Provided A Microbe Is Really That Small (for the true lovers of science))

Provided a Microbe is Really That Small.

 

Science, science, science, class. Didn't know – but it exists.

Small and vial – artful guile. Microbes will all defile.

They are small and highly naughty,

Worse than Rat Pack on their night-outty. They jump and sit on your

Hands, holler and demand that you pay them respects!

 

Microbes will be and are such problem. They are swarming like an ant hill.

They are lively they are nasty – they will somehow make you hasty.

They don’t care if you lawyer, if you doctor if you’re Oscar-winning employer.

They will get you and won’t pet, and with nasty stuff infect your bread.

 

Now if you just mind and matter, and your hands just wash.

Microbes won’t project their platter of the nasty stuff that they themselves employ.

So just look and hear, listen. Have you ever washed your hands? Those microbes are

non-existent.

And subtracted from my skin.

Meditation On That Which Is Absolutely Blank.

Meditation On That, Which Is Absolutely Blank.

 

I have entered the desired state. Past affects I’ve burned like hell.

A little more and I’ll be blank…. If that is what I want myself.

“That which is blank is real, yes!“  Or so the Buddhists claim,

But they have not achieved it though. Whoever did has died insane.

 

That which is blank is special breed,

Of color and of smell, It is so big, and wide and all,

But really - its blank….

I was excited as a kid, a yogi and a sage, to definitely reach that state and absolutely did.

 

And now I’m free from all the thoughts. Or am I really free?

Just sitting here making noise, deliberately being me.

 

Is there greater power in the world, that’s simple and that’s free?

If you should reach it let me know – so both blank we be.

Poetry Hour: Cosmic Will Inside the Dot

Cosmic Will inside the Dot.


I have seen the beauty in a dot.

And have seen a dream within the palace.

 Gods themselves have blessed my lonely flight,
They, have filled my ever-empty chalice.

 I’ve imagined shapes that brought me joy,

Leonardo’s walked the path untrodden.



And  have marveled at the cosmic ploy,                                                                                        
InKing Solomon’s prayer reverently muttered.
But there never was a greater plan,

There does not exist more perfect of a coda,



Then the look and feel of simple dot,

Silent, booming voice of greater order.