Toe Poetry

[austintorn@aol.com]

Graciously Welcoming
Lady Luck Becoming

He believed that luck would never fail—
So he ran like the wind through the jungle,
Surely knowing.He’d what he’d come for,
Now hopeful to find the help at the shore.

The relentless ones were not far behind,
That ill-fated menace of the bad kind.

Miss Fortune laughed, and said,
“No road could be too hard to tread
For we are fearless. To those, a boon—
For they ever seize the Opportune.”

“I see you, Fairest Happening.”

Just past a sharp turn, in the trees,
He suddenly dropped to his knees
And fired into his pursuers mean
As they came upon the scene,
Using all his ammo but for one round,
Then hurried on with nary a sound.

“I am wide aware,” Miss Karma,
“Of this continuing Dharma—
That chance shines as my sun,
For, she, in turn, happens on everyone.”

“Oh, say it is your lot, my friend and lover,”
She answered back, granting him cover.

Listening, he could hear ever more troops
Rushing through the night in groups,
About a half-mile back around the loops.

“I gratefully welcome thee,
Miss Lady Luck of Dice,
Though I may pay a late fee
For my pick up so precise.”

Ms. Destiny Serendipity smiled, saying,
“The game is on; we are playing.
Let joy and innocence prevail;
Believe that luck will never fail.”

He moved on, ever faster, cheating death,
A third wind becoming of her vaporous breath,
It blowing this DIA operative onward
To the shore ever toward.

He could hear the whirling chopper,
But now receding was its Doppler,
He thus grieving
Of its leaving.

“Am I much too late—still too far?
Shall I curse you all, destined stars?”

“No,” said lovely dear Twist of Fate,
For you have one bullet left for chance,
Not to use to sleep or dream perchance.”

But the chopper was rising high,
Well into the star-crossed sky.

“Shall to self I take this bullet
Now that the bus has left?”

“Oh, no,” Miss Lucky Break encouraged,
“Do not be at all discouraged,
For you know it shall not be so
And what with it you now must do.”

“Yes, perhaps it shall be so in some plight
Coinciding in a most kempt and hapful night.”

He smiled and then knelt to ground,
And sent his last bright tracer round
Just ahead of the copter now departing,
His minor wounds yet sorely smarting.

“I bless you with all my lucky charms,
My good and well-fated man of arms.”

The door-gunner noted the red tracer
And whence it came of the river vapors.
“Captain, turn back and take a look;
He awaits a fortuitous accidental fluke.”

“I am an uncursed,non-jinxed agent man.
Let my joyous innocence prevail again.”

He jumped into the rescue’s hovering haven,
Directing the door-gunner’s firings, wavin’.

“Fare thee well, my nightly knight”
Dame Fortune wished upon his sight.
“You recognized me even in the dark.”

“Oh, My Angel, Passiona, lovely lark,
I might have known it was you
That would ever see me through.”

[Meem]

Very intra-resting.

[austintorn@aol.com]

(Meem, did you give up on physforum? There seem to be a few grouchy people there—and not much moderating going on.)

[Meem]

(I spy you!) This is where I am supposed to feel paranoid I think, but I shouldn't think and I don't. Giving up is hard to do when you feel like you're trying to do something that you have no idea how to explain. It's almost like ... walking out of the cave I guess you could say, but feeling compelled to go back in. Sometimes, I really wonder ... if I am not crazy, heaven help me.

(edit) It reminds me of something listed by Israel's song, star of gladness.

"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers,for by doing that, some have entertained angels unawares."
That is something that resonates so deep within me, on all sorts of levels, now more than ever before.

Alien's, angel's ... both from the sky? Anything is possible, right?

[austintorn@aol.com]

Austin Does Spiritual With Rumi
(10 syllable quatrains)

What flaming forge fires all that we know?
What do we seek? (was soft wondered aloud.)
We long for the TOE—as the human soul
Turns inward and out to find its way home.

Why do we wander around in the dark,
In the middle of the night like this?
Well, if I knew the answer to that one,
I would have been home many hours ago.

Where would that be? (I heard a voice then say.)
I don’t know—mind ever seeks. Whatever
Which brought me here will have to take me home.
(Perhaps this is home and we’re already there.)

How do we see this home from this new house?
Close both eyes, to see with the other eye.
Then how do we hear of it with our ears?”
The blossoms drop their blessings all around.

What quenches our thirst in this life of ours?
Break the wineglass, this earthly cup of thine,
And fall toward the glassblower’s breath and drink.

Why?
We are the sweet cold water as well the jar
That pours it. Plus more—we are even
That which makes the drink taste so refreshing.

Where is the Light that shines to make us so?
There is a light seed grain deep inside you.
You fill it up with yourself, or it dies.

Where do we go to know, climbing mountains,
The Himalayas, to find the wise old man?

A mountain is but a little piece
Of straw blown off into the emptiness.
And what of her, the beloved beyond?
There is a window open in between.

How’s that? The quiet airs mix our beings.
For, out beyond the ideas of wrongdoing
And rightdoing, there’s a unified field.
Go forth and then wait; you will meet her there.

And then do we see the bright light of day?
This day that we seek is well outside of
Living and dying, sunrise, sunset and noon.

Do we not tire, always walking, looking?

At first, we did, yes, but then came a grand
Moment of feeling that wings had grown, lifting.
We fly? The rhythm lifts us—music plays through.
From. . .? ‘Twas fashioned even before it was.

What do we feast on? We taste the sweet taste
Of eternity this minute. We’re afraid?
We have long since wet our human robes
In the shallow water; we dive deeper.

We dive under, even naked under,
And deeper under the fathomless surf,
Wherein the drop becomes the Ocean, too,
As the Ocean, as well, becomes the drop.

(Later) Where have you been? (I asked of me.)
Well, everywhere, and nowhere—in between.
I did not cease, though, from this exploration;
I experienced the world inside and out;

(I am thee and now you are also me)
And the end of all my exploring was
To return to the place I started from,
But now I know the place for the first time.

[Meem]

"I don't believe"

I don't believe in "your life," it's not push nor pull.
me to it, it to me. Don't push me down the mountain, or drag me up. The mountain of dreams. Nothing is, as nothing ever seems. Life is, poetry in motion, like the rhythm of so many things we could call one, the waves of the ocean. I have no message to take, make, or give. But I do receive what I perceive to be real, nothing is as it seems when only you spend time chasing, and not living your dreams. I judge myself, for the good and bad, when all I want is good ... why does it feel so bad? Where did I go wrong? Was it by never truly going, knowing, or showing my "true" song. I love you for who you are, do you love me for who I am? Some people, think in math they can measure a man, but fail to see it in life, that all are, is, am, in some strange way unknown, created equal. My life is acceptance of, my life, right here right now. And what I have seen, this is not my way. I must run like the wind and chase it so, someday I may face it, with a smile. I do not bid the farewell and goodbye. My bid, hello and welcome. Strangely enough, I think the could mean for me, goodbye to one, hello to another. Who knows, what it is my time and space hold for me, I cannot see it. It is a beat in my heart, once stopped to be restart. A new world goodbye ways of the old, and hello new world ... here ... or there, everywhere? I am not lost in my way, I am lost in the way of the world. Where is my new one ... love and understanding from the start, not the end. The only times when my ears don't ring, is when I am not dreaming, nor awake ... when I am not aware of "no-thing," but even that must be "some-thing."

If a mystery not a mystery to all, I am but a mystery to myself, just like every-one else.

[austintorn@aol.com]

Ever, the immortal Periwinkle,
Which, like the winter stars that twinkle,
Spreads through the snow its glossy flowers,
To remind us of the spring’s sunny hours.

The Heliotrope turns towards the sun,
Closely tracking its path throughout the day,
But when clouds appear or when day is done,
It forgets about the sun and looks away.

Holly, the harbinger of spring desires,
Blooms all winter long, and with hope inspires
Our cold and dreary hearts to chime and ring
With good cheer and love for everything.

[austintorn@aol.com]

Segno # 0

“There is the ‘vacuum’,” replied the other,
“A base state, one pervading all of space,
There being no signposts within it,
Or anywhere, since it is of no direction.

“We must regard it the stuff of which things are made;
For just as all living creatures inhale the air,
So do all the real natures inhale the vacuum.”

“This intimation is the mark of manifestation,
A demonstration that’s the token of the evidence,
The aetheric and heavenly sign of things to become,
Both the portent and the omen of their possibility.

“It is both the warning and the present notice,
Presaging both the promise and the threat.
After this sign that the vacuum ‘indirects’,
Then the real gestures beckon;
They from an unsignal faint,
The wave and gesticulation of you.

“We read the noise of the quantum theater—no marquee;
All is daubed without symbols, marking no cipher, bare,
No letters, characters, figures, or hieroglyphs there,
No ideogram of the rune of order, no emblem of the Sign.”

[Meem]

And yet, we rely on signs, noise, and nothing, to determine nothing is so, something. Life, something is better than nothing. Be thankful, be fruitful. The symbol which is nothing is but one line never ending, but always becoming, "full-circle."

[austintorn@aol.com]

The No-Beginning of Forever

“Hey, taxi,” Austino waved.
It pulled over and he was saved.

“My ‘no car’ isn’t working.”
“What’s the problem, parking?”
“It doesn’t work because, wear,
I don’t have one; it’s not there.”

“Where to, maternity?”
“From here to paternity;
I wish to see eternity.”

“Which shall it be, how?
The eternity up to now
That had no beginning bow
It stretching back forever
Or the one yet to come, never,
That will ever go on toward infinity?”

“The road to antiquity.”

“Good choice, for what we are now—our yore,
Is made of all that which came before,
Plus, the future of the universe
Isn’t what it used to be.”

“OK, Yogi. Can we get to either one?”

“No, for no matter how time we pour,
Either fore or aft, to beyond or before,
We’d still have an infinite way to explore.”

“Know any good short cuts?”

“Yes, the dark avenue of Possibility;
It’s back at the always beginning.”

“There was a beginning?”

“Yes, but only of the universe.”
But not of its cause, itself, we reach,
For no causes can be beneath….”

“…Or causes would be ever regressed.”

“There can’t be real stuff around
That is already defined, with no ground,
With the properties of its nature
Such as its size, shape, durability,
Amount, capabilities and so forth,
Without ever having had any definition.”

“What if the real stuff was eternal,
And not of anything maternally paternal,
Being unbreakable—
And therefore unmakable?”

“Still, what defined its nature
And its amount and all that’s sure”?

“Yeah.”

“So, our actual cannot be defined
Without ever having been defined.”

“That’s a relief; a basis, a ‘plan’;
Otherwise, all never began.
Things could never be made
Before they were ever made.
How long will it take to get there?”

“Well, relatively speaking,
It’s only a small parenthesis
Of an ‘eternity’ away, a trifle,
But a trillion**trillion years ago.”

“We need a better shortcut.”

“We’ll travel through the wormhole
That is at the center of the galaxy!”

“Sounds dangerous, for there’s said
To be a black hole there, glowing red.”

“Yes, there is.”

“Some wonder if the egg
Of this black hole was pegged
Before the chicken of the galaxy
Or vice-versa.”

“Well, on a previous row
Out into space, long ago,
I noted that in the past times
That the galaxies were 30 times
More massive than their black holes,
While present-day galaxies whole
Are 1,000 times heavier told.”

“So, those holes in the past
Were still growing, to last;
Thus, the black hole came first.”

“Yes, although I can’t imagine, wacky,
How a black hole could build a galaxy,
For one would think that it would tear it apart.”

“Yet another mystery tolled.
So, what is in a black hole?”

“Nothing, or rather a lack of space.”

“Oh, wow, how does that work?”

“Since the speed of light,
Which is normally ‘c’,
Is zero in a black hole,
There is nothing happening there
At all and so there is nothing there.”

“So, it is a hole in the fabric of space?”

“Yes, so then we can zip right through it.”

“No thanks. I don’t trust black holes.
They gobble up whole stars like coal.
How else can we get to the beginnity,
This so-called land of possibility?”

“We can travel faster, though it’s ever nearby,
For there are no speed limits around that ‘place’;
In fact, there are no laws of any kind there,
For what could have established all,
The laws before creation of the laws?”

“Indeed, it’s a place where anything goes.”

“Yes. Or you could think of it
As where every possible law exists,
As well as not any that exist.”

“Yes, Everything sums to Nothing.”

“True. And neither,
By the same reasoning,
Does it have any form.”

“It would have to be formless
Since what it does is make form.”

“Now you’re getting it.”

“No time there either—It’s all at once,
For there are no forms to move about.”

“Yes, this Possibility just is,
It never having been created.”

“But it would need time even to create time!”

“Nope, all was/is done in an instant.”

“So, Possibility is an all-at-once
Superpositional thing like that sum
We see is the nature of the quantum?”

“Yes, and once it makes the all,
Then there’s time, form, and laws.”

“Is it a Great Mind?”

“No, for a mind is an established
Complexity of parts that compose it.”

“How did Possibility think then?”

“It was like Yoda said: ‘No think, just do.”

“OK, Yoda, what did it do then?”

“It did everything plain,
For it was unconstrained.”

“It took every possible path all at once?”

“Yes, and our universe was one
Of those paths that worked out,
As it kept on evolving longer.”

“And the other paths?”

“Perhaps some were flops
And perhaps some others made it,
But here we are, now stuck in traffic.”

“What? How come?”

“They made a pedestrian mall
Of Broadway. How to get around it?”

“But is the only diagonal street in Manhattan.”

“Yes, but it kind of keeps coming after us
As fast as we try to get around it.”

“Can we take another shortcut?”

“We’ll take the Lincoln Tunnel into New Jersey.”

“The wormhole?”

“Now, is that any way to talk about New Jersey?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, ain’t it the truth.”

They skipped the Lincoln Tunnel
And found another funnel
Back to the beginning of forever.
It had this sign in front of it ever:

Neither Nothing nor infinity can be,
As Nothing is not there and so ‘it’ cannot be,
And infinity can never be reached,
Being a hopeless sequence never completed.

Something real had to be, but not forever so;
Thus, there was was creation of things that grow,
Via the ‘something’ of no laws, form, time or fee—
That which needs nothing before it: Possibility.