"Patterns Of Our Existence..."

I was asked to bring a few thoughts back to daylight...

The "Patterns Of Our Existence..." shift
minute-by-minute, day-by-day - though the words
just reposition themselves - an unending fractal
whose 'Pattern' remains... our existence.

"Patterns Of Our Existence..."

1.  Something Blue...
2.  Nothing Read...
3.  Everything Gone...
4.  "Anything" Said.

1a.  The 'flower' I never gave her,
2a.  Our unopened journal gathering dust...
3a.  The trashcan now lies empty.
4a.  "Welcome to the Hotel California" - for real.

1b.  Was just another still-life watercolor...
2b.  Mere words - just old meaningless words.
3b.  Dreams... all of it - only dreams,
4b.  "...and things that we believe in" - are no more.

1c.  While all the feelings gather tight -
2c.  Meandering, silly moments recorded -
3c.  Wisps of nothingness -
4c.  "...turning into another dream..." - each night.

1d.  As I watch her leave...
2d.  With my unseeing eyes...
3d.  Not even our tears remain...
4d.  "Love is not enough in itself..." - never was.

"For real
are no more...
each night -
never was."

"Something Blue..."

The 'flower' I never gave her,
was just another still-life watercolor...
while all the feelings gather tight -
as I watch her leave...

"Nothing Read..."

Our unopened journal gathering dust...
mere words - just old meaningless words.
Meandering, silly moments recorded -
with my unseeing eyes...

"Everything Gone..."

The trashcan now lies empty.
Dreams... all of it - only dreams,
wisps of nothingness -
not even our tears remain...

"Anything Said..."

"Welcome to the Hotel California" - for real.
"...and things that we believe in" - are no more.
"...turning into another dream..." - each night.
"Love is not enough in itself..." - never was.

"Patterns Of Our Existence..."

The 'flower' I never gave her,
Our unopened journal gathering dust...
The trashcan now lies empty.
"...and things that we believe in" - are no more.

Was just another still-life watercolor...
Mere words - just old meaningless words.
Dreams... all of it - only dreams,
"...turning into another dream..." - each night.

All the feelings gather tight -
Meandering, silly moments recorded -
Wisps of nothingness -
"Love is not enough in itself..." - never was.

As I watch her leave...
With my unseeing eyes...
Not even our tears remain...
"Welcome to the Hotel California" - for real.

... and the patterns continue and flow
and flow
and flow

and its never
just
words...
ever... ya know?

Chris

Author's Note

Play a lil... have some fun... shift as you feel and ponder the result...

this IS older but I still play sometimes

"Patterns..." is a plaything. A moment of silliness written because no one else had. I only provided a bare listing of the poems within it... and just by arranging and rearranging and on and on... each making their own numbering, ordering, length, et al

And all without an added word... we really do use all the words... all of us...all the time.

Reviews

[Kathy Van Kurin]

'Patterns Of Our Existence''
Dreams are the start till they are not, Yea? Well when- if they stagnate then that is where a person begins with new dreams. But in reading this it was like the soul must work through the old to find the new. Yup and these words-thoughts-feelings must be relayed-repeated at least for awhile. Great one!
Kathy

[Chris]

I've missed you more than you know... times being how they are - life seems to happen more often. Thanks for pausing Kath.

[olla]

wow.. this is quite a play ground..

[sharonlee]

ah... one of my favorites dear....
Shar

[Tkess]

I can identify with this. To me, it reads as a shoulda, woulda, coulda, of a failed relationship. A list of the things that should have been done; all the things that could have been done to salvage what could have been.

[Robin]

action and meaning , dreams die with out them

Hotel California seems to always have a room available .

and regret , how heavier it gets as we age ...

[Muse]

You took from the familiar and made it YOUR OWN. This is sometimes harder than working with a blank slate. An interesting "typewriter like format" a list of wishes, regrets, thoughts. Then it breaks into a song:

"Welcome to the Hotel California" - for real.
"...and things that we believe in" - are no more.
"...turning into another dream..." - each night.
"Love is not enough in itself..." - never was.

well penned!

[Judy Ponceby]

Interesting.....All the phrases flow in so many different ways....and yet, they are more than the words or the order they are put in, as you conclude. Food for thought :) Excellent.

Something blue ...
Our unopened journal gathering dust ...
Dreams ... all of it, only dreams,
"...turning into another dream..." - each night.
Not even our tears remain...
Meandering, silly moments recorded -
Was just another still-life watercolor...

Heh. This is fun!

[Emily B]

when i saw the title i thought i had read it before . . . i caught on pretty quickly to the numbering system but i liked how the words came together and repeated. Amy Lowell had a poem called "Patterns" that remains among my favorites. Why is it we carve ruts for ourselves? We do the same things in the same ways until the bottom falls out of the world and we look up surprised and maybe sometimes relieved. I make patterns for myself . . . I drive this route to get to work and I drive this route home. The same road, the same turns every day. A little bit like that lab rat in its manufactured maze, dont ya think?