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

 

 



Moon Theory

Moon Theory

He put on display that what our progenitors had to say was all encoded in our DNA.  The counsel shouted him out with aspersions and doubts!  They claimed that he didn't know what he was talking about.  They said one would have to be out of their head to believe what he had read and that he should be ashamed of what he had said.  So instead of them being astonished he found himself to be admonished.  Without decorum he was escorted out of the forum.

It was how such politics ticked and they even labeled him a lunatic. They were weary of his moon theory.  They did not want to accept that his insight might be right.  They stood opposed to what he proposed because it could explain the petals on every rose.  They laughed at the math that could explain a giraffe.  They claimed that he had drank too much from the carafe. They booed him off of the stage when he said it was possible not to age.  For him his mind had been released from a cage and now he could see what could be where every possibility stretched into infinity.

Though they claimed him to be a lie he did not cry.  Instead he continued to try.  He continued to explore for more and from what he saw there was a cure for the poor and a cure for war.  He took what he knew and he drew.  He refined his designs and improved his mind.  He came to understand that man could expand.  Ideas were like grains of sand.  Though against his ideas they fought he traveled at the speed of thought.  His philosophy traveled at such a velocity that he could exceed light speed.  Time was but a sublime chime whose tone could be owned.  All the little children needed was to be shown.

So they let the fool teach in school.  The counsel turned out to be the clown with a frown.  Every blossom blossomed.  What the children knew grew.  Being smart became an art.  Where it was dark there was a bright spark.  Unleashed upon the world was exponential potential.  The secrets in our DNA had paved the way.  The counsel was in dismay and scurried about in disarray.  Some members knelt down to pray and of course they had nothing to say.  They were no longer able to keep the moon theory at bay.  It astonished them that he did not admonish them.  He did not shout them out with aspersions and doubts!  He ran the forum with decorum.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When to believe is to achieve.

October 20^th, 2013

 



Staring at the Sun

Staring at the Sun

I've been staring at the sun just for fun.  It's what you do when life sits next to you.  It's the very best way to get it in full view.  To see is to be is to be set free so I dare to stare at the glare to see what goes there.  What I've found is that she has crisp gold shiny hair.  What I've found is that her face is round.  What I've found is that she's fun to have around.

Wherever I go she provides a glow.  It's like she loves to put on a show.  It's like  she likes to brightly glisten and when she talks I love to attentively listen.  To see her is my bright shining mission.  She lets me kiss her without permission.  My eyes are always wet when beset with such a beautiful sunset.  I have no regrets because the day isn't over yet.  Constantly I set my eyes upon the horizon in wait of rising surprises.

I love the dawn because it takes me beyond the sea of infinity.  It's her way of bringing on the new day.  It's her way of saying that everything's going  to be okay.  It's her way of chasing away the eclipse with her lips that kiss me to let me know that she missed me.  Her sunspots are but befreckled freckles of an unblemished face that etches and stretches through time and space.  She takes me to another place.  She is why I stare.  She is why I want to be there.  She is why I stand transfixed to a star that's not too far.  She is near.  She is here.  She is who I will always endear.  Cupid was accurate with his spear.

I love it when she whispers in my ear.  It is her solar winds that I hear.  They sound like violins whose strings melodically sing.  Her sunshine is divine and I will always want her to be mine.  She is so easy to find.  She wears the clouds as a shroud and when I see this I sing out loud.  She is proud and does not have a meek cheek.  She is the implosion of an explosion that warms my whole soul.  We are of a fate where our love will never evaporate.  I raise my chalice to the Aurora Borealis for this is her glow to let me know that she will be with me wherever I go.  My heart yells to tell me so!

I've been staring at the sun just for fun and I will not be finished until I'm done.  It's how I see into the sea of infinity.  It's how I feel real.  It's how I feel free.  It's how things have come to be that in a blur it's all about her.  So I don't care that I stare at the glare.  It's how I glimpse her crisp gold shiny hair.  I think we make for a beautiful pair.  We shall not part even if it's dark.  I've been eclipsed by her lips, providing for a kiss to reminisce.  All I want to do is keep her in full view.  I love how she glistens off of the morning dew.  Every sunrise is a pleasant surprise.  If you wish to see just look into my eyes.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When my fun has begun with the staring at the sun.

October 16^th, 2013

 

 



The Pearl Diver

The Pearl Diver

The pearl diver didn't consider himself a survivor.  He dived into the abyss because of the bliss.  He would do anything for this.  It wasn't a matter of death and it wasn't a matter of holding his breath.  It was like when he touched the bottom of the sea he could truly see.  It was the only place he wanted to be.  It was like he was meant to go on every descent.  It was like he could push himself to the greatest extent.

Some pearl divers would try.  Some pearl divers would die and some pearl divers would ask why.  He did it because he was committed.  It was a calling.  It was like the autumn leaves were gently falling.  It was like a gentle dream that he kept recalling.  Some would say he could make the mermaids come out to play.  Some would say it was because he was ill and that he had souls to still.  Some would say that we needed to understand that he wasn't a man and that he was simply a shark that had a taste for the dark.  What they didn't know is that the water lit within him  a spark.

Nothing could douse the flames.  For him diving wasn't a game.  He swam with aim with which to see into infinity with which to find serenity.  It was a place that could not be touched by his enemies.  It was as though he had been kissed by a starfish.  Forever he would feel surreal in a peace that would never cease.  It wasn't a trick and it was interesting that he never got sick.  He raced to greet the morning sun. It wasn't a day of work.  It was a day of fun.  No widow would ever weep for his soul to keep because he lived to see what gives.  Time stood still.  It waited unabated for him to explore the sea floor only to ascend again with a wide open grin.  He  had a power that dwelled to have swelled from deep within.

Before diving some would stare, some would mentally prepare and still others would just despair.  He really didn't care.  For him water was just like breathing air.  All he knew is that he wanted to get there.  It was like he belonged to the whale's song.  It was a melody without malady or tragedy.  It was a sublime rhyme sang in the key of a wishful blissful paradigm, making for a divine pantomime. For the pearl diver this is his chance to dance.  This is his wish to kiss the starfish.  This is his wish to touch the abyss.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When the sea becomes a part of me.

October 13^th, 2013

Silent are the Apes

Silent are the Apes

Throughout the ages the sages have learned that man has grown in stages.  Evolution has been alliterative to be iterative.  We have on numerous occasions garnered a start only to come to an end again and again.  With each time that we have arisen from the primordial ooze it has taken less time to get to where we were with which to yearn to learn to explore for more.  In some instances we conquered disease and in others we have even conquered war.  We have even taken care of our poor.

Always there is the desire to rule a mighty empire.  Eternally it is how politics ticks to click with the chimes of time.  There was one election born out of natural selection where the loser brought it upon himself to be the chooser.  He announced to the winner that he would be vanquished into an eternal winter.  All who mused the news thought it to be pathetic for the loser to threaten the winner with genetics.  All thought the threat to be but a pathetic prosthetic for one who could not bear the cost of his loss.  All thought it was just because he wanted to be the boss.

So it came to be what we iteratively now see where time seems to have faded the jaded long since a lid was placed upon a pyramid.  So what do you do when you go to the zoo?  You walk to talk to the ape in the cage but he is silent.  What was done to him was violent.  The loser genetically manipulated the winner's family tree.  All the memories are there if you dare to stare.  He has become the rightful heir of despair.  He cannot yell to tell the tale for the loser has grabbed him by the tail!

The winner lives an eternal winter where he is born again and again as an ape that cannot escape an iterative fate.  No scientist has seen that the speech center has been wiped clean.  No one has a clue that it could be me or you in that zoo.  So the primate is but an inmate who awaits the date when man again meets his fate.  The hope is for an ending with which to bring about a new beginning where we can genetically unlock the key to see with which to set him free.

For now he will be the only one with the knowhow but with no way to pursue it to do it with which to again stand as a man who is in command. He is unable to speak  and he is unable to make us understand.  All he can do is sit in that zoo.  Have you ever noticed how he stares at you?  One day he will again explore.  One day there will again be war.  One day blood will again pour.  Eternally it is how politics ticks to click with the chimes of time.  It is how in the end he plans to win again and again.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When someday it will have something to say.

October 7^th, 2013

 



Queen's, Knight's Pawn

Queen's, Knight's Pawn

She doesn't have to debate you or hate you to checkmate you.  It's not an act.  It's how she reacts to an attack, particularly when stabbed in the back.  For her trust is a bust. There are too many liars and too many town criers that spread words never heard just to entice the mice that gobble down any news to muse.  Some say that she has a short fuse.  Reality is what she has to muse to discern or she will burn.  It is something that many dead leaders have not learned. Her enemies are to be spurned.

She doesn't think twice about being nice for there are too many villains in the village who are ready to rape and pillage.  She has no time to wine and dine.  She must be diligent.  She must be vigilant.  Even her friends will do her in and those who want her the most attempt to stay close.  Even to her own dismay she finds herself drifting away with the thoughts with which she is fraught.  There are two too many wars that she has fought.  There are two too many battles with which she's been saddled and there are two too many knights that are ready to fight with which to feel her to kill her.

Some say that a woman so smart has to be involved with dark art.  They say that she has a smell that can cast a spell.  They say the she has a tail sewn from the demons of hell.  They don't know that it's her people that she doesn't want to neglect.  They don't know that she has a feel for the battlefield and will not yield.  They don't know that she studies the border to maintain order.  This is why she is never bored.  She always studies the chess board.  She prepares for the slaughter brought on by angry marauders with which to stop them in their tracks with every attack.  Her movements tend to be exact.  She has learned to watch her back.

The enemy often yawns when it sees the pawn, laughing at the gaffe, ridiculing the duel and thinking the queen to be a fool.  Like a magician she gets them out of position.  It's hard to kill what you cannot see and it's hard to retreat when there's nowhere to flee.  Never is she tender when it comes to their surrender.  It's because of the queen's, knight's pawn that she uses without debate to checkmate hate.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When she's fraught with the thought of wars yet to be fought.

Dedicated to Willie E. Loftin

October 1^st, 2013