People, so cute they are, Paulo thinks,
especially Miranda,
and always
the same way up.
He envies those with certain knowledge,
in their environs no cloud or mist;
on their loci, labelled points,
soluble in warm
water, formulae taken
twice a day with ritual and promise.
Still, Paulo knows that, should
he name the nameless,
its power will evaporate
and taxes will be levied.
The IBM Selectric does his typing,
its golf ball spins and pirouettes
shedding tiny feathers.
Our bubbles are around us,
puddles splash beneath our naked feet,
all we want, to be cradled softly
and believed in.
Yet I hear a skyward sound outside,
the flutter of a hundred wings
projecting from each nestling
sphere that rolls along the streets,
unrequited chirping, symphonic noise in pink.
Paulo wonders—how many birds
to form an irregular
dodecahedron?
Miranda’s reading by his side.
Delete the lines about
the revenant,
they make no sense at all,
and it’s time to let the cat out,
he’s recharged now.
While Paulo searches for
an existential robocat,
his IBM reverts to type:
bats and beetles, paper angels, a pair
of Disney nightingales
that flit around the study.
about
- Selectric is an IBM trademark. IBM holds more patents than any other company, hope they haven’t patented a dodecahedron made of birds
- white noise—uniform at high and low frequencies; pink noise—fades at high frequencies.
artwork
castles made of sand (explained by Jimi Hendrix)
I hope they haven’t patented one either. But I’m guessing you might be more creative. 🙂
That is interesting about punk noise. Haha pink.
It’s going to get clichéd, but I love this!
My own patents are various things made of birds, moths sometimes. Occasionally technical bits sneak onto the keyboard. It’s called pink because red light is lowest (visible) frequencies. Oh no, more! 😳 *Thinks* muchas gracias.
Wonderful! Love the art and poem. What I like most about your work is that I identify with Paulo (or poet) and his view of the people who inhabit HIS world. Absurdities abound and endearments are random and quirky. Your poems always make me feel less alone in my peculiar skin.
So glad you get something out of it, it’s the reason I write.
I suppose it’s about point of view, the way you choose to see the world. Your summary seems about right 🙂 , although I probably listen to the wood ducks a little more than I should 😉 .
I find this strangely comforting.
Curious. It was meant to be dark, foreboding and apocalyptic 😛 😛
Oh dear. What does that say about me?? 🙂
Well, pretending for a minute that I wasn’t joking, it would mean that you see the bright warm side of life, BG. I mean really, I don’t know how anyone can do that 😀 .
Life’s just a mixed bag. The silken petal and stabbing thorn are on the same rose.
Yet the thorn never wounds the flower. (Not mine, wish it was, translated from famous Brazilian song.)
I’ll google it. I may have to change my philosophy. 🙂