On Bodies and Motion

On Bodies and Motion.  (c)2013 John Meisel

(Best read aloud to catch the rhythm.)

We are exterior designers, master-minders

Carving the shapes we need to live

We garment ourselves in cement and steel

Modeling cards on fashion roads

And our buildings are bodies with hallways and lobbies

Sheltering us from heat and cold

Athletic like actors, they stand and reflect

The will of the author who dwells within

Bicycle, sports-car, train and the bus system

Bionic renditions of foot and leg

Computers crunch numbers much faster than fingers

Telescopes rocket eyes fast as light

When traveling at light speed, there’s time to relax

Hands are now freed from sitckshift and wheel

To rest upon silent lips pouring forth worlds

Or float like a leaf on a river of mind

We stand in the middle of atom and all

Scraping the sky with pebbles so small

Intense whorls of eddies alongside a stream

Business class flights over oceans of dreams

With miles of tables and acres of charts

The dancer still bows in the places where he starts.

Mother's Day Girl

Mother’s Day Girl

For My Momma, (as interpreted by her Dad)

on your first Mother’s Day 2008

(C)2013 John Meisel

You were my carrier and my universe for 9 months

I recognized you the moment we saw eye to eye

You are warm galaxies of milk and cool baths

You keep my tush smooth and dry

You are my bigger self, with me most all the time

You are my anchor in life, my safety line

Your hands keep me from falling and hug me when I do sometimes

You fingers bring me taste and nourishment

Your breast is my bedroom and my kitchen

You watch Sesame Street even when I’ve crawled off to explore

You listen to songs and read me stories over and over

And make them fresh each time

You love me, you love my daddy

You bring me to dogs and show me birds and let me know geckos and fish

You show me sunsets and moonrises and wind on my face

You float me in water and I thank you with splashes

You bring me family and playmates and cousins

Sweep my mouth when I choke and suck out my nose

You teach me to wave goodbye when daddy goes to work

And let me watch him drive off

I am just discovering who I am and who you are

I don’t even know what comes next and that you are making it up as you go

But I love you and feel good with you in my home

And hope I’m the Mother’s Day girl you wished for.

My Three Piece Kayak

My Three-piece Kayak

(c)2013 John Meisel, Hamilton, NY

(a little strange, ?a little Zen)

The ineffable.

A bubble, going for a H U G E one…right before it breaks. Right then.

Or the size where ponds turn into lakes.

When you sneeze saying “achoo”, but between the two.

A movie projector lens skimming in and out of FOCUSED

Maybe a mosquito has just struck “ah well”

Living in this city-rush in this three-piece kayak,

And finding it’s not all the bad. There are those moments

When you’re waiting in line, or in the waiting room for the doctor

Or maybe lunch on a park bench is just over, an oily brown wrapper with crumbs and bits…lie in lap..take a last…”ahh of air”…hands on thighs…halved by slap…corner lifts…up in a…gentle wave…as if it…motions to…the paper

What was that?

“,” “?” “ ” “!” “!!!” “!?”

“

Airborne

Airborne, (c)2013 John Meisel

(Thoughts about our behavior in the company of strangers, sometimes.)

I

I heard the sleeping noises of a contained crowd.

A living, breathing warm body in side a cold, hard shell.

A thin barrier protecting its precious contents as

The entire mass streaked through a forbidden world,

A place of wispy vapors and air thin, like the finest silk veil,

Or death shroud. Black, deep and also very quiet.

The sleeping noises of a contained planet,

A living, breathing, warm body.

II

She was sitting with her hands on her lap

Resting easily, finger supporting a weary head with

Pillow and cloud.

Dark eyes, tan lids closed against the night

Peering once and then, shutting again, securely satisfied.

A sighing sleeper rolls to one side and then the other.

The instrument panel winks away innocently

Like the far-away stars.

III

She was quiet and smiled shyly as I sat down.

He, with his head turned looked to the left and the right

And under the seat, at an ashtray, pocket folds, a

Crooked seat cover.

As schedule dictates, some stressed-out air traffic controller

Directed flights, orchestrated family freighters overseas,

Down runways, turning jerkily, never lifting to the sky.

Born to fly,

But why…

Handbook for springtime

Handbook for Springtime,  (c)2013 John Meisel

To climb a tree, and hang upside-down from a sturdy branch

Look at the world from a different point of view

Swing back and forth over the leafy ground

Feel the fragrant air blow through your hair

And over your liberated skin

To run though a meadow of long thick grass that’s never been cut

Thousands of tiny flowers clustered in some

Pointalistic painting of the season

Breathe their scent as though they never meant

To be seen among the leaves, just smelt.

To jump in a lake from off a rope tied to a willow tree

Arc through the splash of your friend who has already

Plunged into the cold water and is

Halfway down to the muddy ground to

Scoop up a handful of proof

Out in the rain, shouting and singing at the top of your voice

Running through puddles reflecting the stormy skies

Turning cartwheel after cartwheel between the drops

The pure taste on your tongue with the mist from your lungs

All washing the lack of the sun away.

Swaying in the moonlight, so silvery bright

Under the stars, the jewels of the night

Sleeping and dreaming visions of eternity

While the universe imagines some eventual serenity.