Pinball Thinking

pinball

(internet photo)

Random thoughts
roll through my brain.
A pinball pattern
navigates a maze of ideas.
Emotional bumpers
flip
free ball thinking
to light up fear or anger,
ring bells of relief or laughter.
Cognitive displays
flash and wobble
to warn of danger,
alert
what must be done next.
Points are awarded,
a second chance given
when I can rebound
not held captive to speculation
in a zone of no return.
I see a kickout hole opportunity
to adjust attitude and attention,
regain direction.
Noise buzzing around me
cue connections
to keep on going.
Tilt must be avoided
at all costs.
Loss of free will
or forfeiting self
to the judgement machine
of others opinions
is not an option.
I am a pinball wizard.

Guide

old hands

Weathered hands
mapped by lines of experience
gently pick up a shrivelled, dry seed.
Tan, calloused skin dwarfs the grain.

Slow, deliberate movement
rolls the seed between perceptive
thumb and fingers.
Rich, black dirt
tenderly accepts the buried offering.

Wise blue eyes observe patiently
from a distance.

Delicate green sprigs
burst through soft loam.
Pale and fragile new growth erupts
disoriented
by new surroundings.

Sunlight sends warm caresses.
Strength flows through its golden glow.
With inspired confidence the plant
deliberately stretches for the light.

When contact is made with a solid wall on the left,
new shoots and blossoms are sent to the right.

A vision of rich shades grows.
Thick, green leafy vines.
White and pink petals.
A triumphant shock of compressed energy
strives toward a radiant sky.

Petals soon fall.
Vines thicken, become brittle.
Naked seeds stand exposed on stems.

Knowledgeable hands pluck them
as they dry and shrivel.
New growth contained within their tiny husks
will not be forgotten.
They, too, will push through the soil
refreshed
recharged
jubilant.