Unlike Almost Everything Else in the Universe

By Howard Seeman

 

 

Have you ever felt so busy that you hardly hear the ocean? Like you are mainly postpone? That your life is just DoingMyLaundry?

That you are a place that nobody no longer visits? Then read these poems and feel this restorative call: Come on, come on, the grand parade is passing right outside your door.

 

The italicized are just some of the lines from this book of poetry that awaken us to our awesome privilege of being alive, unlike almost everything else in the universe, as we are

lit up for such a short time.

 

Unfortunately, we may only have these realizations at a funeral, or when we stand on the beach alone at night looking at the stars. But with this book magically come these precious birds into our hands, these poems: intimate creations, smoldering, precious awakenings.

We can feel a compass in these formed words, Howard Seeman’s poetry.

 

Simply keep this wonderful book of poetry near you when you cannot get to the ocean.

 

      For Author/Discount sets of this book, go to:  

      http://www.panix.com/~pro-ed/poetry

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 25, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467826112

Book preview

Unlike Almost Everything Else In The Universe

There is not much you can do with this life

You can build a sand castle at the beach,

the waves will knock it down.

You can make a snow man,

it will melt.

You can work on a career,

it will end.

There is not much you can do with this life,

but talk about it.

You can publish a novel,

eventually it will not be read.

You can carve a sculpture in stone,

eventually it will fall apart.

You can make dear friends,

they will die.

There is not much you can do with this life,

but talk about it.

You can be world famous,

eventually you will be forgotten.

You can make your own children,

they will die.

There is not much you can do with this life,

but talk about it.

You can talk about it.

You can realize you are alive,

unlike all the tables and chairs in this room,

unlike the tall buildings,

or even the planets,

and all the stars;

unlike almost everything else in the universe.

You can feel you are being-in-the-world.

You can feel you are awake.

You can hear, smell and feel,

even what’s behind you.

You can see and feel and hear and taste and touch

all the things that cannot see or feel, or hear, or taste, or touch.

You can feel like crying from joy,

like raging,

like caring, hoping, hating, loving, craving;

feel sad, mad, bad, glad, clad,

and had.

And you can talk about it:

You can wrap your tongue around it,

wrangle it with the muscles in your mouth,

and say it all,

out loud,

or onto large paper,

or buildings.

You can grab your hand around it,

make it into a fist,

and punch it out there.

You can spread your arms wide

and shout it