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ACCEPTING THE TEMPORARY
by Carol Louise Moon I stared at the cat for hours. She became "picture-perfect" with all that that means. But meaning is only temporary, and time passes this way— a clock circling round itself. And the cat circles round itself, the cat, lapping paws for hours in the same hypnotic way, the same hypnotic, perfect way that things are temporary— and what that means for us— what that means for a cat who is itself only temporary. When one considers the hours invested in a perfect life, one considers the way life spends itself away. So that, by any means, the way to perfêct life itself would be to study within the hours, study with temporary zeal the passing of the temporary— and the way one loses hours— in order to gain what it means to be the cat itself, or any self. A perfect being: a perfect definition of the temporary— or, perfection itself. So that the way and means of accepting the loss of hours is a perfect way of accepting the temporary—by the means itself: by passing through the hours. |
IS IT NICE TO BE ME? by Nigel Ford |
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IS IT NICE TO BE ME?
by Nigel Ford Is it nice to be me? she wonders when you do not know what the time is at any shade of day. When the dreams bring down the leaves of scorn blown by the bluster of those that know what they do. It is so nice to be me on my own to walk the trails of private gardening. I rustle round the grass like a whisper. In the blue forget-me-nots that flutter in my company Who needs people? if you have sown the pretty pinks to keep the head warm and cosy in its bed of confidence. I am so special I know there are places to fly to say the crazy things I say. |
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IGNIS FATUUS
by James B. Nicola When I saw a will-o'-the-wisp in the night, floating and fluttering, loving and free as you, I was smitten with the sight, but not deceived as it came toward me as you once did, a bodiless light in the air, no strings for the world to see. When it disappeared, I was all right, almost as if I already knew that that was what it was there to do, that that was how it had to be with a wisp. As with the flowers you brought the night you brought flowers, for a while as bright as the light in your eyes. As with this passing thought of you. |
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