Rabbit rabbit rabbit New Year 2022

Rabbit! Rabbit!! Rabbit!!!
Happy 2459580.5 ≤ t < 2459945.5!!!
(i.e. Happy New Year 2022! (for the Gregorians))

Goodbye to the challenging 2021. As we continue the #tantalizingTwenties decade,
let’s celebrate this new year—2022—with a fresh outlook for better todays and tomorrows.

With hopes that you and yours have a healthful, happy, prosperous, productive, plentiful, bountiful, blessed, magical, marvelous, splendiferous, scrumdidliumptuous, super spectacular next orbit (year) ahead! Best wishes to you in all you do during this coming year, and all you become. May you manifest more of your dreams in the year ahead.

Love, Brad, H, P, and the rabbits of well-wishing

(NB: See http://numerical.recipes/julian.html or http://www.onlineconversion.com/julian_date.htm for a converter, or search for “Julian Day Number” if the date-time values don’t make sense. Or just ask.)

p.s. if you don’t like saying 2022 or using julian dates, you can say 2022 decimal as 7E6 in hexadecimal. Seven-echo-six #sevenEchoSix

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twenty-one months

twenty-one months
since i have stepped
within your walls

twenty-one months
since i have walked
your hallowed halls

it’s like you were torn down
but you’re still standing strong
undaunted by the crown

no, i know you’re there
ever the hub of the buzz
at the heart of this town

it’s like i moved away
but i am still right here
and here i too shall stay

habits hardened
forgotten now
your ardent air

neglect pardoned
in this deluge
all loss deemed fair

so many lost
still more damaged
ineptly managed

twenty-one months
this vigil kept
enough we’ve wept

twenty-one months
let out the calls
echo in empty halls

have you forgotten
the road well trodden
since we’ve been apart

we had walked together
in fairer weather
many aeons gone

we softly talked
while specters stalked
with outlines chalked

while candles dwindle
the next cruel wave
crashes on the shore

the poisoned spindle
so swiftly spins
caustic thread unwinds

future’s pattern brindled
served by this erratic knave
who dishes more and more

new fires we shall kindle
hoping we can save
whoever knocks upon the door

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rayne cryes

the skye cryes
when rayne falls
the payne flyes
when torment calls

when hope is hidden
and feels foregone
dreams abandoned
now haunt your lawn

what once was cherished
now brings such payne
such precious mem’ries
usher in disdain

where is the light
in this endless tunnel
whence leads the flight
spiraling down this funnel

stumble upon the aches
break the ruinous rhythm
perpetual paynes paint
arrhythmia opportunity makes

dash down the drayne
whence went the pause
follow the sudden swirl
beyond the rayvyn’s caws

what is this field of darkness
above the surface now
what are those sparkles twinkling
first glimpse of starry skye

but down the hole again
the habit flushes
but this time
new reflex rushes

scramble to find the way
back through the swirl
back to this new friend
this star-filled skye

this secret refuge
beyond the rayne
now is shown
this is home

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my sky cries

i rise
i find
a surprise

my sky cries
my mind tries
to find why

has it been so long
since i’ve heard this song
such sweet drizzling throng

i remember
these liquid embers
in such decembers

my sky cries
the time flies
as fly my smiles

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cocreating art

Some creative people feel like they are *completely* in control of what they create. Many people assume that is the way *all* people are—100% utterly in control. However, many artists and craftspeople—painters, sculptors, computer scientists, inventors, writers, musicians, carpenters, dancers, and more—feel that their art itself, or their muse, a higher power, or something else beside *them*—helps co-create the art with them. The control freaks find this unfathomable. That is okay. Create with whatever team you desire. Sometimes your mountain scene calls for happy clouds. A waltz might need a little twirl. Your characters reveal secrets and their own desires to you. The clay wants to be formed into a swan. The code needs to be recursive today. That table wants to be hexagonal. Go with it. Create *with* your muses and *with* your art. You are a part of the universe. You are a child of the goddess. Your creations are bigger than your self.

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whenabouts

do we give time its due
so often overshadowed
by its sibling, space

no matter when or where
time and space aren’t competing
they are not in a race

so why do we focus
so much on our whereabouts
here and thereabouts

ask yourself, when are you
stop and ask for directions
not to find your place

but to make your time
to create time for your when
and now ask, what then

let’s have a shout out for
thinking of our whenabouts
now and thenabouts

take a moment now
stop and ask for directions
go to your new when

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shimagination

shimagination
simply magical
shared imagination
shards of seashells
splashed upon sunset shores

we are sentient sands
seismically entangled
sharing synthetic lands
stochastically enspangled
in spots and swirly bands

we live together
on these islands of our minds
yet we are the oceans too
flowing ever together
mixing myriad minds

some claim eddies
and currents as their own
yet we are not
separate stories
seaflows on the roam

our overlaps are brindled
ideas from another forked
from one a thought is sparked
when from one it spreads
by a dozen others kindled

your spark sharply triggered
wildfires in waiting tinder
in them adeptly jiggered
hither and yon it wander
then finally finagled

splashed upon sunlit shores
we are shards of seashells
and the waves who hone them
ever working together
truly magical shimagination

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parallel paradigms

thoughts of you
dance in my mind
like flickering fires
playing pantomimes
on the walls of this cave

feelings of you
ripple through my rind
like ginormous gyres
splash repeated rhymes
on the shoals of this cove

i hear your voice
and turn to find
millions of lyres
strumming out crimes
on the wires of mind’s sieve

i make this choice
and many of like kind
burning on the pyres
plumbing paradigms
in the mazes we live

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birbabies

my bucket runneth over
overflown with tears
that rained down forever
and kept inside for years

what once were tears of love
now pour forth in grief
lost neither crow nor dove
but babies stol’n by cruel thief

heart’s reservoir runs low
as tattered feathers fade
the ache weighs down the show
taint memories remade

from deep within a scowl
this voice lets out a howl
echoes off these empty walls
within this skin my spirit crawls

such precious lives now lost
lay bare this hollow heart
that bears such heavy cost
when these belov’d depart

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downed dovelette

have you seen my love yet
oh my dear little dovelette
laid and due to hatch soon

alas i see the sadness
autumn wears a cruel dress
long before these wings had flewn

like a fallen deck of cards
shell shattered into shards
doves above coo a dirge-ful tune

upon the clay, white découpage
coup de grâce or coup d’état
or the tug of a jealous moon

the ebb of life unstoppable
brings flap to the unflappable
for some have flown too soon

when does a dove
become a dove
at first peck
cracking of the shell
or rumblings deep inside
first peep or chirp or coo
first flap or hop or flight
or murmurs out of sight

the ebb of life unstoppable
brings flap to the unflappable
for some have flown too soon

fate or simply gravity
lost in the depravity
fervent chirping of a loon

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