Misfit

 

It is not the getting older (which is a true gift)
it is the becoming a misfit.
I no longer fit with you
because I lack the machine to join you on What's App.
And that is my fault.
I try to join you on Instagram,
but I and my screen are misfits.
We are of the horizontal race
but the drinking fountain has a new sign: “verticals only.”
That is my fault.

Though innocent,
I have long been accused
(in a gentle loving way)
by friends and loved ones
of choosing and enjoying my missed fits.
Perhaps it was my charm--
almost never a problem nor a fault.
Now, it is my fault that I must send you an email rather than a text.

Until I have the machine that allows me to fit
I will add Instagram to the things I forgo.
I will continue to be myself,
enjoy knowing myself as a misfit,
and love you for knowing:
the charm in it is all my fault. 

 Misfit, 9/24/23

Bob Komives

 

 Fort Collins © 2023 :: Misfit :: 2301

 

We Were Younger

 

We were younger and optimistic 
              for our nation and planet.

 Pessimism is newer, 
              painful and useless.

I am in pain
              seeking a cure. 

We Were Younger

Bob Komives

Fort Collins © 2022 :: We Were Younger :: 2202

 

I Pray For Peace This Moment.

I pray for peace this moment
(for more than absent war)
to gather one contentment
on a land where I've sown four.

A day to care,
a day to share,
to make a stranger, friend,
to spread a peaceful moment
through circles without end.

I Pray For Peace This Moment.

Bob Komives

Let me fight for what I believe
and your right to believe me wrong.
Let me help my needful neighbors,
yet not make them sing my song.

Let me squeeze the hand I'm given
and give the hand I own,
to lend a working shoulder
in the village I have grown.

The favor I just lent you
I had borrowed long ago.
The favor I just accepted
comes as wealth from debt we owe.

We live in borrowed clearings
on an earth that greatness mends.
When we leave this place we've borrowed
let's not be the place it ends.

A day to care,
a day to share,
to make a stranger, friend,
to accept a neighbor's favor
through circles without end.

In hour of work,
in hours of play,
to remember attention paid,
to share a silent moment
and speak as silence fades.

Let us pray for peace to gather
in fields of absent war,
to harvest our year's contentment
on each day when we plant more.

Our time to be,
yes, time to see
we can be a village growing friends.
Pray, squeeze a hand and give one
through circles without end.

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 1999 :: I Pray For Peace This Moment :: ,9907

Be Careful

 

Be careful.

Before you make a next, fashionable quip about white males;

imagine yourself sending all white males

(those you personally know)

to death camps;

sell them into slavery;

destroy their shops and their right to work.

Picture imprisoning them unjustly.

Castrate them.

Rape them.

Take away their right to vote and hold political office.

Stop research into their diseases.

Lynch them for flirting.

Deny them their right to education.

Blame them for all evils in history.

If you think my caution silly,

if you know such could never happen,

then, quietly to yourself,

acknowledge:

prejudice is prejudice--­

even if fashionable,

politically correct,

naively innocent,

among good people,

good friends.

Too convenient and too blind.

Too lazy and too dangerous.

Be careful.

Be Careful
Bob Komives

Fort Collins © 2019 :: Be Careful :: 1904

 

One January One

 

'just another day, but not.
'just another year, but, no, it is not.
'just another hope, but we know it is not.
'just more moments, so why momentous?
'just another opportunity that we both have and have not.
'just another day, but not.

 

 

One January One

Bob Komives

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fort Collins © 2022 :: one, one, two-zero-two-zero  :: 2201

Aspen

 

Aspen

Bob Komives

 

 

 

Fort Collins © 2021 :: Aspen  :: 2107

Economics Must Be a Science

 

 

 

Economics Must Be a Science

Bob Komives

 

 

 

Fort Collins © 2021 :: Economics Must Be a Science  :: 2106

 

Worthday Candle

 

         
mother and father
          hoped for good
          while
I oh I
          strove for better


          yet we found
          this final-seeming report 
here and here
          scattered around


          it says we
got and gave
          neither
more nor less
          of
worth and can
          than
one one other
          of
white and man

Worthday Candle

Bob Komives

 

 

 

Fort Collins © 2021 :: Worthday Candle :: 2105

 

All, in Pursuit of Happiness

 

 

Perhaps and per sometimes,

above their glass ceiling

women see white men

walking and talking and keeping them down.

Perhaps and per sometimes,

above their wire ceiling

men see a man or a woman

walking and talking and keeping them down.

Perhaps and per sometimes,

we are the schoolteacher,

urban planner,

road paver,

social worker,

line splicer,

and nurse.

Perhaps and per sometimes,

we see men or we see women

walking and talking and keeping us down.

Perhaps and per sometimes,

we hear them praiseful and thankful

for having us around.

Above our ceilings of wire and glass

they are few.

Below, we are many.

We are their objects of both envy and disdain.

Perhaps and per sometimes,

we are grandparented or grandchilded

or will someday be great-grandchilded

by those shadows above wire and glass.

Perhaps and per sometimes,

they have spoken or will someday speak of us fondly

for doing this life well.

We deserve to be celebrated,

not to be divided,

nor have it decided that parts of us 

fit today's category of whom to deride.

At our story among multi-stories

we have a name, a gender, perception of race, 

and ladder of personal history.

And, yes,

we may notice those at the story above--

looking down through their glass and wire floor.

We may notice those at the story below--

looking up through their glass and wire ceiling.

Both may see our work and our talent.

One or both may not. 

Perhaps and per sometimes,

they see us aspire to climb or descend,

or stay where we are--

all in pursuit of happiness.

All, in pursuit of happiness.

 

 

All, in Pursuit of Happiness

Bob Komives

 

 

 

 

Fort Collins © 2021 :: All, in Pursuit of Happiness  :: 2104

 

 .....

 

graphic: Arise  ©  2021

 

" t.e.a.r. "

 

“ t.e.a.r ”

two ways to say and intend

too many ways to rend and cry

too many ways to tear and tear

 

 

" t.e.a.r. "

Bob Komives

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fort Collins © 2021 :: " t.e.a.r. " :: 2103

Hand to Chin (drawing) © 2004

 

The Close Guilt; 2021-1861

 

Who bears the close guilt

       for friendship severed 

              by distant attack on Fort Sumter?

 

The Close Guilt
2021-1861 
Bob Komives 
 

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 2021

The Close Guilt; 2021-1861  :: 2102

 

Noon Dawn

 

 

They may remember 

a too-long year

365 days

nineteen more

twelve more hours

until noon dawn

of too-long sought year

ours

drawn two weeks

too weak

to strength

Kristalltag to Schönertag

mourning through morning

until sun of everyone

rose again

at noon.

Noon Dawn

Bob Komives

Fort Collins © 2021 :: Noon Dawn :: 2101

Little by Slowly

Little by Slowly

Bob Komives

 

 

          November, 2016

I inch upward

little by slowly

from this ledge

near bottom

in this abyss

where earth gave way beneath me--

dropping further than I thought my land could drop.

I look up,

see a climb that will outlive me,

take notice in the dim

of varied walls and sides surrounding:

good sides,

bad sides,

sides with sheared and slippery walls,

sides where I could sculpt and garden,

sides where (little by slowly)

others climb.

They rise from below me.

They lead the way--way above me.

They pause alone to sculpt and garden.

Little by slowly

I shall climb to those nearby:

to those who will outlive abyss,

to those who will pull and push my old bones,

to those who need my stubbornness,

and to those who will feast from my memory

of what was earth above

before collapse.   

           November, 2020

Despite shrinking time and diminished strength,

I have returned 

from the abyss where earth gave way beneath me--

from where I looked up

to a climb I expected to outlive me.

There were shadows and voices

rising from below,

clinging above.

Sunken-but-strong

they would soothe then scold,

come then go,

pull then push.

They would ask then remind

of my memory 

of what was earth before collapse.

 

Little by slowly,

(so little so slowly)

(remote then sudden)

at brink

onto edge

I stand to see

beyond abyss

the great expanse

where

(both changed)

(both enhanced)

reality and memory now dance.

Fort Collins (c) 2020 :: Little by Slowly :: 1615