About to Catch the Morning Flight (poem)

I

Pack your bags and set off for a foreign land –

Make sure everything is tight – the scheduled is planned

And you are up nice and bright

To catch your morning flight.

II

Pack your bags and set off for a foreign land.

After all, you spent hours, weeks, and months in department store stands

Studying the brochures in anticipation

Now you are sitting, shivering and covering in perspiration.

.

III

Pack your bags and set off for a foreign land.

What will you find and do is up to your command.

Tell me where you will go, what you dream you will see.

Tell me when you return – if you return and come and see me.

Cannot Find an Out ( Poem)

I

There does not seem to be an out.

So, do I sit here and wonder

And wonder about in my thoughts

And keep my own keepsakes in mind

Since, there is nothing out their I can find?

.

II

There does not seem to be an out.

So, do I sit here and silently, pout

Out each calaminity, as I shout

Out my humanity? Am I

Just a leaf to get blown away and it is not even worth a try?

.

III

There does not seem to be a way out.

So, do I just meander mazes  of misery

Out internally, as I sit and count each day annually

And then measure out the sum? Am I

Just simple trifle to ingore – one to pass on by?

.

IV

There does not seem to be an out.

So, do I find the darkest corner to hide under

And cover myself in dust, dirt, and ash to hide under as thick cloth

And dither away slowly? I am sure no one will mind.

Since, afterall, there does not seem to be much to ease my mind.

Life’s Progression ( poem)

He or she was born.

He or she was was bred and fed on bread and cultured in a form:

Containing: philosophies, histories, religions, mathematics, semantics and scientific theory –

Containing:  breads, casorals, soups, etc – an endess list on which they continued to query.

As he or she plodded from nursury to university.

He or she found love, matrimony and a daily occupation (at moments weary)

On which to rise station-by-station –

On which to stake a place in their nation.

He or she had a batch of children 

Who did and did not mind them –

On which they had their fill –

On which they laid their will.

He or she is old, sick and in bed.

He or she is now dead.

Why I Am Blogging Less

I blog less than usual. There is a reason. I am still writing. I suppose you want to know why there are less posts. Well… one can only generate for free so long.

Saying this, just because I do not post as often because I do not want to spout out work for free does not mean I am not typing up manuscripts. I assure you the daily word and page count continues to compound as the days and weeks progress.

All the reduced posting of posts means is I am taking care to work on a larger project. It also means I will not post the larger project because I may be looking for publishers to publish these projects – publishers who pay.

Many publishers do not want or pay for work previously posted online. It may not be pleasant. It may not be wonderful news to hear. It is the news of truth, however.

I understand why they would not want to publish something already available free on the net. The goal of the sale of the product ones work could be published in is to make a profit. The for-free-from-a-site availability of the pieces contained in the product reduces the profit the product could generate.

Payment for work is important. The adage information desires to be free is a misnomer. Since when did information itself have a desire for anything?

If information did desire to be free, since when did information have the need to feed, cloth and house itself?

When information is fed bits of food, the results on the text or digital text includes: soggy or stained pages or fried or sticky keyboards.

I also have class. I am applying for jobs. It would be irresponsible to sway time away from these to focus on the blog.

However, I will post some posts occasionally.

Apple’s Timed Travesty

The Apple Watch is the latest gadget spawned from Apple. The watches’ sales disappointed Tim Cook, Apple’s CEO.

Perhaps, the disspointing sales resulted from Apple failing to ask, “Why do people need this?”

“Why do people need this?” is an important question to ask buying and comparing items at the supermarket. Why Apple engineers, CEOS, and promoters failed to ask themselves this before putting the watch into production is puzzling.

The iPhone was a good idea. When I am away from my desktop I: may want to check my e-mail, may want to chat with a friend, may need to light web-surf to a site for directions. I also may want to listen to music.

It is difficult to do any of these activities with the Apple Watch. Picture running fingers across the screen to browse through stored music data, surfing the net, or trying to chat on the watch.

All these activities are impossible without the use of Apple’s Siri.

Ok, suppose Apple intends Apple Watch users to use Siri.

Let’s suppose I check and write an e-mail. Do I want the world to know what I am saying to my list of friends and contacts?

Apple should have understood the purpose of a watch is to check and measure time.

Most Americans check and measure time on smart phones. So, it is not surprising the Apple Watch produced disappointing sales for Apple.

To Stay or Go ( poem)

We long to escape the stings, scrapes and cuts

From the lashes, needles, and continued falls.

We contain many exoduses.

To only have fallen once and from the plunge been trapped a single moment would have been a miracle.

We often find our path narrowed, shortened, come full-stop.

We cling, dig, scramble, tear hair, shout, pace, shudder in place.

We dwell on the enclosed…ever-enclosing space.

The burden stresses… presses.

The failure to leap over the breath of the breach of our hoped-for-outcome anvils our mind.

The burden leaves us panting… gagging.

We draw sketches… blueprints of possible escape routes.

We chalk our days on cement walls.

We wait.

Each thought leads to failure.

We soon release our hands, collapse… choose to wait out to our fate to its natural end.

Soon our cage transmits a cushion –

Decked in rocks, needles… nails,

Which would pound, prick, pierce, … kill us

With too right, too left, too upward, or downward a turn

But… we can lay on the jagged points and weigh and tread each day evenly and never dare step out

of the day-to-day pace and remember our place.

So we drift our mind from hope

And reluctantly…but willingly take up our rope

We endure without a waited for hope.

… Soon a hand comes. The fingers motion a way.

The hand promises rest from the whipped up whirl of wave-after-wave of woe.

Still, we stand.

Still, we are reluctant to grasp the hand.

We meditate… ponder.

Where could the stretched out appendage have motioned us go?

How are we to know?

Why should we trust the promise of comfort toward a place unknowable?

Why should we follow the unknown guide and the path he says to follow?

Why do we stay here and endure the chain… the whip…

The continued pound of stone-after-stone?

Why?

… We are used to it perhaps.

We know the daily pound, prick…pierce to be dealt.

So, we stand and question, moan, question, grown…question.