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.





What happens if I stop believing?

Nothing, of course, goes up in smoke.

Toilets still flush. My toaster still toasts.

Traffic lights still alternate green to red,

And if I itch, a scratch still satisfies.

These basics tenaciously remain. But, but, …

The world where I grew up –

Where has that fled?


People used to say, OK,

Today may be a mess. But tomorrow?

It used to be there was a tomorrow.

Something has gone wrong.

Now, it’s always today.


The rich never stop getting richer.

The poor are very talented in getting poorer.

People kill each other from complacent habit,

And kill themselves, somehow, to compensate.

Can this make sense?


Frogs and honeybees are mysteriously vanishing

Not to mention tigers, elephants and bats.

Corals die, and whales commit suicide.

Fish choke to death for lack of oxygen.

Oysters, snails, cannot fabricate their shells.

Millions of USA kids are starving.


People succumb to summer heat in India.

Not enough water to drink, or grow crops elsewhere.

A decade or two, we might swim down Broadway.

Mountains of ice tumble into the sea, ignored.

People are excited over Hollywood comic strips.


I’ve already stopped believing.

What happens when everybody else does that?






Assessment At 92

Rhino and dancer


Butterflies and sharks, along with larks

And the standard rhinoceros are all aware

That ballet might not make their day.

Our body architecture requires particulars of dynamics

Which cannot be denied nor grossly modified.

Currently one cannot sell the smell that hovers

Every morning above planet one

Of Alpha Centauri – no need to even try.

To narrow ambitions down to just a few

My limitations far outdistance most possibilities.

A snake would shake its head in dread or quake

And slither off with a polite cough to calculate

The negativities of my proclivities.

Nevertheless, the distress must be chewed and swallowed.

We are what we are, nothing more or less.

Acceptance of this finality, in this locality

Of talents or their lacks denotes a comfort of minimum solidity.

Habitudes of self-appreciation spares demolitions of the soul

To substantiate the necessary “what the hell” to ring the bell,

And set the melodies to play that slides

Existence towards persistence

Does reasonably well, rather rough

But good enough.






Moon crater

Convexity, concavity complexity combine to obtain

The surfaces we must traverse to reveal the universe

That we enter in our brain.

It sits complacent as the canvas whereon

We brush our speculations, irrational or sensible

With all sorts of intimations.

Glancing at a crater on the Moon reveals to sight

Concavity or convexity with presumptions as to light.

A puzzle that can nuzzle with the strangest consternations.

The coins we toss for gain or loss are equally perverse

To dispense great benefit or a simple curse.

The getables or forgetables are as elusive as fast mice

But time and opportunities with steady impunities

Continue to entice.




To be sure to keep it neat,

Avoid the watchful glance, critical,

Take no chance, some romance

Is always useful to shunt aside

An attempt to deride.

Be discreet.


Politics and business often agree

That morality can be a nuisance,

Obstruction, on occasion,

May not sway to persuasion.

To compete one must delete

Methodically in ways not sweet.

Brutality can complete to satisfaction

What seems a necessary action.

But, to be concrete,

Be discreet.


The motivations to be sly

Can be complimentary to the guy

Who markets hope and prosperity.

And a furtive grope becomes excusable

When cardboard ideals are useable.

Knocking off a hundred thousand lives

In lands distant can make your day,

Create respect for power and decision

When those deaths of innocents are far away,

Can be a treat to the man in the street

As long as it’s



One must not boast or wave a bloody dagger,

Juggle H-bombs in swagger and grin

Before you do a few millions in.

It’s good to display a wistful smile, regret

That ferocity was the necessary bet

And delight that might makes right, but yet

The feat should be












There are quite a few of that linguistic confection

Such as perfection.

Engineers have consigned limitations

In degrees of attainment,

Asymptotes to provoke direction,

Targets to discipline and strain the energies

Of where and how to go.

But these goals remain, at end,

Far beyond where effort can extend.


There is no despair in not reaching

What is not there.

It is enough to know where to go,

How to persist.

Settle for what could be more

But not what cannot







I do not know what I do not know.

Unknowned is to be un-owned, unpossessed,

A state distressed in doubt of no way out.

We live in probabilities of connection,

Faint dendritic spider webs to weave

Networks to capture possibility

Which, to large extent remains

Empty, unfulfilled, spun

Unrewarded while

The golden dust of promise

Drifts, immune to capture,

Glittering in some wild joy

That treasures the immense unattainable,

But yet, but yet displays

Promises of, perhaps,

Other ways.








I doubt if dandelions give a damn

Of who I am or what

I might want to be.

Yet when these fellow creatures

Shake their tousled golden heads

In the sunshine of a summer morning

In defiance of the blades that come

In panic to guillotine their joy

I cannot deny that shudder

Of disgrace that squeezes me in the fist

Of shame that such common wonders

Should be so easily