"Progress"

(Pounded out on the evening
Of October 1, 2010).

Melding the ancient with the modern
Creating a new work, a fresh perspective
The ancient stones arranged in a linear grid
The craft of antiquity, sculptures of marble
And bronze, now portraying in ways anew
Universal human truths newfangled
Contemporary issues and obsessions
Techniques, materials, myths of old
Recombined, rethought, reimagined

Refusing to simply duplicate
Nor desiring to merely replicate
But seeking to uniquely create
A personal interpretation, expression
Seemingly slow
Still, serene past
Juxtaposed with the rushing, dashing,
Moving, jolting, hustling, steam engine
Drive of the future—or rather the present—

Desiring a slower time
A time of refreshment
Still constantly pressing forward
Relaxation
Continually pushing onward
A quieter time
Barreling ahead into the unknown
A return to the garden
Ever enticed by the siren call of “Progress”

"Monday morning"

(Eagerly typed on
September 21, 2009).

Monday morning--
So many possibilities,
Opportunities yet to be had.
Although you plan ahead,
There's always a surprise.
You never know exactly
How the week will go.

Sleepy from the night before--
Homework, a feature film,
A long talk with a friend--
I never seem to make it to bed
As early as I planned.
Still, when eyelids split,
Anticipation swells for the week.

Some drag themselves out of bed,
Coffee is a must in the darkness.
I have those days myself too,
But more often than not I find
Monday mornings are refreshing,
Filled with the unexpected joys,
The promise of a new beginning.

Like the glorious dawn,
The first warm glow on the rim,
A hint of light in the black,
Greeting the crisp morning air.
Not completely illuminated,
Yet overflowing with delight,
Eyes fixed on the horizon.

No one knows the time,
TBA's on the invitation,
When we'll hear the trump,
Angel's shout resound,
Transfigured by His brilliance,
When the Lord calls us home,
And it could be today!

"Friday Afternoon"

(At my computer on the sunny
afternoon of July 24, 2009).

Oh to go for a long walk in the park,
To see the leafy trees, the silky grass,
The clouds swirling overhead.

To hike to a hidden waterfall,
To feel the warm sunshine, the rugged path,
The cascading roll of mist.

To stroll along the beach,
To hear the squishing sand, the soaring birds,
The swell of the ancient ocean.

I long to gaze upon a painting,
To dance and twirl in another's arms,
To behold a glorious symphony beneath the stars.

Alas, I sit at my desk,
Sorting through research requests and projects,
But this weekend...

"Veneer"

(Punctiliously typed
on July 24, 2009).

I am tired of sitting here
In silence,
Immersed in silence,
Drowning in silence,
The white walls of silence.

Still and sitting in our chairs,
All humanity, breathless
From the racing numbers
011001100111010101110100
011010010110110001100101
The never-ending sprint
To reach the next peak,
To be the next big thing,
To make the next buck.

Complacent in our cushioned chairs,
Enclosed by these walls, built to house us,
Protect from weather and vermin.
These walls have become our plastic tombs,
A faded and peeling veneer of reality.

" *sigh* "

(Doodled on May 13, 2009).

People speak of boredom as a feeling,
Others as a state of being.
"Boredom" is not simply the lack of activity,
But the lack of interesting and engaging activity.
Wasted time. Waiting. Without purpose. Wilting.

I may perch on a grassy lawn perfectly contented,
Counting the blades of Kelly-green grass,
Watching the gentle tendrils sway,
While another may shout, "I'm bored!"

Silent in a dimly lit room,
Surrounded by dusty old volumes,
Seated on a hard wooden chair,
Can be paradise for a few like me.

Yet caged in a sterile desk with nothing to do--
No pending items, no projects,
No training or upcoming events--
Is nearly universally acknowledged to qualify as
Legitimate grounds for boredom.

"At My Desk"

(Composed at my desk
on October 21, 2008).

Buzz, the humming lights.
The air conditioner whirls.
Click of the mouse.
Tap of the keys.
Binders snapping shut.

Ring! Ring!
The phone cries out,
Ring! Ring!
It demands.
Another noise, another sound,
Mounting tension
Frazzled banker frowns.

I squeeze my "stress reliever" ball
Like a nurse checking blood pressures rise.
Are these things clinically proven?
I think I might hyperventilate!

Papers everywhere...
My desk looks like a chess board,
Checkered with pages
Awaiting their strategic move
From one pile to the next.

Sipping my soda, I watch the clock,
No ticking or tocking to be heard.
The electronic numbers silently slip by,
As one day spills into the next.