Seeker Magazine

Charles Albano

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Charles first introduced himself to "Seeker" with the submission of a short poem called "Neurotic Squiggles" (May 1998). When I later explored his website, Adaptive Leadership, I was intrigued by the fact that he is retired from a civilian career in the Army and now teaches holistic business leadership, plus writes poetry for the fun and the creativity of it. I would bet that not many people have heard or read business-oriented poetry other than the jingles that Madison Avenue comes up with to merchandise products.

Charles describes himself as "a poet taken by the everyday wonders and mysteries of life. He muses on origins, directions, and meanings of phenomena. He is fascinated by the things that press against the senses and the unseen forces underlying them-the "implicate order." His poetry is very diverse in subject and varied in style of expression. It includes children's poetry, nature poetry, science fiction, ancient cultures, haiku, love and romance, and business poetry. His work appears on many internet sites including: the Central California Poetry Journal, Poetry Magazine International, Maine Literature, Planet Magazine, 2River review, Starlite Café, Arcanum Café, Creative Studios, and Dawn's House of Poetry."

Enjoy his perspective.


Prophecies From the Dawn

One-celled life from dawn of time,
Huddled into blue-green slime,
Springing head and wriggling tail,
Classic features to prevail.

When upon its feeding through,
Broke apart and then withdrew;
Back to niches each cell went,
Living singly by intent.

One-celled thinkers worldly wise-
How did creatures so arise-
Random mix, self-creation,
Organized by inspiration?

Man arose from just such loam,
To embrace it in a poem.
Sky above and earth below,
What a wondrous magic show!

Living systems interlace,
Breaching Holy time and space.
I conclude with due regard,
All reflects the mind of God.

Reality

Again the autumn leaves discard their clothes;
Each form of life assumes another pose,
And I, at last, from reason cease to muse,
Accepting of the force that no one knows.

Within this phantom university,
Material is patterned endlessly,
Transformed from inert matter into mind,
Endowed with thought and given eyes to see.

To then reveal the wonders all around,
The things that move, and yet, that make no sound,
Except for ears designed to complement
The earth itself to make a holy ground.

Where magic shivers in some steady hand,
Unifying sun with sky and sea with land,
Underlying deep illusion,
That the mind can't understand.

Again the autumn leaves discard their clothes;
Each form of life assumes another pose,
And I, at last, from reason cease to muse,
Accepting of the force that no one knows.

Retarded?

She said she felt ashamed,
She was overly retarded;
Her marriage was in jeopardy,
And her husband's comments smarted.

A therapist had told her,
Her IQ was sixty-five,
Falling well below the average,
And her self-esteem skydived!

She had learned about such tests,
And took them seriously,
Had researched impressive details
And reported them to me!

I said they were mistaken;
It was obvious to see,
Her intellect was greater,
Whatever it might be.

I reported that such tests
Fell short on mental skills,
Overlooking many functions
That are anything but frills!

She requested illustrations,
And insisted on a "quiz."
She "aced" remote comparisons,
By reasoning like a wiz!

She followed all my comments
Throughout the conversation,
Holding her own so very well,
She won my acclamation.

She asked could someone love her
With such a low amount;
I answered, beside intellect,
She had other things that count.

Things in great abundance,
Like sensitivity,
Amply demonstrated,
And creativity!

She thanked me for the thoughts
That came as revelation,
Thinking the better of herself
And rejoicing in her "new" station!

Minders

Assume assembled, duly gowned,
Brain researchers, world renowned,
Might capture scientifically
A single act of imagery,
Extracted from a subject's dream,
Projected on a movie screen.

Successful thought recovery
Would make a great discovery-
For this they'd drain their budgets dry,
And stack equipment ten feet high!

Through such measures dear they'd seek
To capture every thought at peak;
With subjects wired back to front,
Lest anything evade their hunt.

They'd signal synchronize on REM,
To pick up mental waves from them,
Should calculations prove a bust,
They'd scurry fast to readjust.

Will cognitive capacities
Evade technology with ease,
Computer science prove unfit,
To capture imagery and wit?

Should they apply their vaunted might,
Will technocrats gain new insight,
Or will they track but overtone,
Deep within a "hollow" bone?

Nothing is as real as thought,
And all of history has taught,
The need for human privacy,
In dim domains where none can see.

DÉJÀ Vu

Before each road's traversed,
In advance of every sight, I feel as self-assured,
As a homing bird in flight.

Why do I have this sense,
Of being here before,
To know with certainty what lies
Behind each shadowed door?

Although their weary faces
Seem so familiar now,
I suspect not one of them
Can ever tell me how.

I know how their reactions
Will play back into mine;
We've shared this stage together,
Before the present time.

It seems that I've returned,
To long absented friends,
I left here once before
I turned these very bends.

The Mis-Bodied

Most reside comfortably
within their bodies
while some, like "Mono Kanaka,"
the man-shark, shark-man of Pacific island legends
crave trans-species belonging.

What of the man who would be
a condor, bear, panther or eagle?
What of the cat, dog or chimp
that would be a man?
What of those trapped in material form
alien to their spirits
making expression of their essence
impossible?

Powerful forces play
beneath the earth's crust
silent and unseen.
Silence is no proof of acceptance;
a man may wish to be an eagle-
the eagle must keep its secret longing.

Maybe there is a baseline
of absolute equality
that crosses living forms
for which we do not yet have a name.

Hindu Coffee

I pour cream
into my morning coffee
watching in a state of reverie
as tiny nebulae form
gently stirred
rushing outwards from the center
spiral arms splintering free
to touch the edge
implode like miniature storms
turn inwards and re-form.

Can it be that great mysteries
are revealed as freely as this?
Can the creation and destruction
of the universe mimic itself
in a coffee cup?

Copyright 1998 by Charles Albano


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Letter to the Author:
Charles Albano CharlesAlbano@webtv.net
Website: http://adaptive-leadership.com

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