Chance

Not Quite There

I told myself that I should be about 170 pounds
and sometimes I check in the morning to see if
my body got the message and usually it didn’t,
but it turned out today that the scale showed 167
pounds which kind of surprised me and made
me wonder if there was something wrong with
the scale or if I needed to tell my eyes to see
more clearly but it looks like my body finally came
through and then I wondered what if I could
levitate and then Alice appeared and she wanted
to know what I was doing and I told her that my
body finally did what I told it to do and she wasn’t
impressed and she wanted to know about that
levitating nonsense I was jabbering about and I
told her I thought it would be cool to become
weightless for a while and she told me that would
mess up my ideas about gravity and did I really want
another cognitive dissonance experience so soon
and then she mumbled something I deliberately
ignored about needing to appreciate whatever
experiences I might have while I had the chance.

The Monster’s Return

My little daughter goes to sleep.
I hope that monster doesn’t creep
Back to her bed to say, “Hello!”
She tells me that it’s wicked, though.

Now in her dreams, she starts to see
That monster dancing gracefully,
Until it slips on floppy feet,
Then thinks it needs something to eat.

“But don’t eat me!” She looks at it.
“I’m not that tasty.” So, they sit.
It says it’s never had a friend.
No one can trust it in the end.

It starts to weep and she looks sad.
She hurries off to tell her dad,
“A monster’s in my room and cries.
It’s cute and has the kindest eyes.”

Pigeon Perspective

Pigeon Perspective Evening Sky
Pigeon Perspective Evening Sky

What’s it like to be a pigeon living on the street?
Crumbs collect and raindrops fall. Dodge the people’s feet.

Artificial Intelligence

A pretty, plastic flower won’t grow a seed
Though we might think it could with just a glance.
If we insist, indeed, it has a chance,
That only means that we have been deceived.
Computers read, but cannot understand.
They speak, but they cannot be entertained
And nothing new to them has been explained
Though everything and more they have at hand.

So why should anyone presume that we
Could be replaced by what is not aware
Though sentimentalized as if it were?
The flower in the basement cannot be
As real as those that bloom in fresher air
Whom bees enjoy and breezes calmly stir.

Differentiating Subjective and Objective

The only thing some say that I can know
Is what’s subjective, and I’m fine with that,
But when I shoot electrons aiming at
A double slit I trust I still can show
I fired something definite although
If I could tell which slit each one went through
I’d change the way they must have done that, too,
Implying dumb reality must go.

Hey! I don’t mind. The world seems better when
The matter that I thought was dead depends
Upon some deeper Consciousness to be.
If that configuration’s better, then
It changes almost everything and sends
Me looking for those Eyes that look at me.

Retro Mind Enjoying Itself

Some say my mind is retro,
Beneath the avant-garde.
I like the way I dot my i’s
With drops of blood.  I sympathize
With all the modern modes and lies.
It’s changing I find hard.

 

Fear of Flying

There once was a bird in a nest
Who thought he’d give flying a test.
“Any monkey can fly,”
Thought the bird way up high.
So he tried and he flew like the rest.