The odds are stacked against each and every one of us. So for starters you need to have beginner’s luck.
This is written as an after-death poem,
although no one really knows what that’s like –
not even the “omniscient narrator”…
Long after the engine has cooled
the sense of motion stays with you.
Eyes closed, yet you still see
the road winding about,
the hills rolling on,
the trees blurring by.
You’re going nowhere
but going just the same.
There is no destination.
There is not Point B.
There is no finish line. And
there is no stopping you now.
(Mike Cohen – Jan 2015)
When you get it working you are happy to make
something function, to take
the inanimate and have it dancing in your hand.
Life loves to bring things to life,
to have them join the ranks of those that go
stirring, lurching, churning, whirring, working.
But all things working –
the gadgets, the gizmos, the contrivances,
the galaxy, the tide, your heart –
all working things
(Mike Cohen – Dec 2005)
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Our everyday treasures become virtually invisible unless we make an effort to take notice.