Of Fruit and Physics

OK, write something Mark. Anything. Stay with it.

in darkness you come
bearing bright banners of hope
my eyes will adjust

old man, tell stories:
it reminds me that winter
brings its own harvest

My street: Bradford pears
made to resemble paintings
snap in the stiff wind

Cavern, you call me
exploring secrets below
water’s path made plain

couplet here, couplet there,
couplet couplet everywhere
“but not a drop to drink,” he said,
while wearing seagulls ’round his head

knocking here, knocking there,
knocking knocking everywhere
but if the raven starts to talk,
turn a deaf ear and go for a walk

hover here, hover there,
hover hover everywhere
but if the bells float upside-down
you’d better live in a pretty how town

passage here, passage there,
passage passage everywhere
but everyone’s walking the road not taken;
stick to the path that’s now forsaken

women come, women go
women women to and fro
but if you’re too bald to eat a peach,
take a break and go to the beach.

OK, I feel warmed-up now, but to what end? I’m about to stop writing the post! I hate to admit it, but I am. I hear the siren song of video games calling me, and I’ve quite forgotten to stuff wax in my ears. Heh, I feel silly writing such a post on a public forum, but then, this is my “journal” you understand. I have to feel I can let my hair down here and be silly if I want, or write a haiku, or dare to eat a peach. Speaking of which, a juicy siren peach awaits me in the form of a game. If I don’t stop writing now, it might become even more preposterous things as I extend the metaphor further and further to the event horizon.

Black hole peach, won’t you come
and sing me to my game?

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