A Very Atlanta Moment - Zesto's at Little Five Points

My new cell phone will have a camera, this little throw away slice of life piece really needs to be illustrated with the empty wrappers from a Zesto's foot long basket.



Clear Night at Zesto’s

Scarfing a foot long
At the window counter,
I spy high in the clear night
A slightly crescent moon
Smiling down on little 5 points.
It's all Cheshire cat grin,
Perhaps coveting my
Basket of tater tots
Or just amused at the
Chocolate Nut Brown Crown
Running down my chin.

Entropy

Entropy is an interesting scientific concept.

Here's an excerpt from www.entropylaw.com.

"the world is inherently active, and that whenever an energy distribution is out of equilibrium a potential or thermodynamic "force" (the gradient of a potential) exists that the world acts spontaneously to dissipate or minimize."

Or if you took this to a metaphysical level basically the world is set up to minimize or dissipate any state of high energy or potential. The universe likes things averaged out, it doesn't like a lot of waves, preferring smooth calm waters.


Entropicarious

The universe always
Walks downhill,
Being lazy,
Winding down,
In decline, decay.

Entropy seeking,
The dead calm,
Peace and quiet,
The easy path,
Of least resistance.

But to be human
Is to fight the fall
Aspire to higher states
Reverse the equations
Spit in fates eye.

To deny we are marbles
God drops into a
Rube Goldberg cosmos
Slaves of gravity
Until death.

Holding Poetry too Close

There's that romantic notion of poets and artists consumed with passion, producing masterpieces in some sort of crazed delirium of creative energy. Oddly enough though I keep finding myself, as much as I believe totally in the power of creativity and human interaction... I keep finding myself not turning to it, somehow doubting it. However, we wouldn't be poets, playwrights, painters, directors, if we didn't somehow at our core believe that we can make a differnce -- and not only that, but taht other people and their work, if we are open to it, can make a differene in our lives.


Crisis of Faith

Like all things held tight,
Passions close to heart,
Like priests in wartime
That lose their religion.
We can lose our poet’s heart
To tightness of grip, fists
That squeeze the blood out
Right between our fingers.

Is Creative Energy Finite? or a Bottomless Well?

I've been crazy busy lately with our company's move and some major projects at work. Then there's ongoing renovations at the old crack house I live in, and never enough time or energy it seems.

I'm guilty of trying to compartimentalize everything, and keep work, home, personal life, poetry, creativity in nice neat little manageable areas of my life. I also fall in the trap of thinking I'm constantly low, always starving for this sort of mythical mana of personal creative energy. Thinking that for some reason I only have enough to just focus on work, or just writing, or just personal life, etc.

However, it seems that the more I go down that path the less energy there is, the unhappier I am, the more unfufilled I am.

So there's this constant effort to remind myself that creativity and life energy is one of those rare items that the more you use the more you have.


Conservation of Energy

Divvied up, horded
In some inner fortress,
Behind locked doors,
Under heavy guard.
Energy razored out in neat
Cocaine lines,
On giant mirrors --
I dare not look into.

So precious as to be
Rendered useless,
So often counted
The edges worn.
One stack for work,
One to feed the meters,
A small dusty cache
For dreams delayed.

What once seemed so
Boundless in my youth,
Now seeming so finite
Demanding stingy parcels.
Denying the truth of
The creative universe
The one true
Perpetual Motion Machine.