10/07/2022
"¡Colonizaremos la Luna!"
a poem by Rob Krabbe
(Warning... long. :) )
The day was already warming up.
The rockets fueled and ready to fly.
One year, and days, we prayed up a fuss.
A decade of years didn't see it all by.
I guess we always knew who was boss.
The sun, unconcerned by fears, and cost.
With shattered soul and open eyes,
We soon forgot about all we had lost.
“Sensitivities be damned!”
Well planned with indeterminacy!
Heating the earth like a cast iron pan.
The sun, beating down mercilessly.
An anthropomorphic, trying to rule.
The universe will, what it wants to do.
The sun only has one purpose: to burn.
I’m done, because I had the right tools,
when the demons yell, listen and learn.
Instantly unclothing the kind of
deep-seated black-muddy ambitious
personal plans, displayed by fools.
The tools of fools are lies, and screed.
I drank full of power and then of greed,
for all the things I needed or didn’t need,
and the speed with which I figured it out.
It matters not if you're a king with clout.
“Wisdom, is like a fine garment,
amazingly, inside or out.
Confession, I can be a little odd,
but, religion is how we box up God.
Relationship is how we live in harmony.
Not a measure of a man, inherently true,
all the things we collect and erect.
I'm human and tired, same as you.
Respect, for we’re beautifully bedecked,
Matters of wine and my mind askew.
The example of waves in a human sea.
Floats and hurries back to you and me.
“Who is this, circumspect architect?”
Unchecked, or do we boldly go to
where no man has gone before?
Greed wanders through my reason.
Through every plan and every season.
Baby teasin’ what tide’s befall?
The truth is I want it all.
“We want it all,” they correctly say. .
I'm not perfect, sans displeasure.
I'm not naively digging for treasure.
There is perspective; would my
own life be bled and shed?
I most-likely would put up a fight.
Then a God would laugh, if I said,
I have no fear, nor basic human dread!
When I pray boldly from my bightly bed.
“Thunderclap, but it's not in my head!”
Until that very moment I had been
waiting only, for some kind of epiphany.
Some personal knowledge or power.
An understanding just for me.
A little extra cash in the drawer.
If I were blind what would my
eyes be for? To cover the holes
In my head? Enough said.
The Earth Burns, and Humans Press On.
Give, and gone, we wrote tons of songs,
preachy and full of inconveniences.
The countless notes like wings of sand,
thoughts confused, and hard to land.
As most of my solo-flown geniuses.
Not verbose; whisper to mother earth.
She is wonderful still, nil, in her stead .
Fighting for life not to end up dead,
searing swordplay, cosmos to earth,
burning up the misspent biosphere.
Mankind, opens it’s eyes too late,
boldly lives, but afraid to fear.
Is this the final, judgement I hear?
“Press on, past the future to the present”
What's left, bereft of life?
The day already warming up?
The rocket's fueled
and ready to fly.
A year of days, a month of tears,
we prayed up a fuss.
A decade of years.
I guess we always know who's boss.
The sun, unconcerned with us,
with shattered will, yet open eye.
We soon forgot about all we lost.
Poised to the moment that we all die.
“Your sensitivities be damned!”
Well planned with indeterminacy!
Heated the earth, like a cast iron pan.
The sun, beating down mercilessly.
Anthropomorphic entity. Try to rule,
the universe will, what it wants to do.
The sun only has one purpose: to burn.
Then I woke up in the lions cage
at the Chicago zoo.
Instantly unclothing the kind of
deep-seated black-muddy ambition,
the personal plans, displayed by fools.
The tools of fools are lies, and screed.
For me; I drank of power and greed.
All the things I needed or didn’t need,
and the speed with which I figured it out.
It matters not, you're a king with clout.
A man buys land just to farm it, ODD.
“Wisdom, is like a very fine garment.”
Religion is more how we box up God.
He handled it well, we were surprised.
Relationship is how we live in harmony.
Make the Great Spirit feel bite-size?
The gold cross around my neck I prize,
not as treasure but fire’s tinder, and
in a way, it was truly why he died.
Not a measure of a man partly found.
When we searched through time,
and not on the ground.
All the things we collect, or often erect.
Respect, cuz we’re beautifully bedecked.
Matters of mind and my mind askew.
The example floats in a human sea.
Then it all floats back to you and me.
“Who is the circumspect architect?”
Unchecked, or do we boldly go,
where no man has gone before?
Greed wanders through my reason.
Every ol' plan, and every dull season.
Little baby teasin’ what tide’s befall?
Didn't you know? “We want it all!."
I'm not perfect, until I'm dead.
That is perspective; would my
own life be bled and shed?
I most-likely would put up a fight.
Then a God would laugh, if I said
I have no fear, nor basic dread!
Ok, He probably chuckles
at me, when I pray boldly in my bed.
“Thunderclap, but not in my head!”
Until that moment I had been
witing, only, for some epiphany.
Some personal knowledge or power.
An understanding just for me.
A little extra cash in the drawer.
If I were blind what would my
eyes be for? To cover the holes
In my head?
“The Earth Burns; Humans Press On.”
Give, and gone, we wrote songs.
Preachy and full of inconveniences.
The countless notes like wings of sand,
thoughts confused, and hard to land,
most of my solo-kite-flown “geniuses.”
Mind and memories, until we're dead.
Verbose whisperings of mother earth.
She is wonderful still, nil, in her stead .
The searing swordplay of cosmos and dearth,
burning up the misspent biosphere.
Mankind, opens it’s eyes too late I fear.
Boldly live, but don't be afraid to die,
If this is this the final judgement; why?
“Press On, past the present to the future”
What's left, bereft of life,
consumed by strife?
Stabbed with stiletto,
or a switch blade knife.
It took forever for never
to final come.
So why? Why did I
think I had time to die?
Rocket fire, the
dark man forgives none.
Jesus leaves ninety-nine
Just to save the one.
I was moved by the
Father and the Son.
When last night
I imagined Holy one
dancing and singing
in the morning sun.
Consumed by strife and
introduced by a stiletto,
or a switch blade knife.
It took forever for never
to final bleedin' come.
So why? Why, did I think
I had time to die,
and she was really the one.
Rockets fire, the
dark man lives.
Jesus leaves ninety-nine
to save one.
The rich man convicts
and the poor man forgives.
I’ve been moved by stories
of the Father and the Son.
Last night I imagined the Spirit had won;
dancing and singing in the morning sun.
© 10.05.2022 Rob Krabbe and NoonAtNight Publications
