old man in the garden
Posted: December 30th, 2015, 11:46 am
there is nothing more than now
so why do we linger so often in alleys of the past ?
better yet why do we hitch our wagons to comets
that may simply be illusions that zoom by
to impress..... 'cause this moment is all there is.
why is it like yanking a molar with a string
of promises tied to a doorknob to live
in the present for a little while
aware of our chest rising and falling,
nostrils engaged in the garden bed tended
with lavender love, awash in the choreography
of hummingbirds, the buzz of the bumblebee, the tweet
that doesn't come from a phone, but all I see
are millennials here in the courtyard, one hand
on a latte, the other pushing the buttons
of a brave new world that saddens me
they cannot detach even for a second, they swipe
the screens of stolen identities, they chuckle with imaginary friends
roll their eyes, look at me like a lost sea creature
in the transition from swimming to crawling, to flying
the coffee shop garden can be nirvana
if I close my eyes, drink in all that is here...the roastery
in back releases a huge puff of dark kona magnificence
but I seem to be the only one that grins
I look up to the roof across the alley at it
see two meerschaum stacks, pipes that belch
the residue of territorial beans of fire, they point in opposite
directions, one to the north, one to the south
so why do we linger so often in alleys of the past ?
better yet why do we hitch our wagons to comets
that may simply be illusions that zoom by
to impress..... 'cause this moment is all there is.
why is it like yanking a molar with a string
of promises tied to a doorknob to live
in the present for a little while
aware of our chest rising and falling,
nostrils engaged in the garden bed tended
with lavender love, awash in the choreography
of hummingbirds, the buzz of the bumblebee, the tweet
that doesn't come from a phone, but all I see
are millennials here in the courtyard, one hand
on a latte, the other pushing the buttons
of a brave new world that saddens me
they cannot detach even for a second, they swipe
the screens of stolen identities, they chuckle with imaginary friends
roll their eyes, look at me like a lost sea creature
in the transition from swimming to crawling, to flying
the coffee shop garden can be nirvana
if I close my eyes, drink in all that is here...the roastery
in back releases a huge puff of dark kona magnificence
but I seem to be the only one that grins
I look up to the roof across the alley at it
see two meerschaum stacks, pipes that belch
the residue of territorial beans of fire, they point in opposite
directions, one to the north, one to the south