A Man of the Gutter

He is one of those people
Who can't speak
Without every third
Or fourth word
Sounding like
A disgruntled whore
Talking shop.
He is a student
Of the gutter,
Proud of the way
He peppers his speech
With vulgarities.
He consciously abuses
The language,
As well as my ears,
With his profanity.
He seems to be broadcasting
His ignorance
And utter contempt
For social mores.
In the gritty underworld
Of city life,
His kind roam the streets
In force,
Thumbing their nose
At propriety,
Speaking in a dialect
All their own.

So, You Want to be a Writer!

Like countless others,
You have imperial dreams
Of someday seeing
Your words in print,
Of the rest of the world
Suddenly waking up
To who you are
And what you have to say.
Well, if you want
To be a writer,
The secret, if there is one,
Is to write, write
And write some more.
Write about anything
And everything.
Experiment with language.
Try a different style,
Maybe a subject
You never previously considered.
Let people see
What you have written.
Let them criticize
And bleed all over it,
Then pick yourself up
By your boot straps
And write again.
Writing serves as
Food for thought,
So the more you write,
The more there is to write.
You need not fear
Ever running out of topics.
Take notice of what
Catches your eye,
And ask yourself why.
Also observe
How much of life
You tend to miss.
Notice the people
Around you,
Every one of them
Has a story
They're dying to tell.
Many of them
Have two or three
Good tales,
And aren't even sure
Which ones are true.
Learn to laugh with them
And at yourself.
Go where people talk,
And listen for the gold.
Capture what it is
To be human,
Taking in the good,
As well as the bad,
The beautiful,
As well as the ugly.
Have compassion
For those around you
As well as for yourself.
Explore life, love
And happiness,
Then take note of
The part that sorrow
Plays in life.
Observe the meaning
You give to things.
Learn what it is
To be fully alive,
And alert to life,
For only then
Will you have
A story worth telling.

Belching Steam

She is obviously
Frustrated and angry
At the inequities of life,
But that is no excuse
For the language that gushes
From her mouth
Just because something
Has ticked her off.
Normally she comes across
As very sharp
And completely professional,
But when she is
In a foul mood,
Look out world!
She tends to lash out
With curses,
Spewing verbal venom
At whoever
Or whatever
Crossed her path,
And in the process,
She sounds neither
Educated nor erudite.
If she behaves
That way at home,
She is bound to act
The same at work,
And it will cost her
Far more than
She can possibly imagine.
We all have challenges
And our share
Of frustrations,
For that is
The nature of life,
But it is not appropriate
For any of us to splatter
Our discontent
On everyone around us
As she has been doing.

Reflections of Language

Who you are,
Your education level,
And the kind of people
You associate with
Are all reflected
In the language you use.
It doesn't matter
What country,
Or what part of the country
You come from,
Or what language
You happen to speak,
Educated people tend to have
A much wider range
Of words they use
On a daily basis.
I have heard various numbers
Bantered about,
But let's say that out of
Roughly one million words
In the English language,
A high school dropout
Might use roughly 1500 words
In normal speech,
A college graduate,
Possibly as many as
Ten to fifteen thousand,
A writer or a poet,
Typically as many as
25,000 to 150,000 words.
You should also be
Aware of the pitfalls
Of repeating the same words
Over and over again,
Especially if those words
Are impolite or off color.
They add nothing
To your communication,
And subtract from
Your standing
In the ears of
The listener.
You should also avoid
Punctuating your sentences
With meaningless utterances
Such as "ahs" and "you knows"
Which certainly don't add to
Clarity of communication.
When learning a new language,
Be aware of who
You are learning from,
For you can easily pick up
Words and phrases
Which reflect badly
On your class
Or level of education,
Your language is a mirror
Reflecting who you really are.

The Taming of a She Wolf

What I remember was
Her passion for architecture.
Perhaps it was the idealistic
Dream of a young woman
At the start of her career,
Eager to take on life,
Naively determined to leave
Her mark on the world,
With no sense of limitations
Or the difficulties
She would one day face.
All I know is that
She seemed utterly fearless,
And on fire with possibilities
Of what architecture could be.
Supremely self-confident,
The world was her oyster.
After all, what could I,
Or anyone else, logically expect
From a girl who,
On her own initiative
And hard work
Won a five-year
All-expense-paid scholarship
To one of the top three
Architectural schools in the US.
She had shown her mettle
On her first job
After graduating,
Becoming a shooting star
In the architectural world.
She lined up eleven interviews
For her next position,
And ended up with
Eleven job offers
To choose from.
Those were exciting times
And there seemed
No limit to how far
She could go.
She quickly obtained her license,
And was able to take on
More and more responsibility,
But something changed.
She was no longer the bright-eyed
Bushy-tailed, unstoppable woman
I fondly remembered.
It was almost as if
Someone else had
Taken over her spirit.
The global economic crisis
Had hit the US big time,
And the company
She worked for
Was struggling to survive.
She was forced to take
A ten percent pay cut
Along with everyone else.
Even with that,
More than half her co-workers
Lost their jobs during the recession
Which left those remaining
Profoundly insecure.
I could hear the change
In the way she talked,
And in what she said.
I started hearing her
Say things like,
"They don't pay
Architects very much!"
Or just as lethal,
"They pay woman less
Then they do men
For the same work."
Instead of talking about
All the things she wants to do,
She is now focused
On the things she has
Not yet done,
As if they are stopping her
From advancing further.
She even talks about
Getting out of the field altogether,
And pursuing art,
Or something else
She enjoys doing.
What I hear is burn out,
The slow death
Of a once passionate artisan.
I know,
For I have been there myself.
What I have observed
Is that life is largely determined
By our attitude,
And hers is obviously waning.
It is as if she is trapped,
With nowhere else to go.
The wolf she was
Has been defanged,
And unless something changes,
She may come to hate
Her job and profession,
And of course,
The turmoil she is in
Inevitably will be carried back
To plague her family.
Once a person's confidence is lost,
Can it ever be regained?
Is there anything I could say
That would ease her struggle?
It is times like these
That can easily make or break
A budding professional,
And I certainly don't
Want to see her spirit broken
Any more than
It already is.
She doesn't have to
Be an architect, as long as
She enjoys what she does,
But if she chooses not to be
An architect,
My hope is for her
To go out with
A blaze of glory
Verses a whimper.

SPAM

Long before junk emails
Began to litter cyberspace,
Most people knew SPAM
As the classic American
Canned meat product
Manufactured by Hormel.
Even today it is still a staple
In most US grocery stores.
In several countries like
The Philippines and Korea
SPAM is extremely popular
Both as a regular dinner entree
And as a treat for special occasions.
In Korea, cans of Spam
Are thought of as ideal
Wedding gifts!
Over the years there has been
Much speculation
And many jokes told
As to the supposed source
Of the meat meat used in Spam,
Some people think that
SPAM stands for
"Specially Processed Animal Meats,"
And others believe it stems from
A contraction of "Spiced Ham."
I used to tell my kids
When they were growing up
That SPAM came from the "Spamalo",
A mythical half-breed pig.
All I know is that for sure
Is that it was impossible to find
There in Turkey
Where I lived
For the last couple years,
And I suppose,
Absence makes
The heart grow fonder.

Numerical Drift

I find it takes
A lot of effort
For me to stay
Focused and alert
While counting.
I easily get distracted
Which often causes me
To lose count.
It doesn't help
That my mind
Has a natural tendency
To drift off,
Either in momentary
Lapses of sleep,
Or pursuing other
Lines of thought.
I have come up with
A slew of tricks
To help me in my
In my counting efforts,
But nothing is failsafe.
I will often
Group things
In piles of
A convenient number,
Then I can simply
Count the piles.
Occasionally I have
Counted something
Three or four times,
And each time,
Came up with
A different total.
That is a sure-fire way
To give myself a headache.
For those people
Subject to numerical slumber
As I am,
Counting sheep can be
An effective way
For them to put
Themselves to sleep.
One, two, three, four, snore.

A Man of Two Minds

There have been
Many times in my life
That I have wrestled
With a set of problems
That seemed insolvable,
Only to go to bed
And wake up in the morning
With a solution in hand.
I have come to consider
It a fact that
My subconscious mind
Is quite a bit more
Powerful than
My conscious mind,
And can often
Figure things out
That I can't solve
When I am awake.
I have learned to trust
My subconscious mind
Whenever I have
A difficult problem
Or when I have to make
A major decision,
And can't decide
What I should do.
Maybe it is just that
I have learned
Not to trust
My conscious mind.
Most, if not all,
Of the mistakes
I think I have made,
Have been made
While I was awake.
In fact, I can't remember
A single mistake
I made while sleeping.

The Thoughtful Pacer

He is a pacer,
Someone who thinks
While he paces,
Or at least
He thinks he's
Thinking when
He paces the floor.
At any rate,
He habitually
Circles round
And round
Inside his room
Wearing a circle
In the carpet,
While absentmindedly
Meandering
The fertile pathways
Of his mind.
He could be
Contemplating
All the things
He has to do,
Trying to prioritize
His activities,
Or he might be cogitating
Over a past moment,
Considering all the things
He could have,
Or should have done,
Instead of what he did.
More than likely though
His mind is
Somewhere else altogether,
Drifting off
In a fantasy world
Far from the confines
Of his room
Or the life he lives.
All he knows
Is that the clock
On the wall
Seems to leap
Forward sporadically,
And he can't account
For where any of
The time spent has gone.

The Racial Outcast

The woman was of
Chinese descent,
But born here in
The United States,
A second generation
American immigrant.
Even though she grew up
And was educated here,
It is obvious that she
Never got comfortable
With the fact
Of being Chinese
In American society.
It didn't make
Any difference
That fifty percent
Of the office
Was also Chinese.
She still saw herself
As different
From everyone else,
And felt she had to
Defend China's honor.
She took offense
At anything mentioned
Either in the news
Or in general conversation
About China
Or Chinese people
That could be
Construed as
Remotely negative,
Acting as if that was
A direct attack on her.
The slightest comment,
No matter how innocuous
Would draw her ire.
She would become livid
Whenever shoddy or dangerous
Chinese merchandise
Made the evening news,
After all,
China wasn't the only place
That made poor quality goods.
When a Chinese student
At an Eastern university
Went on a rampage
And killed a number
Of people on campus,
She felt the emphasis
In the news coverage
Was the fact
That he was Chinese,
And she railed against
The apparent injustice
Of the reporting.
She talked about
How racist
This country was,
But she was
Far more race conscious
Than anyone else
I ever met.
Her hyper-sensitivity
Made her act like
A racial outcast,
And isolated her
From the rest of
Mainstream society.
It left her
In perpetual battle
With the world,
Pointlessly defending
Everything Chinese.

The Corporate Lizard

She's the kind of boss
Nobody ever wants to have,
Someone hard to work with,
And even harder to work for,
But she's embedded herself
Within the corporate structure.
In fact, you could say
She's married to the company,
For it is apparently
The only family she has,
Thus she willing spends
All her evenings and weekends
Sequestered there at the office
And expects those
Working for her
To do the same.
Unfortunately for you,
She has been assigned
As the team leader
On a design project,
And you are a part
Of that team.
You quickly realize
Her principle concern
Is showing who is boss,
And rubbing it in.
Her concept of leadership
Is to treat those
Under her as idiots,
With barely concealed
Scorn and contempt,
To ask their opinion,
Then to completely ignore
Their responses.
She calls for frequent
And often pointless meetings,
A total waste of your time
And the rest of the team
As well as the time of
The consultants involved.
If you are a professional
And know what you are doing,
This really chafes you
The wrong way,
And it is people like her
That often cause
Experienced people
To break away,
And form companies
Of their own.

Finger Nail Drama

As far as the toddler
Is concerned,
Finger nail clippers
Are terribly crude
Instruments of torture,
And he will never
Sit quietly and watch
His fingers
Being butchered by them.
He will scream
At the top of his lungs,
Turn purple
With indignant rage,
And twist and turn,
Trying to escape
His mother's
Bi-monthly inquisition.
In spite of her
Logical concern
That the neighbors
May one day
Call the police
To report his
Tortured screams,
She dutifully proceeds
On her periodic quest
To shorten his nails
To prevent him
From gouging either
Himself or others.

Cabin Fever

He had been sitting
There at the computer
Much too long,
And was fighting
Against himself
To get anything done.
The fact was that
His mind was
In open rebellion
Against the task,
And screaming out
In boredom.
He had exhausted
All his usual tactics
Like reading the news,
Or even worse,
Playing mindless games
Like Spider or Solitaire.
He obviously needed a break,
Some kind of diversion,
Something to take him
Away from the tedium
Of the assignment
He was working on.
Really, he needed to get out,
Away from the computer,
Away from that room,
Away from it all.
The way his mind worked,
That translated to
He needed a woman
In his life!

The Best You Can

As a parent,
You simply do
The best you can
Raising your children.
There is no guidebook
That tells you
Exactly what
You should do when.
You have to
Figure that out
As you go along.
You are only human.
You will make
A mistake or two
As you stumble
Bumble along,
And you just hope
And pray
That it all works out
Because of you,
As well as
In spite of you.
As your children grow
And take on
Lives and attitudes
Of their own,
Try not to haunt yourself
In retrospect
Of the things
You didn't do
When you had a chance.
Whether or not
Your children turn out
Good or bad,
You set the best example
You could
Knowing what you knew then.
Sometimes
You might confidently think
You taught them well,
But only time will tell .
Eventually each child
Will choose his or her
Own path
Largely independent of you,
And as always,
You hope for the best.
Sometimes
An older child
Will try to blame you
For what they judge
You did wrong
When they were
Growing up.
What was done was done.
You did the best
You could,
And until they realize
And accept that fact,
They will never
Really grow up!
Sometimes
Your children will do
Astounding things,
And you will feel
Rightfully proud,
And sometimes
They will do
Terrible things,
And you will
Feel deeply ashamed
And question
Everything you did
Raising them,
Trying to figure out
What went wrong.
Either way,
Passing blame
Helps neither you nor them.
Ultimately,
You can't take
Full credit for
Their successes
Any more than
You can take full credit
Their failures.

The Parenting of Personalities

No two children
Are exactly alike,
Probably not even
Identical twins.
Parents need to adjust
Their parenting style
To what works with
Each particular child.
What works with one
Might not work
With the other,
For each child
Is motivated
By different things.
Each will have
His or her own
Unique way of seeing
And doing things.
As a parent,
There is no guidebook
That tells you how
To compensate
For differences
In personalities
Between your children.
Just as your children
Learn to recognize
And take advantage of
The differences
In personalities
Between you
And your spouse,
You must do the same
With them.

Accessing Our New Reality

I have been away
For quite a while
And on coming back
To this old country,
It seems so much
Has changed.
It is not the same nation
As the one I left behind.
Gone are both
The arrogant pride,
And the perpetual optimism
For which we Americans
Were often noted.
There is a new
President in office
Elected on
A platform of change,
But something
Far more fundamental
Than a simple
Change of leadership
Has occurred.
I find it difficult to gauge
Just where we are
Because the news channels
Have become
So biaest for or against
The current leadership
That basic objectivity
I once expected
From the news services
Is a thing of the past.
When I talk to people
I chance to meet,
I observe that
A pervasive sense of
Dissolusionment
Has set in,
Those who wanted change
Are not happy with
The changes they see,
And those who
Liked the way things were
Are generally appalled
By what they see,
And the two sides
Are more polarized
Than ever before.
Our confidence
In ourselves
And where the future
Is taking us
Appears to have been
Profoundly shaken.
The economic ressession
The nation and the rest
Of the world endured
Is by no means over,
And its effect is visible
Almost everywhere I look.
Many people who once thought
They were secure,
Have awakened
To a new financial reality,
And few are optimistic
That things will
Rapidly turn around,
That the future
Will somehow be better
Than it is today.
More people are in
Survival mode
Than I have ever seen before.
Optimists seem to be
Few and far between.
Where are we really,
And where are we headed?
I am still trying
To figure that out,
And I sense
That now is a time
Our nation needs
Leadership more than
Ever before,
Someone we all
Can believe in.

Awaiting the Familiar Stranger

They were there
At the airport
Impatiently waiting
For their child's
Grandfather to show up
After a protracted
Overseas absence.
The young couple
Proceeded to
Entertain themselves
Asking each other
If this person
Or that person
Exiting the gate
Was the one they
Were waiting for.
No, that person
Is too old,
No, That person
Is too young.
No, I think he has
More hair than that!
No, that one
Is too fat.
No, that one
Is too skinny.
Finally I showed up,
Looking somewhat
Like they remembered,
And after greeting
My daughter
And her husband,
Was introduced
To my newest grandson.

Regrets

Regrets, I have to admit
I have had a few,
For I have done
A lot of crazy things,
And made my share
Of foolish blunders.
In retrospect,
I can see a multitude
Of mistakes I made,
Things I should have done
Or would have done
If I had only known,
But what is done is done
And I must move on.
At times I must swallow
My burdensome pride,
And ask those close to me
To forgive me
For those things I’ve done,
But inevitably
The one who must
Forgive the most
Is simply me,
For I know
I could have done better,
And each time
I feel those pangs of sorrow,
I vow it will be different
If and when I get
Another chance.

Riding Fury

With eyes ablaze
Full of pent up fury
And righteous indignation,
She stormed into the room
Literally frothing
At the mouth,
Demanding an immediate search
For the missing key.
I, who knew exactly
Where I had placed it,
Deduced what might
Have happened,
But not wanting to
Incite her further,
Quickly left
And let her fume.
Had she been
Of a rational mind,
She could have reasoned
That the missing key
Was simply misplaced,
And could easily
Be replaced,
Or would simply
Turn up sooner or later.
Her blowup
Wasn't at all necessary,
But she was stuck on
Having me tear
The apartment apart
Looking for it.
The likely scenario
Was that she had
Absent mindedly
Picked up the key
And placed it
Where she often
Places her keys,
And that is where
It probably is
Even now.
I, who don't have
Neither the authority
Nor the audacity
To search her
Purses or pockets,
Can only wait until
She stumbles on it,
Or gets off the horse
She is riding.

The One Not Waiting

The kind of woman
I am interested in
Isn’t waiting for me,
Or anyone else,
To come and free her
From the life she lives,
For she is already living
A life she loves.
She is someone
With the courage
To venture forth alone
If she has to,
But also someone
With the freedom
To commit to a relationship
If and when
A suitable mate
Comes along.
She is someone
Who doesn’t let
Her fears and anxieties
Stop her
From trying new things
Or exploring
What life has to offer.
She is someone
Who lives adventurously,
A person who
Challenges herself
At every turn,
Always seeking
To better herself,
Yet there is serenity
About her as well,
A certain calmness
Bred of confidence
In whom she is
And her mission in life.
This is the woman I seek.

Poison Mattress

We were trying to get
The perfect mattress,
With the mystical quality
Of being simultaneously
Soft and firm,
All in the quest
For a perfect night's sleep.
What we got
Seemed to fit the bill
Without emaciating
Our checkbook too much,
Until we brought it home.
As soon as we brought it in
Everyone in the apartment
Started coughing
And developing
Respiratory distress.
We thought we had all
Come down with a bad
Case of the flu,
But it kept getting worse
And worse.
What we noticed
That seemed strange
Was that the coughing
Subsided the longer
We were away from
The apartment,
And started up again
As soon as we got back.
It was obvious
That something
In the apartment
Was making us sick.
It took a while until
We narrowed it down
To the new mattress.
We tried venting,
Putting in powerful fans
To blow the fumes out,
But that didn't help.
As soon as we
Placed the mattress outside
On the patio,
All of our symptoms
Began to disappear.
The mattress was offgassing,
Unbeknown to us
Giving off formaldehyde,
Poisoning us
While we slept,
Eat and breathed.
It was not a cheap mattress
Made in China,
But one manufactured
Here in the United States.
One possible solution
Would be to encase
The mattress in plastic,
But that has
Certain drawbacks as well.
What it highlighted
Was the danger
Of indoor pollution.
It turns out that
A multitude of things
Commonly found
In houses and apartments
Offgas volatile
Organic compounds.
The list includes
Paints, stains, varnishes,
Carpet, insulation, flooring,
Kitchen cabinets
And counter tops,
Plywood and particle board,
Paint and strippers,
Glues and adhesives,
Caulking compounds,
Soft or flexible plastics,
Shower curtains,
and many fire retardants.
Furniture and pressed wood
Are common culprits,
And even toys and tennis balls
Can give off
Toxic or irritant gases.
The new car smell
Is a product of offgassing.
Even the computer
On which I am writing
Offgasses.
Add cleaning supplies
And air fresheners,
Pesticides, packing foam
Synthetic fibers,
Fertilizers and fuels
To the mix,
And the home ends out
Far worse
Than the traffic bred smog
That envelopes
So many cities
Around the world.
This is especially of concern
When a new baby
Comes home.
His or her lungs
Are not fully developed,
And those VOC toxins
Can take a toll
On their health
And well being
Even more so
Than it does
On us adults.

Newspaper Obituary

And so another regional newspaper
Bites the dust,
An apparent dinosaur
In the digital age,
A relic of a
Bygone era.
It died a slow
And painful death,
Brought on by
Anemic circulation
Sharply reduced
Advertising revenue,
Rising costs,
Competition from
Television news,
And strangulation
By Internet news
And classified services.
People now have choices
They never had before.
They can get
All the news they want
Through their computer
Or cell phone.
The paper is no longer needed
For editorials,
For sports results,
For local happenings,
For job listings,
Or for any of the other
Services the newspaper
Once provided.
Young boys no longer
Have the opportunity,
As I did when I was young,
To get up
In the early hours
Of the morning,
Wrap the papers
And deliver them
By bicycle
To local residences.
Much is lost
As much is gained
In the changing
Of the Times.

Turtle Commotion

After a young girl
And her older sister
Boarded a plane
And took their seats,
A stewardess noticed
A plastic box
With a pet turtle inside
In the young girls lap.
The stewardess told her
To stow it
Under the seat in front
Which she did,
But another stewardess,
On seeing the turtle,
Demanded that the two girls
Exit the plane.
Apparently birds,
Dogs and cats
Are permitted,
But amphibians
Or reptiles are not.
The girls were told
That they had to
Get rid of their pet
If they wanted to fly,
So they called their father
To come back to the airport
And pick up the turtle.
Since no one
Was willing
To look after the turtle
Until the girls father arrived,
The girls were forced
To place their turtle
In a nearby trash can
To avoid further
Delaying the flight.
They were then
Allowed to re-board
And fly to their destination
When the father arrived
Back at the airport
The the turtle was nowhere
To be found,
And the explanation offered
Was that the trash
Had probably been dumped.
What had actually happened
Was that an airport worker
Observing the confrontation
Had rescued the turtle,
And taken it home
For his daughter.
Three days later,
After the confusion unraveled,
The young girl
And her pet turtle
Were reunited,
Compliments of the airline.
The airline's only excuse
Was that turtles
Have been known
To carry the salmonella bacteria,
So the little turtle
Was considered
A serious security violation.
They failed to mention
How they got the turtle
To her, however,
Or what happened to
The airport worker
Who “rescued” the turtle.
I wonder if it was
The airport security cameras
That implicated the worker.
I can only imagine
How infuriated the father
Must have been
When he had to return home
Empty handed.
In a world run by rigid rules
And regulations,
Little things often become
Major issues,
Especially in the absence of
Common sense.
In retrospect, none of
The turtle commotion
Was at all necessary.
I wonder if the stewardess
Who raised the issue
Was rewarded
For her diligence
Or reprimanded
For her steadfast rigidity.
Another possible way
To look at this incident
Is to wonder about
How newsworthy
The day must have been
For this to have made
The national news.

Disguised Insanity

I remember when
The State began closing
The mental institutions
And flooding the streets
With all sorts of crazies.
It became quite common
To encounter people
Talking to the air,
Or to imaginary
Friends or adversaries.
I would see them gesticulating,
Sometimes mumbling,
Sometimes shouting,
Seemingly oblivious
To those of us
Who were really there.
Now that I have returned
Back stateside
After a long period overseas,
I observe that there are
More of those type people
Than ever before,
Only someone gave them all
The perfect cover,
They all have cell phones!
Everyone has one,
The neighborhood bums,
The skid-row derelicts,
And even the real crazies
Now have a cell phone,
Or at least a set of
Ear plugs that I assume
Are attached to either
And iPod or a cellphone.
What a stroke of genius!
Give the crazies
A cell phone or an iPod,
And they are instantly transformed
So that no one questions their sanity
When they see them
Talking to the air anymore.
Problem solved.

Rejoicing at the Questions

Last night I saw a program
On the science channel
Summarizing the latest theories
On the nature of the universe
And the laws that govern
Its makeup and actions.
There were theorists
And mathematicians
From major universities
Postulating ideas
On how quantum mechanics
And the Theory of Relativity
Developed by Albert Einstein
Can be united into
A single unifying theory.
Quantum mechanics
Appears to apply to
Very small particles
And relativity applies
To very large bodies,
But the two theories
Break down
And seem mutually incompatible
When dealing with
What is happening inside
Black holes.
Some of the greatest minds
In the world
Are playing with this problem
And trying to
Theorize possible solutions.
One of the major
Theorists featured
Was a certified beach bum
Who spends most of his time
Surfing the waves of Hawaii
When he isn't wrapping his mind
Around complex formulations
And higher mathematics.
I can just imagine him
Catching a major wave
While toying with
The next evolution in
Mathematical logic.
At a time when
Much of the world
Seems absorbed in
The unworkability
Of our planet,
I found myself
Fascinated with the discussions,
And I rejoiced
In the knowledge
That there are people
Grappling with ideas
Few of us comprehend
Or even bother thinking about.
I was reminded
Just how mysteriously beautiful
And utterly complex
The world we live in
Really is.