Porthole

Music... Peaceful open highway... kindness

For "Space Blog"  a mini review of "Emerald Pixies Playing With Music"   [E] by Lou-Here By His Grace .

Prompt: Write your views about this poem.

I love the imagery of the title but I have difficulty hearing the music of the text. I can't feel a rhythm; it was no rhyme. It reads like prose which is fine if this were a ballad or set to music but on the page it offers me nothing. (Is there some meter I'm missing?) Words like 'tiny' and 'particularly' intrude as more than one descriptive does not work well. If this is for someone... yes, I know an Ida Mae... then it serves it's purpose but as poetry it somehow fails. It could be a 4.2 but as is? A 2.8.

My Dew Drop poem:

Passing through

The spider in its web,
the pig in its sty.
Is it tears I shed now
or an infection in my eye.

KE DD#23 [177.278u] (23.novembre.2020)

For "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS"  I told WakeUpAndLive re 'peace'

I use to love to drive down the open highway. I immediately think of Kansas dirt roads and corn and meadowlarks. Very peaceful. The rapeseed fields of Latvia and Lithuania reminded me of that.

Even a trip on a train or bus can feel peaceful to me (as long as I don't have to pay too much attention about getting off. Last stop = best).

But me and my old Pontiac when I was young = heaven.

A response to Gabogame3 re being smart:

"I would suggest kindness is more important than smart. A good heart makes life worth living. Intellect can get in the way.

Which is not to say that intellectuals aren't needed. I'm pro-science and somewhat skeptical about many things, but I have a moral compass that helps me choose how to live my personal life.

I mostly write poetry and flash fiction. I only have a few words to paint a picture that hopefully evokes some emotion. If not... I'm better off writing an essay. I do rant away at times.

Unless you live in a multi-cultural city with friends from many diverse backgrounds different and similar to your own ... it becomes far too easy to live in one's head without any real outside experience (baling hay, fixing a car, nursing, climbing ... anything tactile can help). One can study the great philosophers sitting on a mountaintop, but if you want to eat it helps to know the way down into town and how to ask for food.

Unlike many of my friends, I went to school in another city, then another state, then another country. I travel ... a lot. I've lived in rural areas and in the inner city. Each place taught me something. I would suggest to all teenagers that they need to get out of their comfort zone.

I'm old enough to be your grandfather. Doesn't make me smarter though! (I wish... ) As for wiser? But I have experienced cultures and languages, different perspectives, (and have eaten far too much!).

So... I suggest kindness. Everywhere I've gone I've met kind people and the quote "I can always depend upon the kindness of strangers" is more true than not."

I commented to 🌻 pwheeler ~ love joy peace

"Oldage... like baggage... "in our oldage we lose our baggage." I think 'oldage' should be a word.

Some of the most important travels are short. Like walking down the street to greet an older person, a child or a dog or to only say thank-you to a flower that bloomed that day just for you. The longest journey for some is from their head to their heart. "

Like baggage too heavy to carry, oldage must be sloughed and left at the side of the road we wend—to rot. Light-hearted we continue our voyage past the suns.

Space Cadet Stardate 4157 160

Scarlett flies by, turns around then settles across from me. Her ruby eyes dance like pixies, I think..

"More like water sprites," she squeaks. She flutters her wings in a hum. "Yes, I can see your thoughts."

"How..."

"So many sentients with so many senses. I have to learn to speak slow in standard. Do you know why you startled me yesterday?"

My ears shake as if to say no.

"I was speaking in my own voice. No one else has ever heard me before you."

I think about that. Maybe the implants are over-working, but... I usually know the difference. And what about Cook. Does he hear her too? But Cook, I ask.

"Cook can't hear me. He's almost deaf you know."

No. I didn't know.

"He hears and sees thoughts much like me. His people and my people are distant relatives. We have wings. They don't. Our children don't have wings until the change occurs. His specie matures without changing forms."

Ah...

"No, not like that. And those implants that no one knows about? That's not why you understood me. You're a rare beast Four Ears. Your empathy grows by the years. Your curiosity and observation is already noted by many who respect you in awe or fear."

Can all members of your specie read thoughts?

Again her eyes whirl in rainbows and dance with ruby flames. She's amused.

"No. They wish they could. They can read some obvious thoughts. Most are Engineers or Maintenance; a couple are Navigators. Our brains may look small but they analize at speeds that outrun this cruise-ship that calls itself call Home. A thousand of us could run the entire show." Now her eyes glow scarlet and vermillion. "But we're fragile. Just a brain darting here and there on gossamer wings."

But you?

"I'm a Xeno just like you. You observe keenly. You take notes and make observations that Home cannot, going places and speaking to sentients that Home cannot. That's why you're here."

And you?

"I'm a messenger. Nothing more and nothing less. And you have 4 twiching ears. Nothing more, nothing less."

I hear a high pitched note. Scarlett squeaks one word, "later," and takes off.

Sheima looks up from where she sits. "Why is she in such a hurry? And why have you been so quiet? It's not like you. Feeling ill?"

And I realize I haven't uttered a word. So I smile at Sheima, "Just lost in thoughts," as a steaming plate of 'something' magically appears before me.

"Cook said that you are to eat this 'to calm your unsettled thoughts'. His words not mine."

And now I know one of Cook's secrets.

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