selections from recent Jan Sand my Helsinki fried who rescued a tiny bird, fed it , saved it a lives with flying freely in his space.
not all of these are about wind but some are close to the subject at hand and I think must be shared since they are wonderful. The philosopher/poet is too.
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this in his letter to me. Jan cuts up loaves of bread nd goes out to feed hundreds of ducks who know him and come running.
Humphrey, at the moment, is chirping steadily to me about something I cqannot fathom. I an still alive and feeding ducks inspite of the DO NOT FEED THE BIRDS signs proliferating throughout Helsinki. Piss on the bastard bureaucrats! I am tied up at the moment baking for tomorrow's class but here are my latest. I might have already sent you some but I don't remember.
Jan
FORECAST
Snowflakes will,
Someday spill,
Fall upon my face
And remain.
The turbid skies
Will not cloud my eyes,
My lips will blue and seize
To match the shadows of the trees.
Body heat will vanish under drifts
And soon nothing shows
Above the snow
But my nose.
A promontory to arouse
The curiosity
Of crows
Who will donate
A peck or two
Until something
More tempting
Will appear
On which to browse.
FRUITFUL CONTEMPLATION
“Time flies”,
Groucho uttered
(In a voice quite smooth
And recently buttered)
“Like an arrow.”
Not an eagle,
Nor an owl,
Nor a sparrow.
“Fruit flies,”
He appended
In comment intended
For linguistic contortion
(To descend like manna
In consumable portion)
“Like a banana”.
But fruit could not suit,
With aerodynamics
The point that is moot
(When you’re snoozing in hammocks)
Or merely confusing
A fly with a newt.
So the trick
With the pun
(When all’s said and done)
And sneezing’s not pleasing
Nor the best thing to do
Is to deal with a fly
And avoid the flu.
REIGN
Time pelts its steady minutes down
To splash in sunlight, snow or rain,
Drench us into happiness or fear,
Accountancy for loss or gain.
These minutes falling through our fingers,
Ephemeric in their flow
Carry with them all that’s real.
The sights and sounds of all we know.
The steady pounding of events
Generate a lively glow
Captured by surprise, suspense,
Are everything life can bestow.
Incessant traffic, hard to bear
Makes us wish the skies to clear.
Becoming weary, not to care,
But when it does, we’re not here.
POET’S LAMENT
When you fiddle with verse,
Of this be aware.
No money’s the curse
And it demands flair.
Rhyming and meter
Will twist up your brain.
Ideas are fleeter
Than you can attain.
But he fun is still there
If you never bore us.
Don’t tear your hair
If you’ve got a thesaurus.
LOVE AND WRITING
Your writing would mostly get better
If you would learn to forget her.
For the world that you see
Is unbelievably
Responsive to each word and letter.
Look around! Hear the sound! Smell the breeze!
There are time’s love’s an awful disease.
It deafens and blinds
And shrinks up our minds.
Just ignore all those birds and the bees.
For writing is more than just love.
Fit your mind to the world like a glove.
Delight in sunlight
And the Moon in the night.
Get busy! Just write! Mazel Tov!
CAUTIONARY
Life’s not all full of larks.
The world’s a dangerous place.
The ocean is all full of sharks.
Watch out for one pretty face.
Feelings can be quite deceiving.
Love and hate come and go.
And both have potential for grieving.
If you’re wise, take it easy and slow.
Some oceans turn out to be ponds
That quickly dry up or can drain.
Be careful of one who responds.
Think not with your heart. Use your brain.
VEGGIE HOMAGE
The roots and shoots and fruits I gobble
Keep me from that old age hobble.
I do not mumble like a dumb bell,
My physique makes me not humble,
For, with rigor and with vigor
I maintain a decent figure.
It’s broccoli, carrots, tomatoes
Let me stretch, touch my toes.
Beans, of course, teach me the art
Of the loud creative fart.
(attentive of the circumstance
Careful not to shit my pants)
So hey for veggies, shout “Hurray!
Good for work, great for play.”
PROFUSION OF CONFUSION
Though Einstein kicked Newton’s butt
And Plank made Albert queasy,
The latest book is not quite shut.
Astrophysics’ never easy.
Black holes meander everywhere
And gobble stars like nuts
While God plays dice to suffice
Einstein should tear his hair
Dimensions multiply much more
For four are insufficient.
Eleven seems to be the score.
Who knows? I’m not omniscient.
Confusion dominates the world.
Theories proliferate like mice.
The universe is flat or curled.
Impossible to be precise.
DOUBT
To poke one’s mind at possibility
Where darkness rules the realm
Tempts chancy wild facility
So doubt can overwhelm.
But doubt, at end is a friend
Engendering great caution.
It warns of danger ‘round the bend,
Reality’s distortion.
Problems arise with open eyes.
The world is full of trolls
That snicker at each new surmise
And offer fairy goals.
So one must figure how to move,
Beware of odd pretentions,
Discriminate just how to groove
To violate conventions.
FORCED STRATEGY
One can, with concern, observe
The delicate complexity of a flea,
Admire and desire to conserve
The mechanism of a wasp or bee.
There is, within all life, an industry,
A sophistication out of form
Honed by energy, necessity,
That comprise an astounding norm.
And yet, abundant sophistication
Mitigates no survival drive
To exist by strong extermination
Of all threats to stay alive.
Therefore we hold status quo
In vandalizing opposition
To our drives to exist and grow.
Nature demands this as base condition.
Nevertheless these masterpieces cry
To be admired, not destroyed.
Restraint is hard, yet I try,
But most difficult to avoid.
THE FROG
Consider the average frog
Who sits and grunts in a bog
With a tongue like a lasso
From Texas (El Paso)
And eyes always bulging agog.
This fellow (some yellow, some green),
Can be both slimy yet clean.
He’s quite a leaper,
A buggy grim reaper
From out the insectivore scene.
Now, a frog on a log, his abode
Ought not be confused with a toad.
For a toad is quite dry,
A landlubber guy
Most frequently found on a road.
Sometimes it seems quite a joke
That a frog can be lively, yet croak.
But be happy he’s here
When mosquitoes are near.
He finds them most tasty folk.
FUTILE
It’s alright to pray for some money
Or the cure to endure a sore throat,
But for cancer no answer
To give you a chance, sir.
It’s cure is exceeding remote.
Since God made you sick for a start,
Don’t put the horse ‘fore the cart.
You’re just His minion,
Can’t change His opinion
For He has a very small heart.
What’s done, in His eyes, is done.
Life can be absent from fun.
So a prayer for His help
Is a meaningless yelp
To the Father or to the Son.
PRAYER
Don’t you think it odd
When you piss and moan at God
His decisions need revisions,
Are not right?
The Almighty should be perfect,
No defect should infect
The way he makes provisions.
Do you doubt his sight?
Your problems, strictly local,
Why make them so vocal
When totality is of God’s concern?
Your personal destruction
Is a very small production.
Isn’t it time for you to learn?
If you believe in God,
Spoil the soul, spare the rod.
Do not second guess your deity.
It damages belief
And bestows no relief.
The very opposite of piety.
OUR URINE NATION
There’s really something missing
In the manner that we’re pissing.
The freedom with this act is all with dogs.
They can piss against the trees,
They can piss across your knees,
They can even piss on top of other dogs.
But when my need arises
There are never enterprises
That welcome deposition of your juice.
You are looked upon with frowns
When the places out of bounds
Are searched for a convenient sluice.
You may jump or you may wiggle
In a pornographic wriggle
But hard denial meets your every plea.
All the freedoms under law
Must be fought for tooth and claw
But where’s the basic one to simply pee?
This ubiquitous denial
Is a horrid modern style
With my bladder getting madder to degree
That we must demand solution
Or we start a revolution
For the freedom when we need ‘em just to pee!
VERNAL FLASH
The Finnish Spring’s an instant thing,
If instants can be days.
The trees, at first, bare boned from freeze
Are stark naked displays,
But quick to gain green haze.
The tiny mouse-eared leaves appear
Like magic apparitions
As sunlight chases Winter’s night
With leafy acquisitions.
The business is extremely quick,
A matter of mere hours
And soon the woods are wholly thick
With tiny bright white flowers.
SPARROW SONATA
My sparrow, Humphrey, sings to me
Of lady friends for company,
Of wood brown friends
With feathered ends.
We dream, we scheme, me and he.
BEWARE OF POSITIVE THINKING
Positive thinking’s a way to pretend
That all of your efforts will have a good end.
That an all seeing eye high up in the sky
Selects you, protects you from what’s ‘round the bend.
But time has its ways more nasty than nice
And chance plays the game with very black dice.
While things in the sky, with goodness, are frugal.
That eye in the sky is most likely Google.
ARCHIMEDES
Have you heard of Archimedes
Who rides velocipedes
He’s an acrobatic emu
With an omnivorous menu
And a celebrated taste for baby chicks.
On his cycle he pursues ‘em
And then he hardly chews ‘em
But gulps them down with just two simple licks.
But you never need to worry,
No cause to run and scurry.
With people he’s a very friendly feller.
With a snaky kind of neck
And a tendency to peck
And a beak where we folks have a smeller.
FINALITY
To be alive is quite a trial,
To know we walk
That last mile.
But the way is so delightful
Beautiful and insightful
I need not think what's 'round the bend.
I let it be.
I don't pretend.
WELL ENOUGH ALONE
Poetry can elevate a word, a phrase,
In strange ways
To enhance a frog into a prince,
A kind of magic rinse
That converts a burp to art,
Puts a cockroach before the cart.
But roaches, frogs and like creatures
Have fascinating useful features,
Doing needed work, most proper
Directly out of nature’s hopper.
In the end, there’s something wrong
Conjuring a croak into a song.
So, leave it lay, don’t usurp
The happy melody of a burp.
FUGITIVE
Some concepts are elusive,
Slippery and inconclusive.
God and beauty, love, and art,
A dream, the evanescent scent
Of April rain,
The reason why we’re here
And why, someday,
We disappear.
Many people are Hell bent
On getting rich, staying drunk,
Some, desperate to pay the rent.
Some delight in being bitchy
Others to be a hunk,
Do good.
(Knock on wood).
I’m happy to exist
Where nothing hurts, I sleep OK,
Delighted in another day.
It takes a lot to make me pissed.
The magic in a good existence
Is purely, solely, tough persistence.
