The Winds Of Change

The Winds Of Change

Normally out of the West
Prevailing winds will attest 
To the slow common pace
Of a day's life long face.

When air's altered, as in a storm,
Cold rejects it becoming warm
Beginning a gradient's instruction
To swirl which sweeps destruction.

Have you seen the wind in human form ?
Comes common from the West at morn,
A person pleasant, cool, but quite firm,
Thoughtful, intelligent, prone to learn.

Contrasted with the badgering bully
Swirling with intemperance so fully
Self centered, lacking any tolerance,
Storm within a storm's dire consequence.

The Earth is under environmental change
From vast oceans to our Western range.
As a blanket is to a young baby's warm bed
Atmosphere's like a hat on Earth's chilled head.

Seven generations, Native Americans thought long,
Honored the Earth with drumming as well as song.
Their's was not all about exponential excesses
Demanding everywhere to have universal accesses.

Left to their our own devises, both brute and timid,
They must dance to song and beat made ever lucid
By the wind and by the rain in wild gale like storms.
Man, not being master of the Universe, God forms.

Ronald C. Downie

Beyond The Senses

Beyond The Senses

Clambering for acceptance,
Mediocrity cast, bogged down,
Not understanding why I am
So serious while the World
Wallers in its superficiality.

Is my life a drama or a dirge ?
Can I accept universal song ?
May I see nirvana in the arts ?
Will I, the painter's eye, perceive ?
Is this me or is it a mirror of me ?

Ankles swelled, strong hands shriveled,
Eyes sight hindered clouded with tears,
More gum, not white what's left in tact,
Like Spanish Moss grey, less head hair,
Dropped chest rests like a flat tire,
Hobbling's more than a pain in the ass.

No longer pungent are tasteful smells. 
Where did my fine feeling fingers fly ?
Horizons, once sharp, bleed as if in mist.
Guttural rumblings mute my Earth's Song,
Flavors of a bountiful table have escaped.
Pre-eternity lives as an indomitable spirit.

Value an acceptance of yourself
Within the boundaries that society
Permits you of being a roll model. 
Be yourself, not that method actor
Slipping on and off center stage.
With issues grapple, set your goals.

Ronald C. Downie

Facebook Overload

Facebook Overload

Worn out, I find myself worn out from too, too much Facebook. Some responders - I was guilty of what I'm claiming others are doing now - post incessantly taking up pages of posts which now turn me off just like political advertisers do this time of the year. The overload is quite apparent with only a cursory look at the page. Look for yourself, tell me what you see. 

I think Facebook is defined as "social media", if so, I've dropped clean off the modern social calendar. I've lost my mojo, don't have a camera, don't know how to repost effectively, yes ! the muse has gone away. I've dropped out so those with more important things to tell or show you aren't interfered with. Be careful, over exposure may affect you also. 

A Cry From Mid-Space

A Cry From Mid-Space 

God damned you, Dreams, 
whore no more to me, 
release me to covet grayness 
bleating from a sullen sky.

Don't show me violets pure
nor roses gay that cry
my inter soul awake.

No !  I must not think free !

Chain my mind, 
please stem that emotion swell
within this hide,
so I do not hope in vain.

In image of his maker 
man can train as oxen yoked 
to circle round the well.

I can not define mid-space 
where dreamers dwell,
so far sight a scene
then slowly squint it into
mental pictures,
like a frosted pane looked through.

Is it real ? Is it heaven ? 
Is it, well is it, hell ?

Hell must be theater
for a lost dreamer's soul.

Not in dance around soothing 
flames and crackling sounds
that flows the senses' veins ;
but of grey ash mounds 
staged of choking soot
awaiting to fill a dreamer's hole.

Accept the young, 
they have not traversed the gorge 
left by dreamers old 
whose torrent thoughts erode.

Fill the young with placid manna 
lest they explode with alien notions,
thinking they're their own Saint George. 

Dreams - damn you !  
Lay not your head 
on my breast this day.

Free me, so I may see 
what our Nation antes up.

Those dull, brow bent 
cast of actors who hold the cup,
that keeps America hostage 
and wastes a dreamer's play.

Ronald C . Downie    

Three Treasures

Three Treasures

Break the mold
Burn the prints
Uncork the bottle
Speed the Genie gone .

Not of, but in this World,
Eye sight sharpens
Finds Nature's way
Quietly seeking silence .

Even though Nature does nothing
Nothing is left undone .
Enough becomes enough
Everything in it's own time .

Yin and Yang, the Te,
Into a family of oneness,
The practice of eternal light
Seeing small, listening more .

Keep needs to a minimum,
Wants to all but nil, for
Within each, a Universe exists
Where no storm lasts forever .

Flow as a water course
Which seeks her own level
Softly cutting it's own way
Unequaled in strength .

Surface your sixth sense :
To see, to hear, to smell,
To feel, and to taste are
Just not enough to liberate .

Cherish "three treasures":
"Courage" gained through "mercy",
"Generosity" found in "frugality",
"Leadership" developed from "humility".

Build life one brick at a time .
With a single step each journey begins .
Originating from a single source,
Existence ultimately depends on Love .

Instead of calendar pages
A slash joining four strokes .
Non-being, being, back to non-being
As the bell begins it's final toll .

       Ronald C. Downie
   -After studying The Tao-  
Erica at arriving at 21 years

Green Is Spring

Green Is Spring

Looking west from my front porch
Into my neighborhood, see
Spring's green in all its glory
When yellow hues mix with blue's.

Daffodils, forsythia,
The ascending morning sun, 
Tulips and crocus burst forth
With the yellow pigment sought.

Do blue hyacinths join with
Blue lilacs and heaven's sky
To supply those pigments sought?
Green dominates my eyes' sight.

Gone again the sterile bleak
Of late winter's browns and grays
Which blankets below cold snow
And buds ready to burst forth.

Awash in green leaves tall trees
Grow straight up out of green grass.
The dominant color is green
Announcing Spring's arrival. 

Ronald C. Downie

The Gruber Legacy

The Gruber Legacy

When Edgewood wakes from winter's sleep
Her green grass growth measures ankle deep .
It is Spring, April is the queen of color's ball,
With lovely growing displays enjoyed by all .

Quick suck of air heaves out the chest
Accepting "uums" escapes with breath,
Atonement for bleak winter's cold wild
As pigment hues tweak our optic smile .

At bloom, flowering trees embrace each other
In a cotillion dance of bright confetti color .
Eye pleasures waltz across fields and glen
From nature's pallet are gifts to women and men .

Grand Marshal, Dogwood, draws all the raves,
Other dancers arrive while the symphony plays
Cords of color singing soft music to the heart .
Bless him, Edward, who planted trees for his art .

   Ronald C. Downie

Edgewood was the name given to the Gruber Family Estate now a well recognized golf course, Bellewood .