Days of Future Path

The future killed my parents
And will probably kill yours too
It steals your wealth and rots your teeth
Wears out your coat and shoe

The future sometimes seems so bright
So promising and true
You try so hard to please it
What else is there to do

The path well worn that seems to work
For more than just a few
It is the future's favorite trap
Line up and join the queue

A fellow blazes his own path
In search of something new
And finds the future waiting there
He wonders how it knew

The future killed our parents
And theirs before them too
And when you think it's had enough
It finally comes for you

Photo (CC) 2021 : Have a nice day! 🙂

Earth, Wind, and Water

Captivated by the imagery produced in sand by the wind and water I decided to curate a little show of its work. Water or air moving over loose sand will produce a matrix of interlocking dune forms reminiscent of the cords of gray matter on the exterior of a brain. Dappling from raindrops adds texture to the mix. Some of these are combinations of all three effects. The photo captions serve as titles and attempt to gather loosely into a poem.

the spirited appearance
evacuating the scene
in a weathered relief
of birds and blown leaves
driven to compete, compelled to conform
echoes the style of clouds
in a collated cycle of day and night


Cropped and minimally edited photos of Gulf Coast beach sand made with a Galaxy S9 over several days. (CC) 2021

A Case of Me

I am all that I can see
The one who matters, me, me, me

The universe revolves around
The point wherever I am found

I could drink a case of me
And be as happy as can be

If only I knew what to do
With all the other people who

Think they themselves are number one
How dare they ruin all my fun

With nods and all respect to Joni Mitchell.

Space to Let

Bricks and windows are forever at odds
       and space defies all confines
       while the breath, drawing and letting

Marks out all the points in time
       where a move came to move
       or nothing came to much

The space accommodates all takers:
       from receptions, wakes, last suppers
       baptisms and sky burials, to yoga classes
       teas for two, AA meetings, free associations
       sack races, and talent shows

Come as you are and
       be as you were, the air here's
       been breathed by the likes of you

And knows exactly what to do

Stone Angels


All these feelings viewed from a distance
Like reports from a foreign correspondent
Welcome news of victory and calamity alike

As a stone angel receives the weather
Sunshine, now pelted with hail
Everything in passing


The departed do not gather
In cemeteries, they stand mute
At the window, peering in

Tapping like a tree branch tip
In the wind, outside the wake of a friend
Everyone dancing in there, in spite of it all


We crossed paths on the way
To the same spot, where a stone marker
Announces all our days to your memory

My stony face coughs up a smile
Standing at this luggage claim carousel
We travelers with our checked memories

Photos (CC-BY-SA) 2021, G. Paul Randall.
Glenwood Cemetery, Houston, Texas.

Relative Inconveniences

That thing they say is extra small
Does absolutely not at all

Possess a quality called size
When by itself, you realize

The thing depends on something large
Like a tractor or a barge

To juxtapose it side by side
Because without it, it will hide

From you this metric we call small
There's no such quality at all

That by itself can surely say
If a thing's petite or way

Too fat to fit in these old jeans
(The pants are small is what that means)

If you find a thing so wee
You need a glass to even see

And nothing's to be found that's smaller
I'd like to know, give me a holler

(Best when read in the gravely voice of William S. Burroughs while pretending it is illustrated by Dr. Seuss.)