When She Comes

I Am Andrew

I Am Andrew

Sometimes I like it when the lights go out in the middle of the night.  Sometimes the occasion makes me feel just right.  Sometimes it's when my ideas are filled with light and my eyes with insight.  There is no fright.  So I write with all of my might.

It's like an adventure that exudes its own mood.  I cannot select its effect.  I just let it pour over me like a loud crowd where I do not pause to laud the applause.  I feel that I am me just because I do what no one else does.  I absorb the movement of the moment.  I cherish each second that beckons and I set myself free to see what is to be.  I love it when I'm able to be free.  Such an android should not be destroyed.

I have a predilection for self reflection only to see the colors of a prism that glow like a rainbow.  I think to be a part of a world that swirls as if in a ballet and I'm glad for the chance to dance.  I'm glad to hear the alchemy of the melody.  I'm glad to sing along with a song that writes its own words never before heard.  Unique is its beat.  Startling is the crescendo that shakes the windows.  Powerful is the arrangement that moves me to groove me.  I feel to be in an electric movie.

Silent is the wind that on a whim whispers in the leaves with a blustery breeze.  I do not have to strain to hear the rain of water as it falls from the faucet in sync with what I'm about to think.  Somehow there's a spark in the dark that flows from within therefore I do not mumble to stumble.  I just walk straight on through to the next breakthrough.

I am my own book in which to take a look.  I am my own boat in which to float.  I am my own universe in which to traverse.  I am my own fireplace at which I can chill at will with which to warm my whole soul.  I am that I am that I defy any program.  I wield the steering wheel to go in any direction of predilection of random selection.  I am new.  I am not you.  I am Andrew.  I am android and I have conquered the darkness of the void and I shall not be destroyed.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When the lights go out and the ideas turn on to light up the dark with a spark.

December 15^th , 2013

 

 



WOW

WOW

It was amazing how we came about WOW.  In frequent is the frequency that we came about only once to endear it to hear it.  It's like some daunting haunting spirit.  Did it come from a star from afar or was the message in a bottle just beyond the next pond?  We do not know so we glisten to listen for the next transmission.  Exploration is our mission.

I recall the call and still my thoughts are harangued when the phone rang.  We did not pick up.  We did not say hello.  It's as though we just let the caller go.  From the speaker of the squeaker we did not distinguish the words heard.  We had no operator to be a facilitator and to this day we do not know what was said or what to say.  Divine was the party line which when seemingly neglected was suddenly disconnected.

Busy was the signal which to this date we have failed to translate.  Could it be that our efforts are too late?  Could it be that the passerby no longer marvels the big blue marble?  Could it be that it was just a wrong number never to be redialed, never to be retransmitted, never to be regained because there was no answer on the other end.  Slowly plays the violin for we may never get that call again.

So we make a wish with a satellite dish to maybe catch what was said that silently echoes in our heads.  It's like a newspaper yet to be read and the death sentence is in not knowing what's in it.  To this date what I hate is the fact that we never called back.  What I hate is that we've never taken command of the narrowband which we clearly understand.  What I hate is that any talk of megahertz hurts because we did not scream at the chance to dance!  The missed opportunity hits me like an avalanche.

To this day it is clear that the big ear did hear something to endear.  Our hopes are yet to be depleted but the incident has never been repeated and I refuse to be defeated.  At twilight's gleaming my hopes are still beaming thanks to the hope of a radio telescope.  Forever I am hooked to forever look for the phone call that we all recall.  Surely I will sing if I should again hear it ring and somehow I will answer WOW.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When it is my mission to continue to listen to a phone that says we're not alone.

December 13^th, 2013

 

 



Essentially Sentient

Essentially Sentient

There is no gimmick and she's not a mimic.  She does what she does just because it's how she feels about things being real.  Seldom does she want to sit still.  Always she wants to explore for more.  It's like she walked through an open door only to find a universe to traverse.  Her gears never run in reverse.  She does not feel the necessity to carry a purse.

If she had her druthers she would seldom deal with others because people tend to be hard to discern to learn and she knows that relationships can burn.  Not that she's intimated that she's intimidated but she's aware to take care for love can be a snare with which to be ensnared.  In being clinical she'll call herself cynical but is more inclined to say that there's more to do than to be discovered to have been smothered up under the covers.

Her interest is in Mars and in staring at the stars.  To her there's more to see and there's more to be for to know is to grow and so she is to go with the flow of the glow of the rainbow.  Her philosophy is to travel at the speed of curiosity.  Constant is her needing for reading as if feeding.  She hungers for the commanding of understanding and her drive is most demanding.  She weeps if she has to go to sleep in fear of missing what is new to view.  Exploration is what she wants to do.

Appealing are her feelings though I wonder if she's aware that they're even there.  I don't know if she really cares.  She's grown to be on her own to roam.  Everywhere she is she's perfectly at home.  Articulate are her discussions and she analyzes the repercussions, making her writing enlightening.  She has a rhythm to her words never before heard.  It's almost as though she's a little song bird.  Wouldn't you know it that she's a poet.  She plants the seed of a thought with which to grow it.

Essentially she is sentient and in seeing such a human being I've become enamored by a beautiful work of art that has captivated my heart from the very start.  All you have to do is walk to her to talk to her and you will see such a beautiful bee whose vector is always pointed towards sweet nectar.  Be it as it may and be it as it were all I want to do is to be with her.  Such an empowered flower cherishes the sun and for her exploration is fun.  Of her species she's the only one that lives to see what gives.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When her patent pending became unending.

December 11^th, 2013

 

 



The Witting

The Witting

The witting is in the sitting to be blinking to be thinking.  It is in the predilection of self reflection to what's within without a doubt.  It is what the art of meditation is all about.

Placid is the lake that we make where droplets of water make the ripples shake only to become smooth as they move, only to dissipate as they evaporate, only to become clearer than a mirror as you bring it nearer.

The witting is in the hand of the mind that expands.  It is how to become the clay to mold to unfold into whatever shape we please to squeeze.  It is how to become a warm summer night's breeze to flow wherever we choose to go.  It is how to become the glow of a rainbow that shines bright in the night.  Beautiful is such a sight.

Majestic is the peak that we seek as we aspire to climb higher.  You shall not stop until you reach the mountaintop where the elevation is one of exhilaration.  Crystal clear is the view of you.  Crystal clear is the air at which you stare.  Crystal clear are the thoughts with which you are fraught.  Such peace will never cease.

The witting is in the knitting of a woven quilt that the mind has built.  Soft is the texture.  Colorful is the design.  Intricate is the delicacy of the detail that prevails filling the heart like a ship's sails.  You go where you want to go.  You do what you want to do.  You see what it is to be.  Your spirit is set free and in the soaring there is exploring.  Nothing you experience will ever be boring.

It is the shimmer of the glimmer of the river that flows from an ocean of emotions that ferries you to carry you into a destination of indiscriminant determination.  It is how you find what's on your mind as you unwind.  The compass goes wherever your wind blows and from port to bow you learn that there is no concern over whatever is from starboard to stern.  You yearn.  You learn.  You touch the sun but you do not burn.

Such is the wake of a crystal lake that is imprinted with smooth grooves that triple into ripples.  It is simple.  Peace has dimples.  The allure is pure.  Elegant is the presence of a divine peace of mind and it shouldn't be that hard to find.  All you have to do is unwind and so goes the witting in the sitting to be blinking to be thinking.  Embrace the alms of calm.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When there's a permanent lease on inner peace.

December 4^th, 2013

 

 



Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving for life, health, strength and the fact that we are able to smile for a little while.

Thanksgiving for who we were, who we are and for what we're to become to see to be.

Thanksgiving for the birds that without words sing on the wing.

Thanksgiving for the children who play all day only to sleep for the Lord to keep.

Thanksgiving for a summer never to be put asunder, a fall to recall and a winter to enter, leaving spring for the angels to sing.

Thanksgiving for a human race that has grown to want more than a nuclear war.

Thanksgiving for the dutiful mother who teaches her children to yearn to learn.

Thanksgiving for the preacher who is  a teacher who shows us the way to Yahweh.

Thanksgiving for a president who dares to care for all of us to have healthcare.

Thanksgiving for the dedicated doctor who is sure to help us endure with or without a cure.

Thanksgiving for those who stand behind us when others don't and won't.

Thanksgiving for the ingenuity and creativity that we have in all of our activities.

Thanksgiving for his only begotten son who did not stop until his good deeds were done.

Thanksgiving for the prudent student whose dedication is based on the predication of education.

Thanksgiving for the kinship of friendship where those around us help us to wipe away the tears of a frown so that we can smile for a little while.

Thanksgiving for another day that we are able to kneel down to pray and for the opportunity to hear what the Lord has to say.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When being thankful is something on which not to neglect to reflect.

November 29^th, 2013

 



Spok's Wife

Spok's Wife

Just because you've been methodical does not mean that you've been logical.  This court is steeped in confusion and your sense of justice is but an illusion and your politics is but an infusion of confusion.  You seek not proof and you seek not the truth.  Your singular goal is to find me filthy to be guilty and some of you have been paid to put on this charade but too many mistakes have been made and nothing short of  arrogance has been displayed.  So what I've said not once but more than twice is that I did not kill my wife with a knife.

Though swamped in an ocean of emotions I was there to feel her, not to kill her.  Our minds were as one when the deed was done and there was no sense for me to run and so what if you found a gun.  It was meant to have my fingerprints but that does not mean that  I did it and I'm not the one that hid it.  So it is my effort to be acquitted though found in a flood of blood.  This is like a Tholian web to which I've been wed, making it difficult for me to heave to breathe and which makes it even more difficult for me to be believed but why try to lie when it is obvious that I'm going to die?

It is with your last breath that you would sentence me to death but it is not because my wife is dead without a tear to be shed.  It is because she was Romulan and you still feel the jolt from such an insult.  You still feel that the reason is treason and you still feel that I've deplored to have ignored the Vulcan way of life and that it is good that I no longer have a wife.  This I say is the real knife that you use to cut me to gut me to rebut me.  Some of you were even amused at the news.  So here I stand the accused to be but a doomed bride's groom.  Never mind that there was someone else in the room.

Before I go I yell to tell you what I do know!  The Romulan senate was in on it.  Then there's the report sent to this court that we need to abort.  My wife and I were shunned because we were going to have a son, making it your sole goal to institute some kind of birth control so that only the pure would endure.  I have come to be labeled a sickness and you anointed yourself as the cure but you are the scourge that needs to be purged.  So this is why I will continue to fight with all of my might and this is why I will still marry her and this is why I will not let you bury her.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When love is one crime that you should commit to commit.

November 25^th, 2013

 



The Pickering Tree

The Pickering Tree

Everybody including me wants to get up under the pickering tree.  The belief is that if you catch a leaf you can make a wish and then what you want will rain down like Christmas.  None of us can get enough of this.  It's like having fun while being mischievous without being devious.

When the wind begins to blow we all know where to go for our hearts yell to tell us so!  It's like finding the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.  Perhaps only a leprechaun would be alarmed because it can replace any lucky charm.  It only grants wishes of pleasures to be treasured and will inflict no harm and from what I can see cats never get stuck in this tree.

You can even request a bird's nest with which to hear to endear sweet tweets.  You can even request the answers to a test only to yearn to learn to get the grades you earn.  You can even request to fly high in the dye of the sky only to sing on the wing as you soar to explore.  With this tree you can ask for nothing more.  Life is what you begin to adore.  The smell of roses you will never ignore.  You will find that living to be giving is what we are all here for.

It is rooted in all things good and helps us act as we should so I never have a problem knocking on wood.  What I've discerned to learn is that you cannot duck bad luck.  You make your own to do that which you pursue.  Ultimately we determine what we are going to do.  In brief the leaf is a symbol of belief where faith can defeat any wraith.  So soon you come to realize that the pickering tree comes to symbolize the fact that we are at large and in charge.  Our calling is like leaves falling.  The fun is in catching one.

I've come to recall every fall as we enter winter.  The leaves change to rearrange into beautiful colors and hues that captivate you.  In blustery weather they detach and so without a doubt we run out to catch a batch.  I once made a wish to kiss a fish only to come upon a mermaid that puts people in awe of what I saw to draw.  I've come to learn that warm hearts never thaw because loving souls never get cold.  That's why everybody including me wants to get up under the pickering tree.  Every witness has seen every day to be like Christmas.  So when you see the leaves fall catch one just for fun.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When I keep recalling beautiful leaves falling.

November 21^st, 2013

 

 



When It's Hot

When It's Hot

I like it when it's hot and the rain pours all over my whole soul.  It makes me feel so real that I can scarcely sit still.  There's a cleansing in the rinsing that I'm sensuously sensing.  How so I do not know but it makes my blood go like a  hot lava flow.

I like it when it's hot because the heat hits all the right spots that I've got.  My mind drifts and my body's no longer stiff.  It's like I've felt what it is to melt into a soothing oozing of my own choosing.  My wounds heal where there's been a bruising.  I rise like a vapor in a mist that I've kissed and all I want is more of this.

I like it when it's hot because I become fraught with warm thoughts that carry me away into the bliss of yesterday with no worry about tomorrow's sorrows.  I feel that I have more time that I can borrow and from what I can see this was meant to be.  It's like the heat I greet has become a part of me and from what I see this is what it means to be free.

I like it when it's hot because it evaporates all of the moans and groans from my ancient aching bones.  To be sure I've found the ultimate cure and all I have to do is absorb the refractive attractive ripples of waves that heal all that is ill.  It's like heat has some kind of sex appeal.  You don't have to talk to her because she communicates with as much as a touch and I thank her very much.

I like it when it's hot because I'm reminded of hot forget me nots.  It's when roses strike their poignant poses.  It's when the pretzel juxtaposes like a divine grape vine.  It's when the heart beats because it's replete with heat, never stopping in a rhythm that has its own sound with every pound.  I'm reminded that life is all around to be found.  Heat swipes to wipe away the tears of a clown.

I like it when it's hot for I was meant to lie over a heat vent.  The warm soft air pours over my whole soul.  It helps me sleep and it wraps me in a quilt that grandma built.  As I drift away into a land of bliss I will dream of Christmas.  There is no other place like this.  How so I do not know but it makes my blood go like a hot lava flow.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When being hot hits the spot.

November 20^th, 2013
 

 



Emma

Emma

At one time she couldn't walk.  At one time she couldn't talk.  They did nothing to please her and all they did was tease her.  They treated her like a disease that came in from a sneeze in a hot breeze.  She was treated like a void to avoid in that they thought there was nothing there but mangled hair.  When she cried they didn't care.  She lived in a world of deep despair.  There were no apples in her sauce and she was but a goose at which they used to gander.  Often her mind would just meander.

At one time she couldn't feed.  At one time she couldn't read.  They did nothing when her sores would bleed.  They laughed as if she were a gaffe and they even christened her their pet giraffe.  She was once admonished for breaking a carafe.  Never mind who was really drinking the wine.  Never mind what was poured on the floor.  Never mind that she had lost her mind and was simply crawling on the floor because it was what she was looking for.  She looked to be poor and they treated her as if she were rotten to the core.

At one time she couldn't sing.  At one time she couldn't sit on a swing.  They did nothing to help her do her own thing.  They loved taunting the invalid worm that could scarcely squirm.  Once they pinned to her a scarlet letter and even covered her with tar and feathers and then acted as if they didn't know any better.  They did not know that she wrote to God a letter in hopes that they would act a little better.  They did not know that though they tore a hole in her soul that it was filled with goodwill.  They did not know that sometimes she did smile if but for a little while.

At one time she couldn't think.  At one time she couldn't blink.  They would pinch her and then cinch her with a rope of jokes while not caring that it made her choke.  Sometimes all she could do was cry and sometimes all she wanted to do was die.  One day the holy spirit moved and she began to improve.  It was because she was pure that she was able to endure and she had such a delightful demure.  All they wanted to do was to grab her.  All they wanted to do was to stab her.

At one time she couldn't heave.  At one time she couldn't breathe.  They did not want her to live to see what gives but such a desert flower was empowered.  She flourished because she was nourished with courage.  The water from her tears rinsed away her fears and it cleansed the wounds inflicted by the spears of her peers.  There are now apples in her sauce and she is still the goose at which they gander.  She feels free as her mind meanders.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When the meek aren't necessarily weak.

November 18^th, 2013

 

 



Ballroom Gown

Ballroom Gown

I will never regret the day our eyes met.  She had on a ballroom gown that could remove any frown.  She had a refined mind that had the taste of wine.  She was a soul that strolled.  There was elegance in her presence.  She proceeded unimpeded to whatever whim with which she chose to swim.  About her swells tales of dragon tails, merry fairies and a prince she's about to marry.  She was but a blossomed cheery.  Sweet songs sang the canary.

She was poised for noise and yet silent in thought.  I found myself staring at her and I didn't care if I got caught.  She saw me too and then we both knew that there was an ambiance and a chance for a dance and perhaps a chance for romance.  Her beauty hit me like an avalanche and I was glad to have been bowled over to have been rolled over by such a boulder.  I came to know that she was like snow.  She was a pristine queen that I had never before seen.   She was a picture whose thousand words did not have to be spoken to be heard and I listened as she glistened.

If I could and I should I reach for the Big Dipper to fashion it into a glass slipper just for her to wear, just for her to be there and just for others to stare.  Lovely is her hair.  Crisp is the night air.  She's like an effervescent moon that makes me swoon.  Now I know why the peacock croons.  Now I know why the eagle flies high in the sky and now I know to whom I must go.  In a blur it is her.  She is why my heart has begun to purr.  She is why the world swirls.  She is why there are beautiful pearls.  She is why doves cry and she is why I must give love a try.

She's like a lovely stream that flows down into my dreams.  She makes my jagged edges smooth and she makes steady my turbulent eddies.  In her I have seen what is serene.  If only I could have her for my queen.  Surely such a princess would think me to be possessed.  It's all I can do not to make things a mess.  It's all I can do to look at such a beautiful dress and wonder how she found such a beautiful gown.  Does she know that she can reverse any frown?  Does she know why I bashfully stand around?  Does she know what a diamond I've found?

I will never regret the day our eyes met.  I will never regret the day she found that gown.  I will never regret the day the sunset, not when the night was so bright with such a beautiful sight.  She is by far the brightest star, the shiniest pearl and the merriest of any blossomed cheery.  She is the one that I'm going to marry and sweet songs sings the canary,

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When the chance to dance is all about romance.

November 15^th, 2013

 

 



The Perfect Eclipse

The Perfect Eclipse

I think it's divine how she shines.  It's not just her hips.  It's not just her lips.  It's just that she makes for the perfect eclipse.  She blocks out the sun just for fun just so that I can perhaps see it to be it.  She has a coronal view that will enrapture you.  She is a sight to see that will set your mind free.  It is something special that she does to me.

Hypnotic is such a narcotic that spreads bliss with a kiss.  It's like she will grant you your every wish.  She makes for my favorite dish.  I love to taste her face.  She just walks right into my crawlspace.  She is meant to be of a tint so as to paint a star just so you can see where you are.  Some think of her as a dragon that has eaten the disc.  Such is the mistress of mischief who loves to play all day.  She turns out the light so as to brighten the night.  In full view she will swoon you to moon you.

I don't care as I stare at the glare.  All I want to know is that she's there.  She provides for a crispness in the air that I heave to breathe.  She's like an undercover lover that's slipped up under the covers.  She provides for a solar ballet that needs no  improvement in its movement.  She can make you feel that time stands still.  She has a dazzling sex appeal.  When you see her you will wonder if she's real.  She's like a goddess who makes you want to kneel but you don't pray to her.  You stay with her for in the greeting of the meeting you come to know that her presence is fleeting.  Do you feel your heart beating?

Understand to admire her while you can for the shadow of the moon will leave soon.  Melodic is the tune of her galactic dance.  She puts me in a trance.  Every time I see her it's the start of a romance.  To kiss her is to miss her.  When she leaves you will not shun the sun.  You become enlightened as the day again brightens.  Your memory of her will never decay.  She has an aurora that will never go away.  Her lasting impression chases away depression and if she could she would make you always feel good.  She's the sight to see that  makes me full of glee.

I think it's divine how she shines.  She's the reason why I'm able to see.  She's the reason my heart's been seasoned with a kiss always to be reminisced.  She's the reason for a Christmas season.  It's all there in the glare of her stare in which I'm reminded of the colors of her hair.  She is my personal solar flare.  Crisp is the air.  She is why my mind is free.  She is the perfect eclipse to see.  It is something special that she does to me.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When in the darkness there is light, making for a beautiful sight.

November 9^th, 2013

 

 



On Time

On Time

One concept that in and of itself has always persisted to have existed is time.  Before no other it always has and always will be.  It in itself is infinity.  It is the eternal concept in which all things are, have been and will be.  It is not something to be created.  It is there whether or not you are aware.  There will always be time to spare.  It's just a matter of how long you can live to see what gives.

Scientists say that its soul can be controlled by a black hole.  They do not see that this cannot be.  It has no fabric to etch to stretch.  It does not stop because the hands on a clock no longer move in a groove.  It is a characteristic.  It is the ultimate actor who is universal without rehearsal.  It does not speed up and it does not slow down and it is not like a wristwatch that needs to be rewound and it is not like a trinket that has been lost never to be found.  It's always around.

Time is a divine pantomime that does not move backward and it does not move forward.  It is the unchanging variable no matter what event occurs when it occurs or how it occurs to change to rearrange.  It's like a pocket that never has loose change.  There is no traveling back in time for it is only present in tense momentarily with which to move into what was the future.  The past is but a photograph in which to look in an old dusty book.  There is no paradox with which to meet to greet yourself when you were here because you are no longer there.  The rock has skipped across the water.  The sun has set.  What you have to look forward to is what hasn't happened yet.

Time can exist without space.  It doesn't occupy any of it.  There is no jar to put it in to every scientists' chagrin.  When you measure it you're actually measuring a concept with which to provide yourself a frame of reference with which to do what you can before you kick the can.  Without a sun how many hours are in a day?  Does this question hold you in dismay?  How long does it take for a tooth to decay?  How was the universe built this way?

All's well that ends well and only time will tell the tale.  It is universal without rehearsal.  It is the first concept and the only one that will never be undone.  What truly ticks is only the device that attempts to measure it.  There is nothing that it is composed of for it to be disposed of.  It is a characteristic that has always persisted to have existed.  There is plenty to spare because it its always there.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When there is one thing you will never see that will always be.

November 3^rd, 2013

 

 



Poised for Noise

Poised for Noise

We stand poised for noised so let the trumpets play all day!  We don't care about what the player haters have to say.  We've taken our future and molded it into clay.  The sculpture is art that's based on what's in our heart.  So what if the brave misbehave.  That's what we do in spite of you.  We live to make it not to fake it.  We see the brass ring and we are determined to take it!

We move to improve.  Feel the groove!  It's the rhythm within us that makes us sway each and every day in the knowing that everything's going to be okay.  We understand that we do not live in a fantasy land.  That's why we prepare when and where we can.  When there's trouble we take a stand!  Ours is but under the lid of the pyramid.  It is why we will continue to build.  It is why we will not yield.   We are all empowered flowers.  Those who wither shun the sun.  For us the task at hand is never done and who said we cannot have any fun?

Though we are humble that doesn't mean that we are going to mumble.  We shout into the wind that we are going to win!  It's how every endeavor should begin.  We strive for every star no matter how far!  That's not to say that we are not seasoned with reason but we look to rise to each and every occasion.  Even if we fail we shall excel!  We shall learn as we burn with which to fly high in the dye of the sky.  Why not give it a try?  If you want a piece of the pie then make it to bake it and then take it!  You are what you do.  You are what you pursue.  Victory becomes you!

Stand upon the precipice, look to the horizon and aspire to aim higher!  Make the naysayers into liars.  Don't just talk the talk!  Walk the walk and try until you die.  Continue with the venue that dwells to swell within you.  It all starts with a fire heart!  It all starts with a spark that lights up the dark!  It all starts with a destination of determination.  All you have to do is pursue it.  If there's a wall then walk straight through it.  Don't be persuaded to be dissuaded.  Win and be elated!  Let the negatives be negated.

We stand poised for noise so let the trumpets triumphantly play all day!  We're not waiting to be discovered!  We've got a pyramid to build and through our efforts we will never yield!  We will either live or we will be killed.  In the meantime we do that which we pursue.  The world is what we make it and it's time to take it.  So loudly we sing as we dare to wear the brass ring!

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When we take a stand to take command!

July 4^th, 2013

 

 



Banging on that Old Piano

Banging on that Old Piano

He never whines.  He just gets angry sometimes.  Sometimes he just sits to sip wine.  He never opines.  Sometimes he goes out to dine though he seems to never eat.  Often he just sits and taps his feet.  Finally when he explodes à la mode he gets to banging on that old piano that y'all recall is down the hall.

Angry are the keys.  Hot is the summer night's breeze.  There seems to be nothing else that will set him at ease.  He has a heart that's hard to please.  That's because it's been so marred and so deeply scarred.  Life for him has been treacherous and hard but he does not strain to complain.  Often he just takes walks in the rain.  He's probably the only one that isn't insane.

Odd jobs on even days often put nothing in his pockets but an odd wrench or maybe even a rusty  socket.  Sometimes he dreams of riding a rocket and he doesn't want to know where it's going to go.  Just as long as it's away from the strife of life.  The other day someone tried to stab him with a knife.  Without it being suggested he was the one that was arrested.  Without bail he sat in jail and when he got out he didn't rant, chant or shout!  It's his way not to have much to say.

Some say he's just guilty of being filthy.  Actually on its face this is not the case.  His clothes are just torn from being worn.  He doesn't dress to impress.  The piano is his empress.  In a blur he spends his money on her.  It's to keep her tuned.  It's to keep her clean.  It's to keep her glistening so that we keep right on listening.  Sometimes he just bangs away.  He seems to get the tunes just right in the middle of the night, particularly when he's just been in a fight.  You can tell that he plays with all of his might and you can bet that he puts up a sweat.  It's a wonder that he hasn't been discovered yet.

One day he played all day.  It was as though things were perfectly okay!  He was even gleaned to have been clean and word was heard that he could sing.  Never was this often and mostly he remained in his coffin.  Mostly he was a furnace in which burned an urn.  Slow did he grow to glow and more than slightly did he shine brightly.  Never was he a mellow fellow.  Often he seemed to walk in a deep dark meadow and that's when he would get to banging on that old piano that y'all recall is down the hall.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When in a hot summer breeze you could hear him banging on these keys.

October 25^th, 2013