art, Poetry, Uncategorized, world affairs, Writing

#cyberpunked

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“Do androids dream of electric sheep?”

What would we know of the secrets they keep?

An altered carbon,  a perfected sleeve. 

Would there be random fragments of code, 

those ghosts in the machine?

If you weren’t real, how would you know?

Your programming would not tell you so.

In simulation it would all seem to  turn,

streams of   data, digital burn. 

Iamus?

ICARUS? 

Beauty and flaws. 

Asimov, Morgan, 

Turing, Three Laws. 

 

 

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About Me~, art, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

Undeveloped

The purple creeps 

up from blackened trees, 

turning into the hazed, then suddenly  gilded flashbulb of dawn. 

I should still sleep

under heavy duvets,

turning thoughts from daytime images,   into panoramic  dreams. 

But rest did not keep

me overlong , as it is wont to do,

turning my slumber into a grey -tinged negative. 

Of photos yet developed. 

R. Jeanette Woods ~ February 2

 

About Me~, art, chronic illness, humor, inspirational, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

The Things We Carry ~

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We’ve all seen them.

There are all these quotes on FaceBook,

Pinterest,

Instagram,

and Twitter.

They seem so bold, inspiring, liberating……freeing.

Things like , “Leave the woman you were , in the past, because the future is bright. ”

And Lord knows, I’ve been guilty of sharing some of them.  They seem good.

But I was suddenly struck by a bolt from the blue , yesterday.

You see it was my 39th birthday .

15 years past the date when they said, I should not live.

And it dawned on me , as though the universe itself had spoken to me ,

in a moment so clear I could almost have sworn everyone around me had heard it.

Saying, “You do not have to leave the woman you were, in the past.

You do not have to leave the person you were as a child, as a teenager, or as a young adult.

We do not leave those people behind somewhere in the ether of the universe.

We carry them with us. Not as a weight, or a burden.  Not with hurt, or pain; but we carry them with us ,as knowledge.

Knowledge that lets us reach others. And wisdom to see that although there was hurt,

we grew tall and strong in spirit anyway.

We carry them as teachers, reminders that who we were then , is still valuable in the journeys we take today. We wear them as deeply as if they were  sewn on badges , celebrations  that we survived.

So I will not leave behind the child I was, the gangly teenager I grew into, or even the much -scarred woman I have become.

I will be all of those people , all at once; the child, the youngster, the woman.

And walk through this world with the quiet  knowledge

That in spite of it all,

I made it. 

About Me~, art, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

Zero -Sum ~

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Whole hog,

or none at all.

To feel like the Princess,

or be thrown off the wall?

Only extremes in your world.

Am I your archenemy ,

or your favorite girl?

Backward,

forward,

nowhere in time.

You  have   to  set the rules,

Can’t  have the rhyme.

One-sided,

lop-sided,

upside down.

You got the boat,

and left me to drown.

Ruby J. Woods ~ 2017

 

About Me~, art, chronic illness, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

Fluid ~

 

 

85d579a3a0aeb77d2ca7fb5e9229b0e9 (1)It waters the Earth, and the flowers , trees and all things green.

The lovely yet jangled noise of it on the tin roof of my house,

reminds me that it is good for all living things.

And yet, my broken body , shrinks into itself,

when it sees the clouds on the horizon.

Bringing with it the ache of the dark forces of weather.

And then it comes full -force.

I see it dripping from the eaves, in perfect timing,

reminiscent of a thousand drops of  intravenous fluids.

The rivulets of rain , coming sharp and fast,

like needles in the hundreds of hands ,

I’ve been subject to.

I remind myself , “It is only rain. “

And yet my subconscious whispers ………….

“It is only rain………….for now.

About Me~, art, Uncategorized, Writing

Komorebi~

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Komorebi~木漏れ日

Early a.m, and the magic will start  , ever so slightly at first.

That certain gold that drips from God’s never-ending palette.

Down from the tops of the elms, and oaks,

it comes,  unaware of its own spectacular beauty.

Diamonds lit from within , dappled light transformed.

Glittering down , in a never-ending spectacular kaleidoscope ,

infinite in its choices of fractals.

I am struck by the feeling  that the golden drops have their own secrets,

and whisper them only to the leaves, who raise their veined bodies to hear it all.

Devotees’ to the words the sunlight speaks.

Never spoken to outsiders,

but passed from one to another ,

on the sacred parchment of their own greenery.

Komorebi , 木漏れ日,