Our Urban Companion

City city, rising high

all strung out across the sky

what artist's smearings could interpret

thy jagged profile, so raggedly imperfect?

Since your swift gold rush run was done

and your thrashing railway web's been spun,

have you embossed yourself in gold-tinged filagree?

Did we who trod the prairies plod thee?



(Aside)

Oh lookee here.

Yonder cometh the world traveler

Methinks

he hath the fat and hungry look:

Pigeon pigeon, strutting like a dude

with bold entreaties for some food

how long hast thou been loitering without fear?

You got a permit to solicit here?



Who gave you permission to hang around?

acting like you own this town.

'Though you resemble your country cousin dove,

thou huntest not, but just beg and grub.



I surmise that in some faraway jungle

thou was chased away by some uncivilized uncle;

and now, thy feathery incandescent suit

cloaks with grandeur thy wand'ring grubby pursuit.



Oh ye little urbanized beggar

art thou a diner at this establishment, a regular?

Hast thou honed and perfected y'er plodding pleading game?

Hast thou an identity? Who gavest thee thy name?



Every city whence I travel

thou are there on the sidewalk, in the gravel,

sometimes poking in the parks where it's grassy

other times pecking pavement, bold and sassy.



When I get to heaven wilt thou be there too?

Groveling and grubby down near my shoe.

But perhaps thou wilt there soar free.

Did He who form the eagle form thee?



Fare thee well my gentle companion,

with winged flapping in flight-paths random.

Cherish every encounter and generous friend

until in yon celestial city we do meet again.



Get along now!

You can't be grazing here like a cow.

We shall see what will be

between you and me in eternity.

Glass Chimera

Ole Uncle Sammy

My uncle Sammy worked hard; he worked every day.

He made good money, and he put some away.

He made a good living; but then he got older

Ole Sam carried the weight of this world on his shoulders.

I was told that in his gathering of wealth,

he had worked the land, done well, and maintained his health.

He managed to save a little more than he needed

so he squirreled it in the bank where his fortune was seeded.

He figured, you know, everybody's got to eat

so he opened a burger joint, it was quite a feat,

because his humble, capital enterprise

eventually become a growing franchise.

And in America, you know, everyone wanted wheels,

so Sammy expanded into more wheels and big deals;

he got things going, built up a good team;

he was riding in style, living the dream.

But then ole uncle Sammy, one day, up and died,

so we laid him aside; he went out with the tide,

No longer an icon on tracebook, nor twittee,

maybe we'll see him in eternity city.

Glass half-Full

In the Moment

In the moment of inspiration,
in that potent encounter with
the creating inclination of the universe,
in that moment, say,
as Beethoven listened at his piano
while stark moonlight shine through
the frosty window,
and struck upon his keys--
his dark tones and light strokes
provoking
a sonata of exquisite beauty and
tender moonlit passion;

Or in that vibration
when the musician touches his bow
to strings;

Or when the artist brushes paint on blank
canvas;

Or when the writer flings his words
on electrons of exquisite power--
in that moment,
do you
attribute it to the withering I, me, my?
or to the source of all creation
as Handel did,
or Bach.

As for me and mine,
in that precious moment
we are so small
and trembling, that we draw back the curtain
to peek
beyond data-folding neo-cortex,
beyond eternity's veil.