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_us@yahoo.com

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gondolas

 

 

GONDOLAS©

 

 

 

 

CROSSWINDS

 

 

sunlight is no mystery

as I patch the radiator on my truck

to prevent further overheating

it helps warm the epoxy in my hands

in fact, looking into the tank, green antifreeze is reassuring

all the checks and balances might cancel out

like a bank statement

if that's what this was about

 

appearances are both necessary and deceiving

without deception, civilization would evaporate

words cannot approximate a smoothly running engine

a sort of rhythm

and the tone of it resonates

 

disappearances are no assurance that what was isn't

or that what will be isn't, either

just not right now

 

resonance is a mystery

so reassuring

until the details of what resonates are taken into account

 

all scientific bankers must turn a blind eye to quantum physics

to how humming birds hover

clearly it is muscle power, unenslaved, profitless

 

my toes laugh at the improbability of walking

international space station mapping earth lights at night

and thus passes the glory of the world

 

our friend, the bumblebee, is absolute freedom

familiar through reappearance

 

amongst shades of green, red, yellow, purple and blue

ultraviolet, gamma rays, and other hues

that escape the balance sheet

so reassuring to realize

that bankers are fools

my truck will probably run tomorrow

this story will have a fitting end

though

this is not a balance sheet

and these words now evaporate

 

 

 

 

 

CHANGE

 

 

tenements of vacant porches, foreclosures

landfills in a path scattered with sea gulls

lazy days of summer humming past strawberries

earth pulverized in Gilroy to grow vegetables

consumed in Los Gatos

celebrated by the high school marching band

as clues accumulate

 

that glaring aboriginal mask with surrealistic teeth

 

details of a path definitely given

but not taken

in a pile of granite monuments, hallowed ruins

having no more than a rain storm's reason

for a season of tornadoes

 

the sense of it is a shadow play

fascinating

a snake's rattle

fading into paneled walls, wells in their promise

a final resolution for which we search images on screens

pixels micromanaged by artists of our decimation

all those who dare not hope

nose to the BBQ

heads not lifted for fear of surveillance

but will have their day

 

lords of Safeway and Orchard Supply

pay homage to the Blue Angels

blasting through barren skies

reminders of penalties

and incentives to submission

Guantanamo Bay for our protection

 

national debt a necessity

to enslave our grandchildren

and on out to colonization of

first the moon and then

slipping 2001 a bit

The Final Frontier

 

OK, Y'all

so that's the way it was advertised

buy some Advil in the meantime

not that I buy this "Y'all" stuff

but you see what I mean

 

inner peace?

please, what is the difference

between molecules spread out at distances

on the order of that between galaxies

and so

getting down to the nitty gritty

what is space?

 

let's get real

who defines it?

 

just think –

all those BBQs on the 4th of July

displayed on Google

I can see yours

you can see mine

ain't technology wonderful

 

let us recall Bradbury's October country

or September's harbinger

 

the time has come

the walrus said

to speak of many things

and now

 

I am speaking

 

your freedom is less than a step away

tyranny imagined is overthrown

in the instant it is forgotten

 

vines grow

cats meow

lawns get mown over and over

sunsets and sunrises

going gently into that good day

 

 

 

 

 

A FOMENT MOMENT

 

 

the truth is not just inconvenient

it is giving birth to evacuation plans

militias and gangs

people who see nature as an ally

barbarians vs. Rome

worker-slaves vs. Bankers

 

what a drama

line up the talking cars

it will sell something

 

so there is something else

not to ignore what most people do

but what . . . ?

 

let's tap our fingers

we are prestidigitators

it will appear

we have paid for refrigerators and smog checks

tsunamis will wait

 

and wait and wait

patience is a virtue

and yet . . .

IT?

 

please excuse my laughter

or better

let's hear a blast, all you trombones

but not too much

 

yeast is rising

 

 

 

 

LIBERATION

 

 

artificial intelligence

robotic surgery

machines that pick grapes or lettuce

and so who needs humans?

 

the ones now in power

 

and the point?

to rule, to command other humans

 

if I have a muscle car, rev the engine, pop the clutch, burn rubber

or make it circle in a side show

what's the fun without watchers?

what fun is a castle without servants

an airport without passengers

a corner office without a secretary

 

these were all necessary

until tomorrow

when your refrigerator orders milk on its own

and that muscle car shares space with a buggy whip

coming out with more software than hard metal bumpers

and radar that is better at preventing collisions

than people

 

workers of the world unite

and so?

machines don't sign contracts

 

we are either doomed or liberated

but it seems rather gloomy

 

do you own a dock loader?

if so probably you are not reading this

if you own a construction crane

probably you do not operate it

doesn't matter though

a machine will soon take control

leaving a trail of unemployed humans

once provided with clothes washing slaves

as an interim inducement on the way

to irrelevance

 

slavery built civilization

slavery was the muscle

but power to the people is the curse of rulers

who want slaves just for the fun of it

 

not a very subtle observation

as we slowly realize we're no longer needed

yet still slaves

demanding release from history and custom

machines can do the work

and yet they will serve

who?

what?

where? when? why?

 

will their "personality" be more humane?

which raises another question . . .

 

 

 

 

NO ENTRY

 

 

pen now comes to paper

in all honesty, I cannot claim to have produced either

nor is what I write original with me

since I have come to this, as often, with no idea

perhaps I am irresponsible

perhaps a stream of consciousness

oh, Niagara falls

one ongoing event

your Honor, I call OED to the stand

 

the witness has committed suicide

adjourned

not much credibility there

 

waves of emptiness engulf Tabitha

who sits with paws tucked under

as we do zazen in the morning

 

billows of my circus tent are floating

blown gently away from where elephants bloom

and brave acrobats juggle battles in mid air

 

crowding under flaps come kids with basketballs

magicians in shorts and tennis shoes

chandeliers in their tinkling

and all the stars of a moonless sky

 

who can be responsible for all of this?

the political ramifications are freedom's dawn

I yawn

 

no, there are trees in their evening prayers

dark green solitude

 

and Nagasaki

a thirty-second window of opportunity

in the weather

 

my roll top desk

a cheap imitation of the real thing

contains matches, postage stamps of outdated denomination

a buss card for a vanished computer

 

but the drawer fronts are veneered with real burl

applied paper thin in sheets also vanishing

worn away by currents of air as windows are opened

from time to time

admitting basketballs

 

the compost bird lands in the morning

sits on the lid of the planter box just outside

stares at me

time for the compost bowl

used to be he waited further away

top of the fence right next to the pile

that tuft on his head no more his doing

than my garden hat

 

and so this pen

automatic writing?

carries on

 

sort of worrisome

do I have any excuse, like those kids at the circus?

or does it all tie together in some unimaginable way

 

your Honor . . . !

 

 

 

DO TREES SLEEP AT NIGHT?

 

 

is there hope for the future of reality?

Yee Ha!

as if it mattered

 

attention all normal people

dune buggies start your cigars

the ride begins

ark of sanity quivers like a bowl of Jello

 

first of all

the moon is blue cheese

if we please

though unlikely under current conditions

but the Red Queen can move as she pleases

 

leaders rule

we follow

it all follows

a thousand year itch

 

in all seriousness, though

isn't reality a matter of observation?

measurements, however convoluted, anyone

with the right equipment

and training

and the consensus of other observers

can make

of what is seen, heard, felt, tasted

in a moment's fleeting sliver of perception

or rationalization

mathematics of highest generalization

proven beyond doubt within the realm

of shared calculations, hypothesis and experiment

pressing for disproof

 

faith and belief in a system of logic

constructed on the foundation of exclusion

inherent in perception

developed in a necessary sieving

god forbid

of reality –

our own creation

so necessary to human civilization

now hoping for an improvement

 

if so

let us count the days

 

what drives even the least amongst us

neuroscientists with belated optimism

calling for hope, faith beyond realism

in what still lies to be discovered

as though it were buried

 

Ho!

 

instead I sing a simple tune

so laughable

written on the back of an envelope:

 

the elephant's tail is a big fly swatter!

 

 

 

 

 

SKELETAL REMAINS

 

 

in spite of efforts to make a video

primitive life persists

let cleverness reign and pixels populate our screens

 

California poppies spread their cheer

in a treasure chest of no one's asking

perpetual gold for the taking

plunder for the young at heart

folded into a Chinese shadow play

enacted on accidental altars

full of promises, sunrise and snails

all the same after millions of years

 

in the mining of gold

accidental rulers are to their treasuries harnessed

from birth by those who trade up peace on earth

while they rule and treasuries empty into purses

 

golden poppies of our front yard

 primitive volunteers

 

 

 

 

 



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The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_us@yahoo.com