Memories tree out sending roots down and branches up. We stand as neutrinos sweep through us and mirror neurons play us. Things that are essential(ly) different cannot affect each other, yet the dark matters of the world, seemingly so invisible, in fact hold everything together. Without the dark all would dis-solve the problem. The light … Continue reading Mirror Matters
Black Hole In the middle of the creek a beach flowers, ice for sand, around a small dark ocean circle. The sun the whiteness the water — for a moment you can imagine a different beach. But here, as the sun floods, sand melts into sea: expanding the horizon of the black hole at the … Continue reading 3 Winter Poems
"All the world's a stage," Shakespeare wrote: actors, strutting and fretting, and audiences projecting worlds into the theatre. But how much deeper it runs! The "actors" are perhaps the fundamental energies of the world: quarks, electrons, the very fabric of space and time. They "play," moving about in random ways, taking on "roles" when we … Continue reading On Shakespeare and Quantum Physics
There is a pull, sometimes, deep within us. It calls, heavy, shrouded in mist and mystery. It is most noticeable when we are happy -- when our lives glide smoothly along comfortable tracks. Then, in moments of gratitude and love (yes, real, both), we feel that something is missing (or needed). The call is clear … Continue reading The Pull
The red bird streaks, Fixes the flower In the vase. But it thuds to the ground, Felled by a force field That it perhaps guessed At the last moment was there: A reflection, a moment Of self-recognition. It lies, Stunned, Before rising again To its feet and its flight, Gaining one more chance To tell … Continue reading Reflection
It runs black and grey like static in the nerve channels. Suddenly there are holes in the pages on which you are trying to right the wrongs of your life. Not quite hunger, not quite sadness yet not, not. The river is filled with thorns. Your skin shrinks against you, constricting the flow of time, … Continue reading Static
Things that seem to stand Still really don’t. That tree: it breathes And stretches, and roots. That stone: it flows And moults, and crystals. That star: it eats And spins, and transmutes. A river is not a thing: It is the water that rivers. And the water is not a thing: It is the atoms … Continue reading Still
They wanted to fly, Daedalus and his son: like birds, like gods. And so they fashioned wings of wax and escaped across the sea. But Icarus flew too high, son-melted. The story is supposed to be about hubris, but we didn’t learn. Instead we took revenge, fashioned new toys, not from wax but oil, not … Continue reading The Fall
in support of the efforts to protect Old Growth forests in Fairy Creek, and everywhere. For centuries they have stood: watchtowers of bark and branch, roots that record and remember. And now, again, we cut — the birds raise the alarm, as we raze their homes to the ground. Not logging — What is the … Continue reading Fairy Creek
The sun is setting. Again. As it does. I suppose. I am here still. I hear. Still. A blackbird screeches the day’s end. A siren scars the dusk like a scalpel. Fire in the sky briefly, then gray. I gaze at the horizon, searching for the space between any two things. The moon hangs: a … Continue reading On(ly) Words
Jason Defoe 