“A Summer’s Aimless Thought” or “Don’t Ask Why I Wrote This!”

“A Summer’s Aimless Thought” or “Don’t Ask Why I Wrote This!”

And so the lesser heat descends upon us once,
But, come again?…and now the skin is damp
For no good reason, nothing more than clams
Must feel through all their night’s eternity, abandoned
In watermarked enclosure, rarely asking where
Their homes are logged–no! nor even more from life
Than what is strained for food. If found, the knife
Will end it all. From accidental currents traffic cares,
From aimless waves and tides and what seals may accrue,
Seadogs innocently involved and driven by their own
Insensitivity to feelings and not so much in interest as they comb
The seabeds looking for what mindless kelp must do–
For supper–Yes! We dine tonight: the sacrifice of clams and oysters,
And budget-minded shrimp, and the choir?–crabs conveniently cloistered.

Advertisements

5 responses to ““A Summer’s Aimless Thought” or “Don’t Ask Why I Wrote This!”

  1. This phrase seems key to the poem but I ask not the answer to the question beyond the door:

    “…now the skin is damp
    For no good reason”

    • Yes, of course; after all, the poem is entitled, “A Summer’s Aimless Thought” or “Don’t Ask Why I Wrote This!” I wonder at times about what appear to be the “lesser” moments, somewhere between divine command “Be!” and the realization of that same command: “and it is!”

      If, for instance, on Monday, it is ordained that something must now happen, that a change must be made, that a particular action must come to pass on Thursday, there must be a period of transition, an essentially foreordained cusp between divine appointments, taking into consideration that both Monday and Thursday hold within them whatever His Will may be aside from a few revolutions come and gone on the planet’s axis, a kind of “no-man’s land” in time during which whatever was no longer is; whatever is is not yet apparent; whatever is to be cannot be avoided even though to all outward seeming there is absolutely no recongnised feature, no specific sign, not even a hint as to what in the hell heaven is coming to pass in whatever God’s Plan is and no clue as to any answer to the infinite “why” intrinsic to change in the breezes of the Divine Will, the infinite being entirely beyond the bailiwick of any human being to fathom. One either accepts the infinite or refuses to believe in the same, an impediment both to the comprehension of the gift and bounty of God’s unity, subjectively, and objectively, the potentials and beauty of one’s own eternal condition, a requisite to servitude and any hope of being a recipient of God’s beyond a mere catalogue of some few days in this world.

      When I was much younger than I am now, such periods might last for weeks and even years as would be the case with any child living in a family that moved fourteen times before I reached high school. Once known―”we’re moving”―what was “eternal” is now both “yesterday” and all is now “pending” insofar as we still live in a place we have called home while knowing full well that in a matter of days or weeks, we will recall our home as little more than a memory and with little value, really, more than what may be afforded in casual conversation from time to time in the “home” in which we are destined to live. Now that I am close to ripe in age, such periods don’t last long, often, but a matter of hours or a day or two. They are never all that much fun to experience, but nevertheless, one has no choice but to accept what is the best the universe has to offer for the moment, and let it go at that; otherwise, one risks both divine and human blasphemy in presupposing that while we are in this world we deserve nothing short of victory without crisis, belief without certitude, knowledge without having asked a single question. When one must visit the “can,” one need not ask just where such an action fits into the greater scheme of things.

      Mystical as all this may sound, what it is that I am referring to here has nothing to do with the infinite and everything to do with the finite facts of life for any living creature with a soul, or, in short, with humanity, itself. I could go on with what I had in mind when I wrote that poem, but suffice it to say, it was a simple acknowledgment that there are times that crop up within anyone’s life that mean little or more than exactly what they are, namely, cusps between events and people, transition periods during which nothing really matters except to say that what was no longer is and what’s coming isn’t known.

  2. “…there are times that crop up within anyone’s life that mean little or more than exactly what they are, namely, cusps between events and people, transition periods during which nothing really matters except to say that what was no longer is and what’s coming isn’t known.”

    The stomping grounds of souls lost in the belief that Faith in the Now is all they need for a spiritual life 😦

  3. Yes, truly…and now, I must throw on a rag or two and hit the trail to the Library if for no other reason than to exercise my legs; another example of what one simply does without the attempt to know what the hell this has anything to do with eternal salvation or the ravages of what appears to be another stint in the Waiting Room for an appointment with Dr. Godot.

  4. I now have a picture of a choral choir consisting completely of crabs, and nothing but. and being held, in stasis between what was, is and soon will be.
    xPenx

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s