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Poetic Reflections Column

havoc

In life there are periods of calm punctuated by phases of unrest when things become hectic.  And then there are times when You-Know-Where breaks loose and we are thrust into a state of absolute havoc.  But that isn't what I wish to discuss.  It's simply an observation.  We all have those sudden cliffhangers when the tension is cranked beyond our limit.  When we're dangling by a scrawny filament or skating on a brittle sheet of ice.  We may even feel disoriented, like our life is not our life.  Picture if you will a cuckoo bird landing on a crab-apple tree, surrounded by g

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inspiration’s perspiration

Yes, you read correctly.  This is about perspiration.  But not just any perspiration.  No, no.  The stuff of inspiration.  More to my point, the sweat of inspiration.  I'm not talking about sweaty armpits.  I refer instead to the beaded brow of an artist slaving feverishly to convey the resplendent vision of an illuminated mind struck by . . . you guessed it . . . inspiration.

I am going to be uncharacteristically redundant, so please bear with me.

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bombilation

There is a lot of static in the world.  The drone or buzz of contention in the air.  A steady hum in your ears if you're like me.  You can hear it if you stop to listen.  It's there, whether soft or loud, in the electric wires; in the throb of pulses, the steady march of Time.  In the heat of a moment when everything stands still and some messed-up misguided member of society feels alienated or miserable enough to contemplate something unthinkable, drastic, catastrophic . . . in a vain unconscionable effort to balance chaos.

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retrospect

If people could save all of the time in a bottle that they spend in retrospect . . . clinging to what was or what could have been instead of looking forward to life, moving on . . .

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Poe-etic

Portrait Of Poe 1 By Lori R. Lopez

 

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the rise of the fall

Some of my column intros actually make sense.  And then there are those that go skipping off in their own misdirections through fields of shruggeries and flowered flumpheries, amid the bognacious trills of stalkish stumpenings, and none of us can begin to beguine the forethoughts of the afterworded math we didn't do, or subtract it all up to glean the nonscientifical methods behind the madness of pie.  And never NEVER ask their hat sizes!  You simply have to sit back and let it go, let it be, set it free, try not to set it on fire, because there is no stopping the loopy l

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Lori R. Lopez

Rafael Lopez

Noel Lopez