Strain the edge and history collapses
as the mesh of connections fray
like winter ice breaking away.
A deluge has drenched us year after year
our memory is cluttered with crap,
with sale pitches and propaganda,
beliefs instead of fact.
Facts seem pushed to the edge
by everyone with different views.
Beleaguered or bewitched we doubt
the facts, the containing edge gone
we don’t know where we are,
unbounded now by reality.
Our winter is now confused
not knowing hot or cold
bouncing from one to the other.
as it never did before.
Our planets history tells us why,
sadly. / why our future is grim;
but this truth is obscured now
by noise, by dumb opinion,
and dire rampant greed.
Kent Bowker 1/20/14
One thought on “Strain the Edge”
Kent, I’m going to end my comments about your poetry with this poem, but I’ll be back. I’ll read them before next months breakfast, and continue what I hope is our evolving friendship.
In this poem you capture another one of “my truths.” Life is a paradox, an on-going chain of contrasting events. It’s best demonstrated in our perceptions of what is good or bad. Those perceptions are relative, and neither captures the whole truth. the truth in a paradox comes by way of an experiential integration of both extremes. Scientists, and I bet you know this, often use the word “entanglement.” Spiritual writers more are more likely to use the term “discernment.” I’ll be back.
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