• life is a good experience.•

Spent a soothing Sunday
faffing about –
walking the dogs,
and hanging out.
Went for a lovely bike ride,
wind in my hair,
all the other walkers and bikers
and runners were out there,
taking in the sunshine
and the cool of the evening.
Nestled on the couch with my best buds,
JoJo and Shaye,
watching episodes of Time Team, and snacking on frozen grapes
and strawberries –
(‘snacky treats’, for they).
Woke up with ‘look up faff’ in my head.
Faff, huh. Nifty, nay?
Off to work, now,
in the tradition
of dinosaur-avoiding early ancestors of old,
exploiting a nighttime economy.
Life is a good experience,
if you make it that way.
~ Tim Burchfield


• a humdinger •

You might find it ironic
for me to describe Chronic,
a story about death and dying,
as ‘a slice of life’.
In fact, throughout,
the question of ‘why?’,
and ‘why me?’,
seems pervasive,
and unanswerable,
which it is, except, for me,
‘and why not?’,
‘and why not (me)?’,
keeps rolling through my head,
Is it just me, I wonder,
or do others see this life
as an equal opportunity
or journey,
or what have you,
and that moral judgements
as to good or bad outcomes,
or of success or happiness,
and whatnot, cannot
truly be assessed
until after the final curtain falls,
so you’ll never know it yourself,
truth be told, friend,
being dead and all?
So, it’s a question for family,
and society,
and friends,
and ‘former friends’,
and what have you,
to make the call.
And honestly, who cares
what other people think, anywhoo?
So, don’t complain;
choose to be happy,
or fulfilled, or engaged,
or grateful, or enthralled,
or stoic, or philosophical,
or selfless, or starry-eyed,
or evangelical, or ‘evolved’ –
just between we two,
it’s up to you –
whatever floats your boat.
It’s a one way ride,
and frequently fabulous.
Enjoy the view.
Oh, and on a final note,
the movie (with Tim Roth),
is a humdinger, too.
~ Tim Burchfield


• to be realistic •

I keep trying to be ‘realistic’,
but it’s just not in me.
Hell, I’ve made it this far
being a ‘fluke of Nature’,
why change horses midstream?
Nay, I say! Naaaaaaaay!
Let’s play, shall we?
Self-determination has for so long been my mainstay,
that I am convinced it is the way,
at least, for me.
Ever onward, friend,
that enviable, ever-elusive,
‘happy day’,
that elegant country.
~ Tim Burchfield


• in the general direction of you •

It’s so nice to wake up in a world, where I know you are out there,
sharing yourself,
with the rest of us,
like an overflowing stream
of conscientiousness.
The knowledge of you
inspires me to,
give the world out there
the best of my
efforts, and affection,
and wonder, and
and gratitude:
toward your streams
and slopes
and life-sustaining, wetlands,
I filter my longing,
and rejuvenate my joyfulness;
my love pours forth
in the general direction of you.
~ Tim Burchfield


• no, seriously •

People crack me up.
No matter how, ‘unfunny’, they are,
still, they amuse me.
Primarily, (I think)
it’s because
they take themselves…
so seriously.
There’s a, ‘disparity’, you see?
No? Well, in time, you will.
(And you will laugh, uproariously,
and, those present, will share,
meaningful glances,
and, ‘up’, your, ‘drip’.)
Not to worry, it’s all good.
No, seriously.
~ Tim Burchfield


• porcupine •

• porcupine •
I slowed for a porcupine this morning. It seemed in no itching hurry to get off of the road. Languidly, it began to saunter off. Well, sort of.
A porcupine has a particular way of walking: slowly, methodically, it winds it’s way to wherever, but not lackadaisically; there is evident economy of motion: “Slowly, slowly, wins the day,” it seems to say.
(The walk seems studied. At all times, a very careful placement of limbs, held far from the torso, to better approximate the ideal mode of locomotion, that of lumbering; it’s a plod, admittedly, but it doesn’t hurt, seemingly, and goes some way to explain its apparent universal porcupine appeal: which, come to think of it, makes a kind of sense. In fact, categorically.)
It’s a plodding life, and a good one. But to learn it, and thoroughly, must entail a kind of prickly, spiny hell.
The porcupine lifestyle must have peculiar associations from the crèche. Sharp childhood memories make for lasting impressions. Necessarily, nuzzling is minimal. Playing with the sibs mandates little romping. One learns early of the evils of nosiness.
“Ow! Pincushion! That was my eye!” “Oh, what a crybaby. Why d’ya think you’re born with two eyeballs, UNO, huh? Duh!!”
One who would actually ‘turn the other cheek’, is roundly regarded as ridiculous, and rightly so. What foolishness! ‘Do to others, as one would be done by,’ is the best, in the crèche, or so I imagine.
As the porcupine clears my headlights, it regards me resignedly; the expression becomes a word, unexpressed, belatedly: it says, “Patience.”
They must learn early, I suppose, a particularly porcupine philosophy, which patently pricks, fundamentally rooting its way deep into the psyche, like a tick, digging in, and there’s no getting out of it: the porcupine mantra, “Life is pain. And love? Forget about it.”
Wait a sec! Where is my silver lining, intended for me, as I head back to hearth and home, to my particular American Dream? That darned prickly porcupine–what did he say? What could it be?
“Slowly, slowly, wins the day?”
Nope. Try,
“It could be worse, you could be me.”
~ Tim Burchfield