My (Re-) Dedication to Purpose by Sam Flot

My (Re-) Dedication to Purpose

by Sam Flot 2016

Lens tripping across scenarios

I go beneath the Microscope

Unable to comprehend the balance of

The Macroscope World

I head within my head

I send sonar

I use echolocation

I chant with the drum beating inside me

I head within my head, I head within my head, I head within my head,

I head within my head, I head within my head, I head within my head, I head within my head, I head within my head, I head within my head,

Selflessly exploring the Universe

Inner Sanctum

Inner Region

Inner Space

Sounds are bouncing

Illusions creating and spreading

Scents are wafting

Thoughts are congealing

Preparing to coalesce

As I go deep

Searching for self-realization

Understanding my being

Maybe underneath this Microscope

I can understand me

Then proceed to think about we

To hear the sounds we all hear

To see what we all see

To smell the smells around us

To answer again

To try to think

What motivates me?

What is my passion?

What fuels my future?

Who am I?

And

What motivates us?

What inspires our passion?

What fuel fuels our future?

Who are we?

Sam Flot 11.20.2016

Splintered From the Beam by Sam Flot

Splintered From the Beam

Wood drifts like flotsam

Bouncing around either overboard or shipwrecked

Sometimes lately

I feel like a piece of driftwood

Splintered from the beam or tree

Unsure of my direction

No view of shore

No appendages

No means available to me

To influence direction

But, still unsure of any direction

Not just one I think might be preferable to survival

Drifting at the whim of the ocean

Up, down, left, right

The ocean throws me around if it wants to

I have absolutely no control………….

Sometimes?

Sometimes?

I always feel like flotsam on the ocean

I have no control

I feel like I’m overboard and shipwrecked

So I give in to the feeling

I float with the ocean

I go where it takes me

I see other driftwood

I see sunsets and sunrises

I give in to the ocean

I give in to the feeling

I see many other pieces of wood

Floating just like me

Floating without control

At the whims of the power of the waves

I see seagulls and dolphins

Sometimes it’s not so bad, this floating

Sometimes the good bleeds through with understanding

Sometimes it feels like any moment now

We will all see land

I am losing my sense of desperation

I am gaining a sense of hope

I can see land if I want to and

I can finally wash ashore and

Sit still on the sand

Until high tide or human hands change my direction

I can sit still……….

I can sit ……….

Just sit still………….

Just sit………

Just…..

Happy

To

Be

 ~~~~~~~

Sam Flot         

10.20.2015 at the Beachcomber in Fort Bragg, CA

Some Words Will Open Microphones by Sam Flot

Some Words Will Open Microphones

Spark a ride to the other tide

Receptive to tough and to tender

Eccentric mystics

Playing music in concentric mosaics 

Ripping and tearing the notes

Through the ever-continuum nightsky

Flying full of the effervescent flow of colors

Flowing all over, all around, everybody’s a primary!

Even the secondaries should get to be primary

Once in a while, twice in a while

Mark that tide when you took the ride

Perceptive against too rough or to render it into

Words speak spoken riding on the topical current

Drifting through the vapors surrounding the other poets

Listening at varying levels of completely

Some still pay full attention

Some drift off like in detention

Writing down riffs off all the pretension

Some are rifling through all their folders and notebooks

Trying to find their very own howling screed unscrolled

Their if/perchance holy goof unveiled full force

With a double-shot americano and some real jazz

Which will house

The eccentric mystic prophet of a spirit and

Some words will open microphones

Split like a Sunday

With a five-hour drive home

Before the tide gets too high

flot  

2.8.2016

Brother Bird by Sam Flot

Brother Bird

(Serene Time Ocean)

I flew with my brother bird

Early one afternoon sunny

Above the headlands’ long fallow fields

Laden with mice and yellow brown straw brush

All of it surrounded by gulley green

Happily transporting yesterday’s storm downhill

I flew with my brother bird

Climbing by floating

Finding circles of wind drafting up

Then we soared into that wind, not against it

Wings stretched full to span

The wind holds me in place

Holds me in basic stasis

My matter held windblown

Under no efforts of my own

I flew with my brother bird

Gently pacific above

Serene time ocean

Waves crashing in all the gradient shades

All the blues and most of the greys

I flew with my brother bird

We were solemn, neither of us spoke a word

Early one afternoon sunny

Against a storm front backdrop

Over all the pines and scrubs

Over the shore break rocks

Above the headland waves crashing white fury

I flew with my brother bird

sam flot

Caspar, CA                                     1.10.2016

Like A River by Sam Flot

Like A River

By Sam Flot

I wish I could flow

Like a river runs

Without stopping drips

Without dropping hints

About phrases long caught in stasis

Left to conclude with no basis

To form a foundation

No ground to indicate

Some forgotten absorption

Taken in and never released

I wish I could flow

Like a canyon crow

Flies high up on the air

Above the ridge and valley

Above the river’s many eddies

Above all the earthbound creatures

Dropping and lifting on currents

I wish I could flow

Like a saxophone blows

Not expressing opinion distinct

Gurgling or peeking out

From under the madness

Or slow, easy, languid

Or shrieking in glee easily mistaken for anger

I wish I could flow

Like a river flows

Like a pine cone or

A rock that knows

Whether it is naked or clothed

Whether it is caught or thrown

Skipping over the surface

I wish I could flow

Like a river flows

2009