Sense may arise from nonsense,
just as order, out of chaos. . .

Though the nonsense and the chaos
so dismay us. . .

for they loom in fearsome size,
with pointed beady eyes
hovering in windy skies
in such a way
they rival any albatross. . .

The possibility of such transformations
call us to humility
as our cognitions
grope to grip, to seize, to get. . .

While the threshold may be high
it’s vital that we get them yet. . .

So then,
work with me–
let’s pool our bigger memory–
Come!!– Wrack your brain a bit. . .

and remember
before all life arose,
there was no nosy nose–
no tongue to name December, June or May,

where now life teems
around the world
in such array,

we’ve grown, it seems,
to take it all for granted. . .

But it wasn’t always here
before the day
some wonder-lightning
into a magic potion sea
was sharply slanted.

This entry was posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Seasons, Spring and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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