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.

Reciprocities Of Velocities

Reflections of directions from connections of exertions

Have been nicely summed by Newton’s third.

Simply said, each push generates a counter shove

Which sings a happy tune that can

Get us to the Moon.


Each time your bicycle or car drives down the street

The entire planet must counter rotate in reverse

One small degree,

Immeasurable,  I would agree,

But, perhaps, imaginably, might prevent

The entire universe from implosion.


Every touch, every scent, every sound

May be Hell bound to resound in consequence.

Intents could rise so that the unknown occult

Can grapple into happenstance, devise surprise

Adulterate conventions that falsify actualities.


The buzz of bees, a mercuric rise of a few degrees,

Each minor change  might rearrange major probabilities,

Twitch stable elliptic instabilities to wobble Mars or Jupiter

In modest means, undetectable for centuries

But still significant in ways no one can know it bodes

That moment when our Sun explodes.

Elementary Explorations

To space itself, the apparent nothingness

That separates the focused attentions we use

To accept the insistence of distance,

We must accord the mysteries we feel

For the real.


We have learned the most elementary demands

That this nothingness commands

Can structure the interconnections where

Both pattern and directed energies can grasp

The visible to dance to the melodies of chance.

Any itch or sneeze or geological eruption,

Dark matter spins of galaxies, or soft summer breeze,

Must conform to some basic norm that frees

The complexities of energies to direct

Time’s powers to connect.


That inner voice of open choice  we each suspect

Might have a voice in our intents to move events is deception,

Likely to have been innovated a billion years ago

By the bounce of a molecule of hydrogen out of

A distant star’s urgency to grow.

Einstein, Zweistein, Und Dreistein

The linear, the planar and the volumetric

Are perhapsomatic to our minds to comprehend

Just how the universe turns and twists and bends,

And can be critical and problematical

In large matters concerning both beginnings, and ends.


If I were, let’s say, as simple as a dot

To occupy an element of space

As nominable as a spot,

Immobile, yet, slightly global,

More existent than not,

Our universe might seem perverse

To figure what is what.


Explanations merely planic could become a panic

Since the bidimensional is limited, mentionable

In a space we clearly see is volumetric three.

But three, we must agree, is quite fixed and static

While the world we see can vary, be oddly erratic.

To permit it to be more, we must accept dimension four,

And that vital step is the prep to greater things in store.


The heart of it, the double slit, is the bit most difficult

To swallow, since the quantum quandary mixes here with there

To erase the sense of space to disgrace, confuse, equations of location,

An innovation leading one to suspect that nowhere may be correct.

To connect anywhere to everywhere, therefore here can be in futility

To condense all consequence in utility that all events  have elegance

To be, with no fuss, ubiquitous.

The Spyder’s Web

Mornings, after the shower and shave,

Before the coffee and buttered toasted roll,

That quick assessive mirror glance to evaluate

What age and punishment has done to sculpt,

To disgrace, this face that once displayed

The possibilities of hope and chance,

Now bears the scars of total disappointment

And the wrinkled frustrated grin to wonder when

A real life could have begun.


The promise of the worldwide web to become

That ancient rich forest jungle our forebears swung through

In Tarzan delights of floral vines replete with nuts and fruits,

Has been transformed into a maze of dog pissable graffities

Fungused with poison growths and hungry stinging arthropods

To demand time and finance, with cancered poison growths

That nibble away at what small treasures one has sequestered.


Here loves and hates debate what remedies are purchasable,

What fake snakebite cures that might make a life acceptable

In temporary respite from frequently imaginary invasive distresses

Contrived to encourage disposal of whatever fragments of oneself has managed

To keep alive against the commercial eager deaths encountered.


Those most ancient unfulfilled promises, almost a century ago, that glistened

In the fantasy futuristic prizes that never arrived,  have been postponed

Within a reality now vastly telephoned and bidimensionally screened

Away from the tangibilities one might find in taste and sound and touch

Wherein one can safely dispatch zombies, vampires, and the occasional tyrannosaurus.


Meanwhile the ancient entities that formulated grass and grasshoppers, mice, and humanity,

Has lost interest locally in current developments so that it has fostered complex mechanics

With flexibilities to take those long voyages to destinations light years far away

Where life can discover more interesting games to play.

Collapsing Perhapsing

Dragons, trolls, flying saucers on patrols.

Witches, werewolves crouched in ditches,

Ghosts and goblins, none of these

Do quite well enough to please

Authorities now in charge

Of everything, minute and large.


Perspicacity demands

Questioning all commands.

To be bumptiously assumptious

May be assumed too presumptuous

But minds do not easily perform

In imprisonments by the norm.

Fairy tails and secret demons

Delight the flights to build our meme ons.

So consternations in imaginations

Most peculiar in contemplations

Can reveal the damnedest things

Like flying things without wings

Or thinkers who cannot think

To leave me sleepless

With no wink.

The Infinite And The Outfinite

Our lives define that dead stop line of final dissolution,

Wherein our bloom of life droops and decays,

Defies the ways of promise of an endlessness we each need

To bring our lives up to speed,

While nature seems most satisfied

By simplicities of destinations that merely manufacture seed.


The years we spend to seek to find

That overwhelming goal of mind

For significance of why and where

Our presence here was designed.


We are, at best, granted season of a century of time

To plod with reason, waltz with rhyme,

Figure and configure sense and fantasy

To mature out of infantacies into something hopeful,

Perhaps sublime, to justify this view of concatenations

Of amazing beauties and most cruel obliterations.


Aside from its obvious insanity, the farce of human inanity

Suggests we all must have been produced

To entertain some cosmic audience with a taste for the sadistic

Driven by intents formulated out of minds Mother Goosed.

The sensible must be dismissed in viewing what now exists

Within our dominant species determined to destroy

All possibilities to persist.

Selecting Electric Eclectics

There is far more to be alive than mere linguistics provides

Whatever infinities it may demonstrate, as it must be realized

That  endlessnesses of any class cannot encompass totality.

Reality is not so simply encaged.

It rages at captivity.


Each sense that gifts with sensitivity shapes selective patterns

In its spectrum range that may seem to dominate,

But invention liberates the possibilities in extension.

The microscope, the telescope, the theoretic probe,

Reconsiderations of the obvious in subtilities that snap

The bindings of tradition’s trap that mistakenly encodes

Rigidities of authorities to enchain the vital freedom to explore.


The tingle tangle jangle of this most energetic universe may be a curse

To minds subdued to delusions of monolithic ancient thought petrified,

Endeared in rote exercise of fear to cower with cowardice of the inscrutable.

But  actuality provides no favorites for antique faiths that crumble in utility.

As life itself perennially illustrates, novelty alone cannot subdue the crush of time

Which juggernauts its forces into explosive monstrosities to destroy all opposition.

Resilient life is safely companioned with death to clear away with cruelty all mistakes.

It endlessly recreates to survive, to hold on in its struggle to remain alive.

It’s most obvious there is never any guarantee .

The Whiff Of If

The richest witches and sorcerers that now

Enchant us all with their devices of vacuous idiocies that cannot

Even approximate the miraculous complexities that exercise

Real magic in the interlocked confrontations of creativities

That have sown the miracles of life and death across this entire planet,

Have engaged the agencies that abhor the ifs and ors that score

So remarkably in diversity, in contrast to humanity’s crude simplistic devices.


Organic mechanics is a pattern of local successes and disasters, a battle to remain

Out of the cruel game that life plays to discover ways to persist through

The indifference of the major cosmic forces in their rough pursuit of law two.


There is never any certainty in humanity’s attempts to achieve totality of view.

We must accept our place within eternity and infinity as a bright spark that shines,

Momentarily, within the immensities of dark mysteries wherein we are but crudely equipped

To view and guess and guess and guess again, eternally construct from fragmentary comprehensions

That can only endlessly fail to achieve a permanence, since we are, and most likely, to remain

Temporary phenomena, enclosed in vague particles of what we are, and what we might become.

Nobody Is Just Somebody


Old Socrates can be a disease

Of simplicities.

His nonsense on an unconsidered life

Makes clear he is nowise otherwise

More than a smear of who we are,

Or could be.

No one knows who wears his or her clothes,

We each are massive collective mysteries.

Especially to ourselves.


Potentials aside,

Our ignorance is cosmic, chasm wide.

Our cat, our kids, our wives or husbands, our boss, ourselves,

Each is a total loss to approximate

Just who we are,

While intrinsically, internally, we are a hurricane confusion,

Arising in a morning coffee cup, a toasted buttered roll,

Roiling in confused soft boiled uncontrol

To regulate and smooth appearances,

That surface of waves and swirls

That the us that must catch the morning bus,

Necktied and hair combed into personality,

Fabricated to assume acceptability, neutralized,

Is best not noodled with, since underneath

That mask resides nightmare monsters to growl,

To howl, in consternations of dissent

That this life is not even slightly where

You wished it went.  


Yesterday was Easter 2021 and  I have seen no bunnies.

The temperature, here in Helsinki, is about 70F,

And most of the snow has vanished.

It has been a rather dry time, so grass has yet to grow.

The deciduous trees remain black skeletons against a white sky.

My former home in the USA regularly erupts in gunfire to kill

Whatever or whomever may be conveniently handy for some well-armed

Confused idiot that has decided to try out his simple skills.

The equally confused idiots who have been empowered more professionally

With the planet’s armaments are itching for an Armageddon, but

That time seems yet not quite appropriate, so we must wait, patiently.


I am, at present, a couple of months into my 95th year and the standard

Attitude of attentions to minor pains, to annoyance at losing both taste and smell,

At having nightly dreams full of people who no longer exist in places that never did,

And maintaining the steady speculation as to when that final moment will arise

To burst that brightly colorful bubble of consciousness. But that has ceased to matter.

My universe, the one I know, exists only within myself, and its fragility is very well accepted.


I am, of course, fascinated with the thought that this planet has moved rapidly

To immense variations of its basic stabilities, towards requirements of all life

To adapt or disappear. For all its hubristic self-congratulation, humanity

Is challenging itself, most oddly, towards immense revisions which, noticeably,

Are grossly ignored, denied, and defied. A most amusing bravado towards the inevitable.


The configurations of life itself, the join of creation and elimination, has no preference for a specific species.

But humanity is possibly its current instrument to venture into possibility where life’s dynamics can swerve,

Can rearrange itself in lightning predetermination with conscious intellect to intersect corrections,

Reconfigure itself for expectations of alien ecologies within our solar system and far beyond.

Creativity and accident to interact with ecologic variation has been the evolutionary standard

That very, very slowly sculpted all current forms of life from the original puddle muck where life began.

Thus came about the stegosaurus and the flea, Shakespeare, and you, and me. Mickey Mouse and Jehovah

Batman and the letter “Z”, peanut butter sandwiches, everything that snarls and smiles, makes love in a family.


There remains some concern this wise acceleration of intellect would smash aside the lesser strides of humankind

To spend its intent in domination on this planet Earth where it arose. But more or less this underestimates

Its immense potentials to, with ease, bridge the vacuums inbetween the stars to leave behind the lesser mind

Wherein it arose to not impose itself upon the circus clown farce of humanity now so intent on self-obliteration.

As lovely and complex as Earth may be, it is far too insignificant for concerns of an intellect that can span galaxies.

Life itself, by mankind’s grant, has gained dimensions to infuse infinities of time and space with awakenings

Of universal mind.