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8/8/2019 Finding the Hidden Things
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Finding the Hidden Things
By The Jotter
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If we go into the worldWith eyes open, nostrils flaring
Ears at the ready,
And patience - always patience -
Watchingwe will find those things
Which are hidden to the casual passerby,Hidden from the modern world of fast pacing
That to and fro, from job to party toSpecial effect with no story.
But the patient will find
The small beauty, the careful plot of life, the ant still and sensing,The suggestion of a past not allowed into the rushed life.
The hidden things coming to those
Who hide between the moments of today
And tomorrow.
The hidden watcher camouflagedIn the tree watching the approach of the city
To his home,
Watching for the coming of the four-legged chasers.
One of the hidden, a cousin
To the pursuit of patience.
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Souls,
Hidden in the past
Their direction known but the purpose
Is anyones guess.
Their toes once curled around the shifting tan sand
To press forward.Some with an idea of where they head
Others
Just guessing at their future.The future sometimes
Only leaves us with footprints
And the past gives usA walking sun-dream.
The deepest imprints
Will last beyond the windLonger than the rest.
The lesson: dont rest.
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Perhaps they all walked to here.
Where is that hidden crowd,
Leaving oneAlone
Solo in the sun?
Stark white steel and stucco building
Left to rise against the skyA sloth to rise from its antlike beginnings
But now stabbing the blue sky
Rising like a fat phallusFrom the green jungle
At the edge of sandAnd footprints.
The fertility of imagination
Is sometimes a blessing.
The imagination of fertilityCan be a curse.
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Where does the seed go?
Blown on the wind
Of chance
Of drifting thereFrom here
And wafting like the cotton wings it has
The air caressing it and teasing it here,Then there.
Here, the eventual resting place hidden,The seeds are laid in the future, the
Billowing
A means for creation to receiveWhat we conceive.
The milk-weed to ariseHidden in the small core
Of a small brown seed on the endOf a white wisp.
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Some of us hide
In the now,
In a crowd
At the back,Unsure of what we face.
Unsure of what we think.
So we duck.
Its like it was back in school.If we look at our feet the gym teacher wont
Pick us
To demonstrate the new thing.Being taught today, for that
Act of being picked
Always makes some of us nervous
And calls us out of hiding.
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Not in the sand
Do we hide our headsAnd hearts. The Black Swan
Once thought not to exist,
Dreamed by statisticians as the eventWhich cant happen
Statistically. So when it does happen,
Its a black swan.
It happened.
We cant hide our heads.And maybe we havent
But were certainly near to itStanding at the edge of a hidden surface
Putting our head in our feathers.
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Its there
Just beneath the surface
Breaking the tension of waterFor air
Concentric circles telltale signs
Of lifeMoving below our vision our
Awareness of things on that other side
Weak
How many see only the algae bloomsNot that ancient thing which moves below?
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Where have we gone?
What have we done
That we dont enjoy the sun?
Parasols protect the empty lounging apparatus,
Those thoroughly modern bygones
Of irony, the desire to enjoy the sunHereditary
From the primitive,
But the time to get hereAcquired
From modern work completed inside.
We are not here.
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Hidden power in wind
And water
The broken sea of glass
TurbulentTo match
The mood of the day
The mood of the watcherHidden
The coming storm
Behind the rolling powerOf breaking wave and roiling cloud
Of push to shore of intemperate air
Invading the peaceBringing with it the electricity
Of life and death.
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Life and death.
Dinner hidden
From the seeker.
Life and death,Predator on stilt legs
Prey under a pebble
Of sand.
Move fast little legs
Or the surfWill hide you as well.
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Initial fast wing flaps
Giving way to glide
Hidden grace over curling power
Flying away from our approach.
Is it just the bird leaving us?
Or is it the natureOf nature to flee our advance?
Is nature,Like the squirrel in the tree,
Watching
For the approach of that without grace?
The hidden grace of wingsThe grace of hydro power beneath the waves
The foaming kiss of curling waterTo the approaching sand
And in it all
The approaching hidden slap! of waterFlat on sand.
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Big wings or small wings
There is hidden beauty in folded wings,Crawling on the living leaf,
Drawn by the scent
And the offer of rest.
What would make the world
Open up its wings
Without need of closingOr rest?
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The appearance of hidden eyes,
Warning predators away
Drawing religious adoration of the ancients.
The seeing eye that brings rewardOr danger if you are not careful.
The keyFor the watcher
Is to remain hidden
And not disturb the scene.
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Hidden scavenger on the field of yellow,
If you look close in the middle,
Hidden flowers behind protecting screen,
The power of exploding colorHidden from those who pass by.
You need to enterTo see the pulse of nature
The yellow below
Matching that of sun above.
Scent on air from open blooms
The full beauty still behindClosed buds.
The future holds both the fullest delight
Of completed blossomsAnd
The full disinterest of decayed spent flowers
Once their duty is complete.
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In our desire, in ourConceit
We have brought within our boundaries
That which has no boundary.
Nature, hidden behind our fences.Is its power diminished?
We think it is enough
To miniaturize natureAnd cage it so that we have a piece caught.
Inside or out, however, the hiddenGives us a balm, a boon.
Lucky is he who can see into his own soul.
Shared paranoia and delight over the hidden things
We might ourselves become hidden on the cliff,Overseeing the passage of a river,
In order to cast the spelling words
And discover what passes us by on a typical day.
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All pictures and words by Steve Ullom
Under Creative Commons licensing
Cover picture is over the Mackinaw river in Illinois.
Squirrel is from backyard in Normal, Illinois.
All other pictures from Florida, near Melbourne.
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