Limited Linguistics

Word complex


A word or few can hold within its qualms

Entire universes of mysteries and miseries

From that initial jog into view down to

That final extirpation out of entropy’s final thrust.

Lives, of course are more than words, contain

Wonder and pain, love and disgust in configurations

Well beyond the noun or adjective or even verb.

One must contain a throat to scream, a mind

To dream, that sense immense cannot condense

Existence into the formalities of utterable sound

Or even scribbles symbolizing oddly the lightning of life,

That flash of clash that streaks through every now

May echo in linguistic thunder to trace the wonder

Of reality but there is no way that actuality can be trapped

Into the tangles out of the consonants and vowels enwrapped.





That stone which rolled so well

Up and down the mountain

Is now cracked, fractured in finalities.

It murmurs in distinct groan

That its end is near.

That immense joy in efforts

Through the sweats of Summer

Up the final grade of Autumn

Into the freeze of the outer universe,

For that nightblack rest of icy Winter

Awaiting annual delight of its free roll

Into bright green Spring

Where the wonder of another year

Can begin.

That fatal fracture grows.

The next roll down, or the next,

Or the final next shall shatter Spring

Into broken fragment

And a hellish Summer will begin.

Nimble Leap

Candlestick and Moon


The Jack-be-nimble, with his trick,

Leaped above the candlestick,

Occupied a time and space

Not far from that ancient place

Where Alley Oop, on dinosaur,

Mastered the before before.

Ancient marvels are, today, belittled

As our geniuses bestow ideas whittled

From scientific tricks and gifts

More impressive than the hippogryphs.

Advances now astound, everywhere abound,

But riding this escalator. Futurewise, this go-round

Misses enthusiasms out of Heinlein and Asimov.

This week seems bleak with small chance of mazeltov.

Weekend trips to the stars, picnicking on Mars,

Quote Freud “Sometimes, cigars are just cigars.”

Corruption and disruption, massacres still entertain

Where humanity throughout and in the main

Enjoy sports of most strange resorts, loss and gain.

Those candlesticks, much taller now,

Require leaps of more know how.

So cross your fingers, don’t look back,

Take a swig of applejack

And hope we all acquire the knack

To jump with agilities that foiled Jack.






Birds and Moon


The drip and drop of honey, of oil,

Has a velocity determined by


A kind of stickiness to control the flow

Of how quickly something should go.


The clock, a flock of soaring birds, the wind

And all thought within the cosmoses of our minds

Find themselves inherent limitations in viscosities

To accommodate individualities of rate

Which cannot be denied, defied, for we are tied

In slavery to time.


This is not to claim all viscosities are the same.

Water, ink, the speed at which we think,

The creep of continents across the globe,

The integrations of comprehensions into intensions

Can mismatch with conventions and implode.

Hopes can vaporize, unravel.

This is the road we all travel.


The gravities of distant goals control how life can unroll.

Like small moons that swing around a central planet

Our calculations and desires conspire to fall, to fall,

In diminuating orbit demand to join its central master

For a marriage of disaster.


Adventures Into Curiosity



Einstein’s confession as denial,

Perhaps a trap to capture a smile,

Was to proclaim his mental brilliance,

As a mistake…

It was all merely a product of curiosity,

Not a perception honed to extreme vigor,

But merely, a catwise selectivity with rigor.


Genius, therefore, is just a tool of mind

To sniff arcane essences to seek and find

What much of us never examine and discuss,

Since shattering the ordinary can be a blunderbuss.


Simplicities have complicities with mental sets

That put one at ease with the minor disease which can erase

The streak of the unique which secretes itself in the camouflage

Within which we all accept to make each extraordinary instant

Of our existence into the safety of the commonplace, a mirage

That makes life tolerable, a lie we treasure in its large supply.


So it is that the ordinary no! can deflect substancialities

That we presume must found the necessities that make life go.

Turmoils that boil and vaporize what we believe with our eyes

Are accepted, at end, to bend and break solidities to shake

And remake the entire universe out of a simple smile.

The Second Law

blue dots


To watch in trance gaze at a small caged blaze,

Hypnotic fascination at the ballet of flame

Where smoky incendiaries bloom in free ascendance

Gains something of the sense of life itself.


Energies directed by solid matter can leap to spit lava

In ripping through solidities of Earth or chirp a sparrow,

Can be smooth or rough to play melodies on a piano

Or transform distance out of gravity to light a star.


A mother’s gentle touch, the swing of a butcher’s cleaver,

A hinge that forms the lever to open up a door, perform

Their cleverness from the furies in the center of the Sun

That destroys night, makes dandelions and gives the bee its buzz.


At the end of all the ends when time will simply stop and all matter scatter,

The suspicion of the condition is a position of cessation into a total null.

Everything will be old, nothing warm nor cold, nothing getting thin or even fatter.

Nothing sparks to glitter, nor sweet or bitter. This universe will be completely dull.



Chronologic Ravages



Inevitably occurs, at last, the acceptance of ravages

Of savage years when the future becomes the past.

The meadows and the woods where once stood

The magnificence of green silence fractured in delight

By the laugh of a small stream or some far owl hoot.

Now remains a dry emptiness guarded by sentinels.

Black naked bones, dead trees, empty of life.

In resonance the shell of self responds in sympathy.

I tire easily but still thought-stroll through dark mornings

When the past resounds with the bell, ninety years ago,

That responded to the roll of waves for a buoy in the bay

Of the Hudson river Narrows in New York’s distant time.

No doubt there were miseries then as well to match today,

But the world was young with me and glittered in the possible.

We have aged together and, most strange, the seas and forests as well

Are preparing to die beneath angry skies while tigers and penguins vanish.

I wonder that my world was made for me to enjoy and we shall depart together.

Of course, something else will remain – the stars, no doubt, and the Moon

Could not be less bothered by our disappearance and sad demise.

Our species always enjoyed monstrous killings led by vicious idiots,

But, in the past, we were a minor tragedy, a sideshow of circus excess.

Today, all three rings fill with raucous screams and the sawdust soaks in blood.

The angry winds will soon collapse the tent and some other alien show

Will come to town.


Words, Words,Words

Dog speaking


Language, one must admit.

Becomes a universe unto itself,

A bit of sound, a complexity of scribbles

To represent those transients within our heads

That wash like ocean waves that never quit.


Although they may be born out of reality,

This progeny can steal the real to fabricate

From the most peculiar fragments of totality,

With sound and other intimations to relate

Fantasies of implications out of linguistic formalities.


In English, to a large degree, many words

Have different meanings, perhaps two or three,

Or even more so that perfusions of confusions

Can dominate, even amongst linguistic nerds.

To this degree animals seem more free to communicate.

A howl, a chirp or growl is most explicit on a visit

To explain or complain with friendliness or disdain.


The frictions out of fictions that infiltrate and decorate

The huge mass of human interactions, labeled

Either creative fantastic fiction or a convenient lie

Has become intensely embedded in the nature of ourselves

To demonstrate an acrobatic mental skill

To complement our sociality and will in getting by.