The Spectacle

I'm one who gets teary,
By varied spectacles,
Caught up in the emotional journey,
Shared by other people,

Shows with dancers in animal costumes,
Telling a tale for kids,
An ad where someone overcomes all odds,
The ceremonies for the Olympics,

News reports about peoples' protests,
The thought of injustice,
Being cheered by strangers on a long run,
Even some top ten lists.

All of these things,
Can be defined as art,
A shared experience that breaks through life,
It's pageantry that moves my heart.

Words

Choose your words carefully,
Most people just cannot,
Mind reacting to the body's instincts,
Thought not happ'ning a lot,

As if words aren't real magic at work,
Both if spoken or not,
Expressing your perception of this world,
And the f'd up pictures with which it's fraught.

But should you be truthful to what you see,
The words with which it's caught,
Will mold to the perceptions of others,
Becoming all they've sought,

To get it all,
For we have all been taught,
That the meaning of life's the holy grail,
And that this life could be your only shot.

What Is The Syrian Electronic Army?

Who are the SEA,
Who hacked the CBC,
Replacing the day's news with its logo?
An eagle, it seems to me.

They are a group of young Syrians whose,
Electronic Army,
Fight against the distorted facts spewed out,
By the press about their country's uprising.

They use the most modern of war's weapons,
Cyber propaganda,
Under the eye of the Assad regime,
Though they would deny that's their employa,

One day we'll see,
On screens across the world,
A virt'al battle of army logos.
May that replace the gore of missiles hurled.

Gomeshi Turns Himself In

So he's turned himself in,
Not guilty is his plea,
One hundred grand of bail in his pocket,
He can pay to be free,

Though he's missing the two for one bargain,
For time spent on remand,
If he's jailed for the hitting and choking,
He'll serve full time and lose the hundred grand!

He must have some confidence with Henein,
"Good as they get," I've scanned,
Defending a man by now convicted,
By public opinion.

If he's set free,
Will that prove everything?
Do the courts hold sway over the people's mind,
Like Ferguson and Michael Brown's shooting?

Happiness

What will make you happy,
They say's not outside you,
It's in your pow'r to mold your perspective,
But not what's in your view,

Or rather, what is in your view may change,
You've no control o'er that,
'Cept in so far as you can live with it,
Even make it enjoyable, in fact.

For when you try to mold the world, it's hard,
Won't do what you want to,
There's too many factors, much you don't know,
And nil to do with you.

It's state of mind,
This thing called happiness,
Of course, this is a simplification,
Just ask those being tortured and repressed.

It's Already Been Said

There's so much created,
That speaks to not just you,
But too, not to everyone in the world,
Even to quite a few.

Whatever it is offends their senses,
That's what we all must get,
You can't please all the people all the time,
Oh, wait, that is a saying, isn't it?

But if we all just acknowledged that piece,
Won't we all also give,
That the best we can hope for in this world,
Is to live and let live?

That rings a bell!
Maybe school should just teach,
Every cliché ever written first,
'Fore showing the heights each student can reach.

A Travesty of Justice

The grand jury is out,
Out to lunch, some might say,
Jamming the verdict of Darren Wilson,
And so justice's day,

Because they're aware that their decision,,
Which is let that cop go,
Who shot and killed Michael Brown, who was brown,
Will lead to mass protest from all who know,

That young, young Michael`s hands were up that night,
That he was not a threat,
Now the gov's taking this time to prepare,
For violence and riots.

That they will cause,
By the preparation,
For why would humans resort to such things,
If not faced with extreme situations?

What's Out There

There is just no value,
That I can see right now,
That one don't need dig to the depths of depths,
To be reminded how,

Whether you think we are different from beasts,
There's one diff'rence distinct,
We are not them and can't feel as they do,
Nor do we share anyway how they think.

But that is the same, even between them,
Just as it is 'tween us,
Left to mould our own world, the kinds would sure,
Be multitudinous.

For no one knows,
I mean no man or beast,
What is in the mind of anyone else,
Across land, air, outerspace or the seas.

Please Complain

It's ok to complain,
This world just is not fair,
With all the expectations given you,
From the day you're dropped there.

No one likes listening to you say it,
They all think there's no hope,
They are determinists in their own way,
Like finding time to chase your dream's a joke,

That's why with your complaints you must make sure,
To show it can be done,
That it's possible to express yourself,
Without revolution.

Then they will see,
That free will's not a trope,
That complaining's a tool of the few ones,
Pulling society's tug-of-war rope.

In This Life

She has it, yet again,
Still her smile never fades,
Though one might argue it belies her pain,
It's a brave front she's made,

Or, she truly feels as she e'er declares,
At peace with her journey,
Just as we all strive for in our own life,
Though it is a state mislaid by many,

Feared for its undeniability,
It is filed as a cliché,
But in the end, all you have is yourself.
What will you think of you your final days?

No regrets, I'm sure,
After all, you'h'd one chance,
To find, then lose yourself, in what gives joy,
A guide for all who wake up in this dance.

To Know

Authoritarian.
That's got six syllables,
First that I found in a list on the net.
Illuminationing!

It is not that I'm looking for a theme,
That's for readers to find,
Like the events of the world are random,
Until a paper is written with 'whys'.

But there is no reason things can't happen,
Serendipitously,
Like my son said, we can't trust her answers,
Talking about Siri.

'Cause she can't know,
Categorically,
That insects have feelings, for example,
She's hampered by human ability.

Call You

What's really in a name?
A rose is a rose, no?
We can dig as deep as we want, to learn,
And what we see's what we know,

I'll tell you what is really in a name,
The thing that it is for,
What it is colors the letters and words,
Enlivening them with a living soul,

The soul comes from the utterer herself,
It dies with her, also.
A thing don't exist with no eyes on it,
Nor does something unknown.

But I know you,
Your name's etched in my mind,
It will never mean anything but you,
For someone more unique I'll never find.

Writing Life

Is life like a story?
The creation of one?
Does a life well-lived have many layers,
And plot evolution?

Should one strive for a literature life?
One where no word's wasted,
Much is left for others to figure out,
Contemplating motive, like your face did,

When the content was like a waking dream,
Absurd but so normal,
Should one's choices all have the art in mind,
Asking the point of all?

Should we be books,
Using life as pages,
Constantly asking in ev'ry moment,
'What's up next?' as the storm inside rages?

What's The Point?

Well, the snow has fallen,
The world looks different,
Of course, it is never the same way twice,
From minute to minute.

Your thoughts change the way the world looks to you,
Your feelings do the same,
Just like the Earth can thwart your cries for sun,
With unceasing dreary days and hard rain,

Just like you find yourself where you thought,
You'd never go yourself,
For life comes with no guidance how to live,
Not penned by someone else.

So, what to do,
When asking what's the point?
Well, no one's lived 'til that question's been asked,
Nor has their world changed until it's been coined.

Innocence

This is what I'm thinking,
And it is not a lot,
There, I'm done, and now my eyes will wander,
Without another thought.

I contemplate the items around me,
There's not one nat'ral thing,
Even if I look out of the window,
I see artificial everything,

The guy coaxing his leashed dog in the car,
Trees planted in their place,
Bushes and flowers from other countries,
And my reflected face.

It will not change,
It's the world where we live,
Now I've got to snuggle with my daughter,
And bask in her natural innocence.

Touch

Look all around yourself,
All the colours and shapes,
The greens, the greys, the curved lines and the straight,
Your toes and other traits,

Things given by your eyes, if you can see,
Things assumed to be there,
Things that you pick up and manipulate,
Things you collect, own and for which you care,

That you surround yourself with like a cloak,
To never see the things,
That don't have walls or windows to look out,
That are just existing.

When's the last time,
You truly touched the earth?
Things not cultivated by humankind,
Without donning protective clothing first?

Unfair Expectations

Talk 'bout stereotypes,
No one thinks they are good,
They not only perpetuate fictions,
But make sometimes to shoulds,

And the sometimes should be allowed for all,
Not just a certain group,
The shoulds should never, not even sometimes,
Be imposed on anyone in this soup,

Of completely unique and free people,
Who, with no presumption,
Would not think there'd e'en sometimes be a should.
There's no motivation,

Again, we're free,
To think, 'cause I'm a dad,
That I'm the fun one, or can't wash my kids,
Think 'bout it, negates me and makes me sad.

Spilling Your Soul

What is the benefit,
Of pouring out your guts?
Of sharing with someone everything,
What you would rather not?

Is seeing your thoughts from another's eyes,
Going to change your mind?
Put them in a sphere outside of yourself,
And see yourself within all humankind.

Or maybe you want to infiltrate it,
Spread your thoughts, so one day,
There's no question why you do what you do,
So you e'er have your way.

Or you afraid,
That you do not exist,
In the mental world you're supposed to be,
And need mental corrective assistance?

Opportunity

Opportunity knocks,
Or, so that's what they say,
It doesn't really matter where you are,
It just tap taps, one day,

You need to be aware of everything,
Hear every sound around,
Because the knocking could happen on wood,
But it could come as a much diff'rent sound.

You could be in a line at a coffee shop,
It could be an ahem,
From a person who, if you got to know,
Could lead you to heaven.

Was that your break?
Fate's not going to tell,
And you can't hear absolutely all things,
Oh, and some knocks can actu'lly lead to hell.

Work

I've fin'lly figured out,
What it is about work,
For I have always felt it is absurd,
No, I've felt it's berserk.

That one spends the majority of life,
Doing something random,
Just to make enough money to live life,
Not that I am afraid of exertion,

It is just that the world that we have built,
Is so complicated,
The 'work' we do's not linked with survival,
No fish need be bated,

No choice exists,
There really are no words,
To ponder what to do with the free time,
Earned once our food and shelter is secured.