Concrete and iron foundations give way to steel and glass structures growing ever higher
each decade.
Our skyline swallows up the landscape,
shadows of the buildings below grow longer, taller
indefinitely.
A reflection is merely what is there after the damage is done.
Urban renewal, construction cranes and condominiums and more vacant office towers. Overdevelopment, excavation, replacement or gentrification, population speculation.
This is history more than yesterday. What will we know when it has all been replaced?
Our future overlooks its direction by a necessity or greed
I will call it a prayer, for lack of
a better word. It will hold more hope
than a wish; more reality than a dream.
It shall be spiritual, yes, but
not religious, certainly not
with a capital R. That kind of thing
may have its place, but not here.
Not now. Religion does not
allow for differences, as I see it, and
neither do they. Most would prefer
to have everything go their way.
My prayer, as I will call it, is one
for respect and appreciation
of our differences.
Not one of us is the same and none
of us are to blame. It is as it is, but
need not be what it was. In my prayer,
and it should not seem like a dream,
our differences would not divide us,
but make us stronger as we allow
an increased capacity of forgiveness
in thought and in action.
Acceptance comes from
surrounding ourselves with those who
may chose an unfamiliar destination,
wear a different colour of skin, or
identify by another sexual orientation
than the one we have known.
My prayer, and my hope, is one where
we will believe in others
as much as ourselves.
This is the prayer that keeps me giving
and breathing, this is a dream
that keeps me hoping and believing.
This battered face prefers
the other side of the camera,
watching, waiting, silently
from the side. An observer,
looking on. Looking out.
These impaired eyes have
witnessed so much, perhaps
too much. Injustice, imbalance,
all in plain view. Images
flow through me, captured
for posterity. An honesty easier
recorded than memorized.
Focused on what is before me
more convenient than looking
within, where I know, and will
not be surprised at, what goes on
behind the camera. Damning
view of humanity, insincerity,
imbalanced injustice remains
with me. The unknowns,
knowingly stowed away,
referenced only occasionally,
when in disbelief at what
I have experienced. Privately.
Honestly. Silently. Memory.
Without the light. In camera.
For almost a decade I have partaken in Twitter; at one-time a generally innocent way of share bits and bytes of what was happening in the moment. At times, daily (or even more often), I would Tweet and re-Tweet my photography, poetry, and sample snippets of my opinions, essays and fortune cookie philosophies from my Mythos & Marginalia website. I engaged and interacted with human beings across this wonderful planet and enjoyed the contact and connection for the longest time. I’ve not been as regular these past couple of months. I am no longer sure about Twitter. I don’t like the direction it is going or, more so, where it was taking me. When I originally got involved in 2013 with the somewhat limited social forum (at that time a 140-character maximum), I would share positive thoughts on the context of the human condition and involve myself with day-to-day inspiration by passing something along. As my Twitter handle suggested, I intended to @sayit4word. At that time I was thinking positively, and for the most part I was. But, I guess, it was last year during the Ontario provincial election when I noticed I was not behaving properly, or rationally, and certainly not respectfully. I now know, or realized then, the forum itself was getting ignorant and obnoxious (even cruel). I noticed it mostly last February when the protesters involved with Freedom Convoy Rally began to take over our nation’s capital. Twitter got really nasty. And yes, I got nasty too. Throughout 2022, much of my anger was directed towards the fully-fledged idiot who managed to get himself elected as Premier of this province in 2018 and was being propelled towards re-election by a party and its anything-but-progressive pundits. I can see now and see how angry it made me. And, yes, I contributed to the mess Twitter is in. I’m no longer sure about Twitter. I haven’t tweeted for a couple of months. I don’t even check the forum regularly, certainly not as frequently as I used to; many weeks, not at all. I was even tempted, last month, to weigh in on the disturbing tale of Toronto’s mayor (or mascot) resigning after admitting an affair with a woman in his office half his age. I was thinking of all kinds of Twitter-appropriate comments, but after reflection, I managed to keep them to myself. I guess I was realizing that I would only be adding to the chaos and the chorus of idiots who were simply shouting into the ether without considering facts and feelings. I realized my Tweets and comments would be going against all I had imagined when I originally logged onto the social media platform. There was that lesson, a quote by Thumper from the movie Bambi, we learned as kids: “If you can’t say nothing nice, don’t say nothing at all.” So I have been silent for a while, but won’t be for much longer. April is poetry month, a period of the year I always cherish; so next month I think will step back into Twitter. I will start Tweeting again, but become more conscious of my intentions and try to pass on the more positive outlook I have been trying to nourish. I intend on saying it forward.
Concrete and iron foundations give way 
