Sunday, May 9, 2021

Economics Must Be a Science

 

 

 



Economics Must Be a Science
Bob Komives



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

 



Monday, May 3, 2021

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

 

Monday, April 26, 2021

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

 

Monday, March 22, 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

 

Friday, January 15, 2021

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

 

Sunday, January 10, 2021

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

Monday, November 9, 2020

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

Friday, June 19, 2020

.LET THIS BE THE RAIN.





.
.




.LET THIS BE THE RAIN.
.
.NOW HERE.
.
.FOR US OF THIRST.
.
.THE REFRESHMENT COME.
.
.HERE NOW.
.
.IN FERTILE GROUND.



.LET THIS BE THE RAIN. 
Bob Komives





Fort Collins © 2020 :: .LET THIS BE THE RAIN. :: 2007

Friday, June 5, 2020

A Morning Among These Days





As a morning among these days ends,

a few blocks from our home
a peaceful protest march begins and ends.

As friends and neighbors march,
we stay home to mourn
a sudden, profound grief for loss of a friend.

News of death came unanticipated as we celebrated.
Separate but included,
we participated in a grandson's Continuance
from his 8th grade to high school.

Before this joy 

(and for a third time in three days)
we awoke to a joy: 
news of a newborn among friends and family.

Joy
then joy 
then mourning.

(Half of one day.)

A morning among these days has ended.


A Morning Among These Days 
Bob Komives





Fort Collins © 2020 :: A Morning Among These Days :: 2006



Saturday, May 30, 2020

Where is the Way?






An innocent man, Mr. George Floyd:
murdered by someone sworn to protect.
An old-old pharmacy called Lloyd's:
(where I shopped as a kid and once stole a Coca-Cola)
burnt to the ground.
A healthy baby is born
not far from where a virus patient has died.
A seed sprouts.
A beautiful, small bird nibbles at the feeder
as I grieve for the smaller and the larger community
into which I was born.
Family and friends grieve for their innocent loved one.
They are angry.
Angry neighbors protest and march, but ...
Near and distant strangers protest and march, but ...
Two astronauts get to orbit, but ...
They and their families feel proud and relieved, but ...
A grieving nation seeks a sliver of space
a sliver of time to feel good.
New parents can only rejoice.
They do rejoice, but ...
A family tries to grieve together, alone, but ...
A gardener sees the sprout
but feels drained of all power to rejoice.
Everywhere, a smile feels irreverent.
A tear barely dampens the mask.
Exercise fails to exorcise.
Sleep brings no more than another day.
Where is the way?
Where is the way?
Where is the way? 



Where is the Way?  
Bob Komives




Fort Collins © 2020 :: Where is the Way? :: 2005

Is This a True Spring?









A little drizzle, some sun;
a little rain, a rainbow, some thunder;
the fertile aroma of green.
Here, where plains meet the Front Range,
is this a true spring that comes to replace
our annual war between winter and summer?
Should I refuse to enjoy the gift?
It may be Global Warming trying to buy my vote.
Or, perhaps I should not look to find conspiracy.
Indeed, this may be but a random gift of nature
given here only once or twice in a lifetime.
As I take another deep breath,
I live to believe the latter.













Is This a True Spring?
Bob Komives




Fort Collins © 2020 :: Is This a True Spring? :: 2004

Wednesday, May 27, 2020

Humid Morning on Arid Land





Is this that now hovers
the awaited rain
that will soon descend
to draw our thirst
before refreshment comes to ground?

Or is this no more than past rain that rises
and lingers a while to taunt our thirst
before our fertility departs? 









Humid Morning on Arid Land
Bob Komives




Fort Collins © 2020 :: Humid Morning On Arid Land :: ,8004

Sunday, May 24, 2020

Footwear





on glare ice flourish

           —if on skates

flounder

           —if in shoes

die there

           —on bare feet



ice or snow

sand or rock

moss or grass

pavement, man-made



oh, groundplain, hold us

           —if well shod—

and blame footwear for each fall






Footear
Bob Komives


Fort Collins © 2020 :: Footwear :: 2005