Noise Machines

Being in the endless

Stream of action, feelings

And desires

It is a never ending story

Of love and loss

No time for reflection

A monotonous noise

Without meaning

Involving as many as possible

As much as possible

Stealing time and life

Only the extremely narcissistic

Or the wise retreats in time

Mad Monday Notice

i don’t feel

Just am so tired

And still the sun shines

Behind the cloud

The pine-trees moving in the wind

Talking their own language

Making their conclusion

Is another time you know now

But what time is it?

What time is it now?

The time of hot, hot summer

And strange diseases

Or the time of other things

We don’t know

Around us

Around us

People are dying

We go around pretending

Is nothing going on

People isolate and procrastinate

Getting angry, drunk or sad

Anything to get out of the mad, mad place

That has become our space

Starting Point

There are many forms of madness

As well as a great variation of wisdom

We never know where to start

Confusion is the gift of the Creator

It is even harder to know where to stop

Moments of Experience

When I was a boy

I dreamt of a brighter better day

A day when I wasn’t alone

A day of love and joy

But with age comes

Wisdom and the joy

The great joy of not needing

To share moments

With those not interested

Everyone in their own eco chamber

Makes a lot of noise

Only the silent trees offers

Remorse and peace

For a troubled mind

Old Wisdom

My grandfather told me

Timing is everything

It almost never works

But it is a great idea

Like most other fantasies

It sounds right and simple

Just do not try to implement it

The great evil fire octopus

Will get you if you do

The Price of Wisdom

Wisdom is hard to earn

The name of the currency

Is your life

Is your hope

That is hard to handle

This is not what I dreamed of

But this is my destiny

To pay a price

So high

That I will never make it

In the real world

That is the price of being

Called “Wise”

The Path, El Camino

This is

Something

Very different

Empty spaces

The path to wisdom

Is obscured by

All the things

Surrounding us

When we stop

Walking the path

Disappears

Movement is direction

If nothing else