tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30609182949979292202024-02-08T06:08:16.127-08:00Conglomerate of OneA release of my mind.m. josephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07745997314621987979noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3060918294997929220.post-7418189302934734612009-02-10T20:11:00.001-08:002009-02-10T20:45:56.547-08:00So...So, today as I was coming home (to my dorm, which I do not really count as a home, more of a prison of Academia) I was stuck in traffic for 25 minutes. Why? Because there were three accidents at the largest most congested roads. And I thought to myself, "Are there more accidents because the weather is better". And as I thought this, with my window down, the cool spring like breeze blowing through my hair, and my music turned up (because the windows were down, and for some reason traffic has an annoying habit of being loud), I realised that I was no longer paying attention to traffic. I whipped my head up (this is for you mom) and saw the tail lights of the motorist in front of me, just in time. In a feat of near epic motor skill proportions, I deftly braked, cut in front of a car in the right lane, sped up a little, gave my dad's patented "are you an idiot, because that was obviously your fault" stare to the driver of the other car, even though it wasn't entirely their fault that they had to brake for a red light, and proceeded to pull in front of them the moment the light turned green. That finished, I decided that yes, most certainly, good weather <em>causes</em> more accidents than bad weather. Bad weather just causes worse accidents, which is why we think we are safe in good weather. But <strong>do not</strong> be deceived! And because of my thinking, and subsequent near accident, it is no longer necessary for anyone who reads this blog to think about that question while driving. There is my good for the day. Perhaps I saved a life, a car, or a city a few hours of traffic. All... free of charge.m. josephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07745997314621987979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3060918294997929220.post-36656626628009524302009-02-05T20:52:00.000-08:002009-02-05T21:06:25.302-08:00ForgottenShoulders bent,<br />Back aching,<br />Strained by labor for<br />Years.<br />Beard long,<br />Grisly grey,<br />Untrimmed, unwashed, but sincere.<br />Sincerely destitute.<br />Mouth with thin lips,<br />Missing teeth, others browned and old.<br />But muttering words,<br />Sad silent soliloquies to<br />Ears that haven't heard<br />A friendly word<br />In so many years.<br />Eyes cloudy, they stare<br />At the ground,<br />Not seeing the crumbling shoes,<br />But the past,<br />When there was love and<br />Laughter, and family and friends.<br />His family now are his thoughts.<br />And he passes the bridge<br />Like so many other times,<br />Looks over the rail<br />And passes by.<br />So much lost, but if<br />He dies, so will the memories.<br />He sits at the steps<br />Of the Capitol building,<br />The most help its given<br />Him is these few minutes of rest.<br />He closes his eyes<br />To see more clearly His long lost happy times.<br />And from beneath the lids<br />Soft tears well out,<br />And run through the<br />Dry creek beds of His old and wrinkled<br />Face.<br />And he falls to his<br />Side, and into her<br />Arms,<br />And away from this<br />Anguishing life.<br />And all that is left<br />Is the visage with the<br />Long beard, the bent shoulders,<br />The silent mouth.<br />The crumbling shoes.<br />He is forgotten,<br />But he is found.m. josephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07745997314621987979noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3060918294997929220.post-68692351396783981952009-02-05T20:49:00.001-08:002009-02-05T20:52:05.782-08:00WORKSitting at a Desk.<br />Working.<br />Time dripping from a<br />Crack in an hour glass<br />Slower and slower, so<br />Slow.<br />Mind aching, back aching, eyes<br />Closing<br />Like the chances left to<br />Live dreams.<br />This is Life.<br />This is the acceted<br />Pattern<br />Of living,<br />A half-crazed gift<br />Passed to us from our<br />Dying grand-parents, and propogated<br />In trust by our parents,<br />For us to keep protected<br />When we are<br />Parents.<br />One day, with a knowing grin<br />An eager wink we<br />Will pass it<br />On to our<br />Children,<br />Stop working, only to<br />Die.m. josephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07745997314621987979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3060918294997929220.post-39556001464306346372009-02-05T20:01:00.000-08:002009-02-05T20:23:46.745-08:00Absence of SeasonsTime as a master is hard to appease,<br />He moves on quick <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">cadence</span>,<br />Pulling us along,<br />We're bound to him by chains<br />Made of heart beats,<br />No time for rest,<br />No time for a breath in the absence of seasons,<br />Toiling hard, we each reap more years<br />For Mater Time's great store,<br />We keep tally for him,<br />We celebrate each new year we add,<br />As though it may be the last<br />Troubled by the continual push<br />Of past or present,<br />Free of worry,<br />Free of care,<br />Where time doesn't matter,<br />Because life moves more nicely,<br />On the path to the end.<br />We do this each year,<br />Never realizing our hope,<br />Until the last breath is spent,<br />The last heart beat in the chain finally breaks,<br />And we pass Time on the road,<br />He stops,<br />He stares,<br />He forgets us,<br />And moves on.m. josephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07745997314621987979noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3060918294997929220.post-70052808375613802402009-02-04T20:20:00.000-08:002009-02-04T20:22:56.374-08:00In shortIn a moment of sublime disenchantment,<br />The actuallity of life becomes<br />Less meaningful.<br />There is more emphises on the<br />Art<br />Of living.<br /><br />Striking the chords of the<br />Soul<br />With the colors of<br />A sunset,Open eyes, not temporal,<br />But more perceptive.<br /><br />Seconds dash into minutes<br />Minutes dive into<br />Hours,<br />Hours fade into short<br />Days.<br />The body moves through<br />Time, not accepting<br />That it is running<br />Out.<br /><br />Life, like a tree,<br />Blooms only once a<br />Year.<br />This tree gets<br />Chopped<br />After only One.m. josephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07745997314621987979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3060918294997929220.post-61990303897489292282009-02-01T21:36:00.000-08:002009-02-01T21:37:11.956-08:00StoppingTraffic,<br />I hate Traffic,<br />The stopping of Life,<br />Two much time for reflection<br />In anger.<br />I hate Traffic.<br />Stopped, people<br />Screaming, people charging<br />Their way ahead.<br />Too much humanity<br />For the moment.<br />I hate Traffic.<br />Traffic is the pause we dread,<br />The pause that causes<br />Us to see us.<br />I hate<br />Traffic.m. josephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07745997314621987979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3060918294997929220.post-65623023191540254002009-02-01T21:06:00.000-08:002009-02-01T21:11:28.299-08:00Lasting Legacy?The towers of Giants crumble to Mountains<br />The foot prints of gods become Seas<br />Mighty stars die, but their light shines on<br /> - So what becomes of me?<br /><br />The author writes the famous Novel<br />The playwright his glorious Play<br />Legends are born from the Earth itself<br /> - But who will remember me?<br /><br />The painter paints a lasting Portrait<br />The sculptor sculpts a timeless Statue<br />The carpenter likens the mighty King<br /> - Will my face last in memory?<br /><br />The mountains will Crumble to a tiny hill<br />The novel in time will be Burned<br />The portrait's face shall Fade to obscurity<br /> - Then they shall be like me.m. josephhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07745997314621987979noreply@blogger.com0