I Hope You Find What You’re Looking for

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The aperture

of a telescope

cannot get

cataracts,

but it can be scratched,

through carelessness,

or callousness.

When you don’t need it,

it collapses

like a bashful brass,

Matryoshka.

The mount

will need to be screwed on,

swiveled,

tilted,

and tightened.

The eyepiece

will fatigue

if you strain,

but that’s only if

you spend too much time searching

and not enough time

finding.

There’s no rewinding,

If you missed Saturn’s rings

because you blinked,

or a lunar eclipse,

because you happened to drift.

So whatever it is you’re looking for

I hope you find it,

because it comes down to timing sometimes,

even with the right tools,

even when you know what you’re looking for,

even when you think you’ve found it.

Static Friction

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The dresser won’t budge,

It’s been there for a while,

Maybe the floor is used to it.

Would it hold a grudge,

If it felt exiled?

What if it fit?

The spot underneath,

Tan, sandy-brown,

Like an old business sock.

Or a heath,

Found downtown,

In the land of hard-knocks.

Maybe a change of scenery,

Is what it needs,

Instead of rearrangement.

Maybe it should see some greenery,

I could toss it into the weeds,

If I could accept the estrangement.

I hope,

It doesn’t score the floorboards,

Or tip over.

 

Lost in Space

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The whole family,

Can join in,

On this white-knuckle thrill ride.

An action-packed,

Tour-de-force,

About wayfarers in a massive vacuum,

Alone,

For millions of lightyears,

Of course.

What great TV,

With which to live vicariously!

The troublesome son,

The authoritarian father,

The doting mother,

The precocious daughter,

And a robot with a heart of gold.

Staving off boredom,

By playing card games,

And charades,

And moving forward uninhibited,

Except by an occasional asteroid.

Tune in,

Or don’t.

Giant’s Causeway

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“Fee fi fo fum,”

Standing on stepping stones,

Overlooking the ocean.

Ancient and irregular,

Interlocking hexagons,

Standing shoulder-to-waist,

Crown-to-knee,

Washed by the sea.

Uneven scutes,

On a tortoise’s armor,

Lying on it’s belly,

Beached long ago,

Sacrificed in service,

Of those who watch the waves.

Leash Laws

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A savage wolf’s power,

Is rendered meaningless,

By a retractable red chord,

In the same way,

That a yellow Labrador’s,

Truck-chasing antics,

Are cut short,

By a stiff jerk,

A wag of the finger,

And a stern “no.”

Strength is nothing,

Without a capacity,

For restraint.

Without it,

Barks and bites,

Grow tenfold,

Get old,

And lose effect entirely.

Means to an End

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What stands today simply cannot stay-

And there is no way to delay, to hold at bay,

It will all sway, grey and flay,

Forests filled with life, are also forests of decay.

The oak that falls crushes what is underneath,

In a massive faltering apogee,

It opens up the canopy,

And gloriously atrophies.

We run the same race at different rates,

And have different faces, yet the same fate.

“The end is a conclusion,”

That seems to be a delusion,

The end is an illusion,

Or an allusion,

There is some confusion.

Redundancies

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I need back-ups,

I.E. plans B through Z,

A fail-safe

For each stumbling block,

May sound unnecessary,

But mistakes,

Congregate in flocks,

And I’d rather be on the safe side,

Than caught in a landslide,

On the wayside.

Going without,

A direction in mind,

Is like running through a wildfire,

While drenched in kerosene,

And even though the situation is dire,

All you have to say is “eh, c’est la vie.”

Fight or Flight

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I’m the fly in the hall,

By the wall,

Drifting-

Like a dandelion’s seed on a gentle breeze,

Flailing like a cat’s tail,

Wishing-

For solid ground where my feet lay,

Somewhere to stay, to pray

Before I’m taken by a wailing gale,

Like a failing sail sounding an ailing wail,

A fervent, furious, futile flap.

Spinning-

So it goes,

Going where the wind blows,

Not the direction I chose, I suppose;

I’m on my toes in my throes,

I don’t slow in the flow,

Where I’m going doesn’t matter,

Like the guys on the other side, and their chatter,

If I ride the storm, I’ll find a swarm,

Somewhere warm,

I’m sure.

Stationery

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A blank sheet of paper can say anything,

It can say many things,

But get one in the mail, and all you’ll have are questions.

“Caution! Contents may have shifted during flight.”

Good suggestion!

The tenuous letters may have slid off the paper,

Turbulence will do that, I think.

Turn the envelope upside down and shake with vigor,

Scoop them up and lay them out on a table,

You’ll need to rearrange them.

It’s been so long since I’ve gotten mail,

Now I make my own tall tales.