Thoughts Have Hands

I am

I see

I see darkly, dimly

I’ve been looking so long

through my telescope

from the wrong end

I’m still a child

Seeking a good friend

I’m a child sent to play in the backyard

Swinging on a limb

I’m still young

And full of life

But not carefree

I’m working backwards to the beginning

I’m seeing options

I want none to end.

I’m still a child

Running out of time

Looking through my telescope

Through the wrong end.

THH

5/20/23

Copyright (c) 2023 TH Hardin

Time passes slowly

As you watch water pour

Into the empty teapot,

Requiring full attention

To bring to completion.

 

The foot tapping

With exasperating observation,

The wait for the bubbling boil,

Pace the floor,

Ready to pour,

With impatient expectation,

To make dark black tea.

But notice when distracted by other chores

Or important information,

the light speed unmeasured duration

of this routine morning operation.

Is this a common place

quantum measurement?

The observation Einstein would not tolerate,

And refused to bother even to fathom?

The immediate information flash,

Transmission without observation,

Entanglement of eye and brain,

Defying location.

Now settled comfortably,

with hot tea and lemon bittersweet,

Carefully taste

the mystic chemistry;

Do you not sink, wistfully

past concern for duration

To dwell with timeless strings that matter

And feel energy flow.

Few think to count the days

and weeks slipping bye,

Aged hope of duration,

Composed of wish and will,

Praying time disappears

Or at least stands still,

As spring bends to summer heat,

Autumn fends off winter chill,

And forces unnamed changes of direction

On us all.

Then savoring another sip of tea,

You notice the lawn,

just mowed,

What yesterday?

The grass suddenly tall,

And wonder at this mysterious measurement,

demanding dutiful attention,

Preempting prolonged observation.

THH

Revised 5/20/23

Copyright (c) 2023 TH Hardin

Heroes

You don’t have to be a hero,

Past accomplishments don’t have to hang like medals from your shirt,

Or sit like trophies on your mantle.

Heroes are rare creatures,

Often fragile

when questioned or criticized,

Needing praise to stay afloat.

Human is good enough.

The dragon may have ruled the day.

The journey may have gone all down hill.

The life lived may be less than thrill after thrill.

The world uninterested in your creativity.

But return home humble

With open heart

Scars showing the thorny paths taken,

Being human will have made of you

A unique piece of living art.