Simultaneity Disambiguation

Simultaneity

Disambiguation

These are times of listening within
along with the expanding out,

Sometimes we need to remind ourselves

which is always there,
into the field where all things

of the very thing that is ours

are available and free,
pure and clear. Our familiar states

because there is no yours or mine.

are those small platforms
we stop on in mid-air

Can you feel how that is so?

when we perceive we have no room
to move, no other option. How do

We land again and again and again,

we agree to remain in those states
when our true state of pure beingness

such that landing just is, with no landed.

has never been anywhere else but here,
the very ground, the matter and

And from that which is not static,

substance of all seeing, every action,
every breath and non-breath.

we return, without need of returning,

Singularity becomes disentangled
and simultaneously also conjoined.

to ourselves, whole, unique, individual.

waiting

anticipation's letter came right on time
vaulted me sideways
clickety clack track wise
into a hurried suitcase jumble,
don't even know what is in it
(all the wrong clothes, a smooth red stone,
two napkin poems and a wind's worth of autumn leaves)
cancel everything
and off to the station
to wait
for a whir of metal to wild me away.

now paused,
i am jetsam on a leaping wave, forth and back
between a nimble rise into
the nectarine taste fuzz on her almost cheek
and the visceral return clunk
to this echoing room, someone's cigarette dank jacket,
the blue news hum stare of wayward strangers.
but, wait for it....
another minute and gone again,
lifted all the way to cirrus clouds -
on a wing of future touch
belly butterflies fly in formation,
eagerness drinking deep
of this
train station limbo
between very right here
and oh so soon.

Prohibited Items for Travelers: An Airborne Luggage Ode

Box Cutters. Ice Axes/Ice Picks. Knives -
except for plastic or round-bladed butter knives.
Meat Cleavers. Razor Blades.
Sabers. Scissors. Swords.

Baseball Bats. Bows and Arrows.
Cricket Bats. Golf Clubs.
Hockey Sticks. Lacrosse Sticks.
Pool Cues. Ski Poles.
Spear Guns.

Ammunition. Compressed Air Guns.
Firearms. Flare Guns.
Flares. Gun Lighters. Gun Powder
including black powder and percussion caps.
Parts of Guns. Pellet Guns.
Starter Pistols.

Axes and Hatchets. Cattle Prods.
Crowbars. Hammers.
Drills and drill bits. Saws.
Tools (greater than seven inches in length).

Billy Clubs. Black Jacks.
Brass Knuckles. Kubatons.
Self Defense Sprays -
one 4-ounce (118ml) container of mace or pepper spray is permitted in Checked Baggage provided it is equipped with a safety mechanism to prevent accidental discharge. Self Defense Sprays containing more than 2% by mass of Tear Gas (CS or CN) are prohibited in Checked Baggage.
Night Sticks. Nunchakus.
Stun Guns/Shocking Devices. Throwing Stars.

Blasting Caps. Dynamite. Fireworks. Flares (in any form).
Hand Grenades. Plastic Explosives.
Realistic Replicas of Explosives.

Aerosol. Fuels. Gasoline. Gas Torches.
Lighter Fluid. Torch Lighters.
Strike-anywhere Matches.
Flammable Paints. Turpentine and Paint Thinner.
Realistic Replicas of Incendiaries.

Chlorine for Pools and Spas.
Fire extinguishers and other compressed gas cylinders.
Liquid Bleach. Spillable Batteries -
except those in wheelchairs.
Spray Paint. Tear Gas. Vehicle Airbags.

Gel-type candles. Gel shoe inserts.
Flammable liquid, gel, or aerosol paint.
Snow globes and like decorations
regardless of size or amount of liquid inside,
even with documentation.

One Stop from Warsaw

The city slips away in the wrong direction,
a breath-stealing, helpless realization
that takes place too late,
like discovering one’s manners
vanished with one’s drink.

Having boarded the incorrect train,
leaping off at the next station
is not always the best solution…

Yet eager to rectify an error,
who stops to think?

The reward for decisive action:
a desolate platform, the squat, dark stationhouse.
Shattered windows, dangling doors.

No schedule of future arrivals, no one to ask,
no relevant vocabulary even given the chance.

Disembarking is as momentous
as departing — or should be —
but we heap the glory
on an audacious beginning, and on the journey,
taking for granted a safe, if haggard, return home.

Tar-dipped telephone poles,
now wireless, recede into humid thickets.

The afternoon buzzes
with a pilgrim’s silence,
alarming to any still in transit.

Solicitous, suspicious, hostile, indifferent,
the entrance of any eyes would be welcome,
would likely dictate the day’s outcome,
except the only occurrence more intuitively improbable
is the blessed spitting of another train’s brakes.

Rash decisions can leave one stranded
in burgs served, revenue permitting,
by a limping, subsidized local.

At best.

Prop up the legs of that splintering bench.

This is not an island
of sirens, witches, giants, storms.

This is a place,
alone, to wait.

Which may be the most fearsome adventure yet.

Flight 7507, Thursday, near All Hallow's Eve (Rondeau)

Before the long last breath, on planes
bound far to south, at height of cranes,
and higher still, our oared bird flew.
To my core all sundry selves drew
in hope of flying whole, no strain

greater than ancestors' refrain:
"bring us back to earth" - in great pain:
the roiling clouds, cumulus brew,
before the long last breath.

The sky opens. Sudden and plain:
a blue coherent height. We gained
ancients on wing, steadfast, and grew
to thousands, passengers and crew.
Ghostly, winged, by window framed,
before the long last breath.



Scooter Cascadia
Near Hallowmas 42010

Tonight's flight

When we arrive at the station—
we stop. Smoke anticipation
butts. Pretend to read. Check the screen.
Everyone sits paused mid-careen
toward disparate revelations.

We pine for our destinations—
homecomings or recreations—
clutching our phones and magazines.
      When we arrive

beyond immobilization,
all thoughts of our hesitation
will stay here for the time being
to sit with all who pass between
now and the gratification
      when we arrive.

Airport

It is a terrible thing to fall in love
with an airport security screener.
"Please remove your shoes," she said,
"and place them in the bin."
I stared at her, unable to speak,
grateful - so grateful -
for the lilt of her voice.
"Sir," she said,
"remove your shoes."

Outside it was snowing.
All around me, anxious travelers
divested themselves of their
precious jewelry.
I crawled onto the xray belt.
"Scan me," I cried.
"Look into my heart.
See that I am an
honest man!"

This Week's Prompt: Train Station Rite of Passage

Art from http://habit-of-art.blogspot.com/

You are sitting at a a train station (or waiting for a plane). Are you leaving or departing? Where are you headed and what does this mean for your life? Write a poem.

Keyword: Train