A New Poem - "Always Different Never the Same"

 

A piece inspired by visiting the M. C. Escher Exhibit at the Memorial Art Gallery in Rochester, NY. I cannot post the image, due to copy write restraints, but if you google Plane Filling 2, M.C. Escher you can view the image.

Always Different Never the Same

(Inspired by “Plane Filling 2” by M.C. Escher)

Everything different

Nothing the same

Similar but different

Even on the same plane.

Eyes, each one different

No two ever the same,

A Few looking forward,

While most look up, sideways or down.

Faces of creatures,

Some known, others never seen

Some big, some little, some in between,

Alternating in shades of black and white

Once again, no two are ever the same.

All living creatures says your mind at first glance,

Blended together, to fill the entire space.

My mind cries out. WAIT

There is one, which is out of place.

It does not breathe, eat, or sleep

Like the rest of the images,

Which fill every space on each plane.

Although it can be made to sing

When caressed by the proper hands.

Could that be why?

M. C. Escher chose a guitar,

To be the only, non-living thing.

©November 25, 2016

Richard Nurse

Three Images

Three Images

The image, the boat, the phrases,

Blended together they did their thing.

First, they turned the key,

Then, they let out the clutch,

Finally, they put my idling mind into gear.

Bringing to life the time machine                           

That I keep parked, third coil on the left,

Ready to escape, back in time,

Whenever desire to go back might arise.

Even though the years keep taking their toll

I can still control how far back I want to go.

Three different times have stepped forward

Moving others to the back, as they take

The left, right, and center positions,

In the forefront, of my now, turbulent mind.

Each one fits perfectly with the list of prompts.

With the exception of the Valley of the Wind

And, I am betting I can even fit that in.

So I am opting for all three, told in poetic prose.

Feel free to climb aboard my time machine with me.

Ready, all set, then it is off we go to three places see.

Three places with boats on the water and love in the air.

The first stop is on a river, almost a thousand miles long.  One that has heard many a Native American song, one that has an island or more for every mile it is long.  The time is before 1978, a spontaneous getaway, no children yet in the way. With the pretense of fishing, a boat rented for the day.   We found ourselves in a backwater bay, surrounded by tall maples, oaks and pines shielding us from view, while beavers worked at felling a poplar or two.  The morning grew hot, as did we two, so when I peeled off my shirt, my wife did to. My reaction was swift and visible to, with a laugh she said, “Now that won’t do.” Then, immediately, taking off the rest of hers, followed by my clothes too. I remember a beaver tail slapping as we became consumed, I don’t think he liked the waves we were making in his backwater lagoon. It was not the only time; we lay in each other’s arms that day. Two countries treated to similar displays, in much the same way, as were the waters of a very un-secluded bay. All in all, a memorable day, yet for some reason, I can’t remember if any fish got in the way.

I hope you are all still with me, at least those of a similar mind, for it is time once again to head back in time.  To an island in the Pacific, one where the dolphins do play, not the biggest or the smallest, yet it’s the one known the best. You’ll find it fourth to the left of where the goddess Pele does play.  The island known for a diamond upon its head, the one oft remembered for a day when planes came through a spot known as Kole Kole Pass. I knew that I could get it in, a line about the valley of wind. For on this island, is an amazing place called the Pali Pass, where the winds from the valley rise straight up into the air. A place, where one must use care, for both hats and skirts, freely rise into the air. Follow the LikeLike Highway down from the pass to a canal that runs straight and true, between mountains made of concrete and steel colored with a rainbow of hues. The boats on this canal, back in circa 1973, were round. Boats with no bows, boats with no sterns, some kept them going straight, but most made them spin round and round. Add the effects of an exotic drink or four, and many a boat had no one in view. Blend together, alcohol, passion, and spin, and exotic becomes erotic as bodies meshed together with the force of the spin. No one complains, no one seems to care, but in Hawaii, in circa 73, sex, though often enjoyed in the open, was not always free, and if you weren’t careful she could be a he.

It’s time to board my time machine again, to go back a bit further both to the east and in time, to a river in a desert back in 1969. Though they call it a lake, it is still a river, just one now stopped by a dam. This body of water; deep and pristine, at the time, known for its white circle of lime. Still in the middle of the desert at that time, one could go out at night and not see a bright light of any kind. Unless one were to look off to the west, where the sky seemed to glow, from the power the water through the dam let flow. Still out on the lake the darkness did reign, sucking in any light, a big black hole with a ring of white.  A perfect place, to spend a hot summer night; locked in the arms of your love, covered only with a blanket of stars. With nobody to see, and no one to care, free to do whatever you care. 

Allow me to step back out of my time machine,

For my three images, I have allowed all to see.

I can’t recreate them; time has taken its toll,

On both the author, and the waters that flow.

Especially, the river, where once shimmered a great lake,

A lake growing smaller every day, while cash registers ring.

The water, now on the other side of the dam you see

Used to make a desert, grow fruit for you and me.

Thank God, these three images, still live on,

Stored away, safely in my mind’s eye for me,

Ready for me. Whenever or whichever, I desire to see.

©November 18, 2016

Richard Nurse

 This poem was written in response to a prompt based on the picture below. Thank you to +Laughing waters for allowing the use of this photo.

My Crystal Ball

My Crystal Ball

My crystal ball rolled away today

Why it left? Shit, I don’t know.

Where it is going is anybody’s guess

All I know right now is that I am in a mess.

For now, I must live each day

With a mind, now, basically, blind.

What is past is now forever in the past

What might lie ahead, for me,

No longer, resides in my head.

My vision of the future, for now is gone.

Ensnared in a dimension, not known of before

A place in time, where the future is not yours to see

For how long, god I would so love to know.

Maybe, if I’m lucky, just for a day or a week.

Or if my luck is less, a month or a year

Those lengths of time, I feel I can survive.

Ah, but, what if it goes on for longer?

I have no sure answer, of what I will do,

For I no longer have, a vision, to look into.

I fear life with no vision, not A future to hold

Out front, like a carrot, or bangle of gold.

No impetus to put, one foot before of the other.

To begin a search, one, which may never end

To follow the course of my crystal ball,

As it rolled away, into the glen.

My ball, though it’s a crystal sphere

It’s tinted blue, from its 200+ years.

It has been mine, on and off now,

For some sixty-nine years, and, yes,

It has been known to steer me wrong.

With that said, today is the day

I’ve decided, to just let it roll.

No, this time, I’ll not chase it down,

No, this time, it can continue on its way.

Yes, it can find someone brand new,

Someone new, for it to steer wrong.

©November 9, 2016

Richard Nurse

All Rights Reserved

THROUGH THE YEARS - A POEM

Through the Years,

A Collection of Poetry and Verse.

An inspirational thought,

In truth, an idea, for a book.

A pondering which allowed,

This rambling collection,

Of introspections and reflections,

Leak out of my brain in verse.

Some, forever written down,

While others remain in memory,

Shared, with, but, a select few. 

Until this day, a day of change,

A day, when the decision was made.

To reexplore, my catalog of works

Works of my poetry, both old and new,

Ordered in no particular way,

A list of titles, long enough,

For a book, or maybe two.

My, still growing list,

Of therapeutic consultations,

For which, I paid no fee.

Consultations between two nurses,

Neither of which has a psychiatry degree.

Yet, comprise the frequented practice,

Of ‘Myself and Me’.

Inspired by a life,

One that knows the elements well.

No, not those on the periodic table,

Though he knew them as well.

No, these elements have no formal table,

Excepting one, upon which sits a flickering candle

Set between the couch and chair,

A stage setting, Sigmund knew so well.

Elements that span the spectrum of human life,

Could well create a new periodic table,

Titled the Table of Emotions Felt In Life.

 While no chart like this,

At present that does in fact exist.

Who’s to say, one could eventually exist.

If it did, might it not have three parts?

Parts like Golden, Normal, and Living Hell.

Which emotions might be listed?

Within the parts that number three?

Some are easy, such as Love, and Good Health,

Which, for most, anchor the left,

While Hatred and Bigotry

Weigh down the far to the right.

It is those in the middle,

Which are often find hard to define. 

Look at Joy and Sorrow,

Normal emotions felt by all.

Yet, they tend to drift and change direction,

Like a snowflake upon a January wind.

One day on the left, the next on the right,

Then straight down the middle,

Where they catch one by surprise,

Taking away one's sight,

By releasing a river of tears,

Cascading out, with no discern,

Whether, the eyes be happy or sad.

There will be no written test this day,

For there is no printed chart.

The Table of Emotions Felt In Life,

An ever shifting, evolving affair.

Traveling on the expressway,

Between one’s brain and heart.

Living each day, the only exam,

One for which, it’s useless to cram,

Since it begins mutating

With the first breath, one takes.

Refreshed and new, each morning we wake.

There is a lesson, some say,

One, which might help on given day,

A lesson much like the test,

It morphs each day into a lesson new,  

A lesson specific, for a day that’s new.

The lessons, yes, they can be renewed.

To use once again, on a far, distant day.

The secret to being able to renew,

Is listening to the advice, that spews,

From the partners at ‘Myself and Me’…

Along, with an occasional assist, from ‘You’.

©October 31, 2016

Richard Nurse