Drops on Plants

Jade Plant Bloom

 

Poinsettia 

Lemon

                            Jade Plant Leaf

 

Yellow Irish Bench

We be sittin' on the yellow bench

Crisp air chafin’ our faces,

Salt air kissin’ our lips.

We be huddled in our coats,

 

Conjuring sweet memories

Of frolickin' in the water,

Gettin' our shoes wet,

And carryin' on.

And then I be takin' yer hand,

Listenin' to ye tellin' me

Of yer grief,

And I be tellin' ye about mine.

 

We be sharin' tears

And feedin' 'em to the fish,

Who be swimmin' with them

To those who’ve gone before us.

And then we be tellin' jokes,

Laughin' up a storm

As we walk back

To the closest pub for a pint. 

 Click Here To Listen

 

Artificial Intelligence Can’t Get Pregnant

 

Artificial Intelligence Can’t Get Pregnant

By Mushroom Montoya

 

Artificial intelligence isn’t

Intelligence at all.

It is nothing more than a series

Of yes’s and no’s,

Ones and zeros,

 

That somehow become a language

That allows machines to

Compute, 

               compile, 

                            and collect

Bits and bytes of input,

 

Put into a thoughtless machine

By a living, 

                 breathing, 

                                 bleeding

Human

With real Intelligence.

 

Real intelligence requires

A geni.

Yes, 

      a 

        real 

                geni,

who can grant wishes,

 

And attract witches,

Who fly, 

             not so much

                                  on broomsticks,

As on the backs 

of magnificent birds

Of prey, 

Whose talons 

Pluck out the eyes

Of 30 pound salmon,

And eat them for

Dessert.

 

All machines are born

Within the mind of a human,

Where her mind gets pregnant

And gives birth to imagination.

 

All humans give birth

                 To the children

                               Of their minds

When they pull out their geni.

 

Out of their pockets.

surrounding their minds.

And impregnate their thoughts

With 

       wild 

               ideas.

 

Artificial intelligence has 

No pockets,

             No mind, 

                          no uterus

That can get pregnant,

And give birth to witches,

 

Who eat

        Plucked out

                Salmon eyes

                            For dessert.

Click Here To Listen

How Spiders Came To Be

 

How Spiders Came To Be
by Mushroom Montoya

 

Would ye be knowin’

That the Good Lord be puttin’

A plentiful abundance of Spiders

Upon the Earth?

 

And would ye be knowin’ why?

I not be tellin ya a lie

For me story be as true

As the sky above ye be blue.

 

Once upon a long time ago

The Good Lord heard

The prayers and the please

Of the Earth Walking people.

 

Who be cryin’ and complainin’

That all of their bright red blood

Was getting’ sucked out and drunk

By tiny flying beasts

 

With long skinny beaks

Who’d land on their skin for feasts

And stab their arms and legs

To suck out their delicious red blood.

 

So, the Good Lord took pity

On the whining, complain’

Earth Walking people

And told them he’d find a solution.

 

He called out to all the other Earthlings

Asking them who was willing to help.

When a along came a coyote

Wearing her wide toothy grin,

 

Asking the Good Lord

What she would win

If she could solve the problem

Of the Earth Walking people.

 

The Good Lord put his hand

Over his mouth

To keep from laughin’

At what conivin’ idea

 

He expected trickster coyote

Would want to do.

So, the Good Lord nodded

His acceptance to listen..

 

He nodded to Coyote,

“I’ll give ye a power

To hide and adapt

To whatever befalls ya.”

 

Coyote hooted and howled a delight

Telling the Good Lord he had a bright

And smart idea

To catch the tiny flying beasts.

 

“I highly recommend,”

Coyote did say,

“That ye create a critter

That can make its own net

 

With which to catch

The blood sucking beasts

Who like to hold feasts

On the skin of the Earth Walking people.”

 

Coyote used his paw

To make a drawing in the dirt

He drew a pretty round net

And smack in the middle

 

He drew a what looked like a fiddle

With eight skinny legs

“Ye can give her the power

To make her own nets

 

To catch the tiny flying beasts

And let her have her own feasts

On whatever she catches

In her almost invisible net.”

 

The Good Lord’s eye twinkled

His lips spread apart

Into a very mischievous grin

And with nothin’ more

 

Than a simple nod

An eight-legged creature appeared

And stared up at the Good Lord

But when it jumped up

 

Coyote did scream

And fell over backward

Laughin’ and howlin’

And being pleased with herself.

 

“Please make her scary lookin’

But also make her pretty.

Make her smart.

And make her witty.”

 

And the Good Lord said,

“You’ve done it again

My silly little friend

What would you like to call her?”

 

Coyote rubbed his chin

And then he did grin.

His eyes grew wider.

“Let’s call her, spider.”

 

So, now ye be knowin’

Why the Good Lord

And clever coyote trickster

Created the mosquito eating spider.

Click to hear me recite

Kind Words

 

I am grateful for kind words,

Lovingly written in personal cards,

Letters, notes and emails

From those who love me.

From those who send them

To soothe my heart when it is broken.

To delight with me when I am happy.

To celebrate their joyful occasions,

To share their grief with me.

Because they know I will read

Their tears and mix them

In my heart with mine.

 

Cello Dance

 

Cello Dance

By Mushroom Montoya

I am grateful for dance.

I didn’t know how much

It would enhance

My wellbeing.

Stephanie invited me

To watch her practice

Playing her concert cello

In the big round meeting room.

She sat on the stage.

Cello standing.

Arm swaying.

Fingers walking.

Ernie invited me to follow

Him doing tai chi

To the music,

But I didn’t know how.

I chose instead

To be led

By the music

Floating from the cello.

When I let go

Of wondering

If I looked good enough,

If I was inadequate,

The music kissed me

Intimately

Way down

Inside, Deep,

All the way

To my core.

Something in me

Remembered doing this before.

I released all control

Letting my body move,

Allowing the cello’s

Beats and notes

To play my arms,

My legs.

My entire body.

Like the

Visual,

Physical

Musical

Instrument

It is.

I lifted my arms

And climbed onto the

Clouds of notes

Floating all around me.

I slid over and under

Riding a musical horse,

Swimming with a choir

Of dolphins.

Flying with an orchestra

Of geese.

I danced for days and weeks.

Who really knows?

I was in music’s time,

In a realm of musical delight,

Where time and worry

Do not exist,

Only blooms of joy

And the swaying

Of bliss.

 Audio Clip of Cello Dance

Of Course I Meditate

Of Course I Meditate

By Mushroom Montoya

I disappear in meditation

To the pushing and pulling

Of my diaphragm. 

Air in, air out.

A jumbo jet full of people

Rumbles across the sky, 

Going somewhere, 

Or coming home.

My stomach inflates.

My skin stretches. 

A cool breeze whispers

Blurred photos in my ears.

Air in, air out.

Voices dance across the wall behind my head,

Wearing thick crocheted socks,

So as not to disturb me.

But I know they’re hunting.

Gliding, and bump thumping

For an entry

Into my attention.

I place the voices on a pillow

And return to my breathing

Back to my diaphragm ,

Squeezing and sucking.

My shoulder say, "We’re here."

My spine joins, “Me too.”

I bow inside my head.

Air in, air out.

How long  have I been here?

Isn’t it time to get up?

Birds chirp out my window.

My stomach shrinks and grows.

 
I inhale the world 

All the way to my feet.

The floor is flat.

The wood is cool.

My timer buzzes.

I open my eyes.

That went by so fast.

I smile and resume my day.