Stanford the Chipmunk

Once upon a time, there was a chipmunk who felt that nobody respected him. Perhaps it was true, maybe even justified. But Stanford was sorely miffed by the slights and ridicule he believed his neighbors cast at him.

There are creatures smaller than a chipmunk just as easily ignored, or more easily, in the bustling world of nature. Stanford was as likely to overlook and discount their contribution to life as his neighbors. He understood that many things in life are too unimportant to occupy one's mind; but he simply knew he was not one of those things.

Stanford stood upon his stump
And called for all to heed.
Dancing about, he did jump -
Their attention he did need.

"It has been said," he began,
"By so many gathered here,
'That life requires no plan
To pass from year to year.

'What will come is unasked,
So accept what you receive.
The future's always masked -
Its intent none can perceive.' "

The few who listened shrugged;
Most ignored the small chipmunk.
From their paths, they weren't tugged
By his unwanted show of spunk.

"But it isn't true," he cried,
"Your planned goals can be reached.
It's worthy to be tried -
So think ahead," he beseeched.

None replied to what he said,
Even if they had heard.
If his thoughts crossed their head,
To self, credit they transferred.

What good to know what’s right,
He grumbled to himself.
I live beneath their sight
On life’s neglected shelf.

Did I chose to be so low
Upon my social tree?
Could into a lion I grow
With opportunity?

Then they would notice me
And hang on every word.
My roar would say what’s to be --
To me, all choices deferred.

He saw himself as lion posed
To rule with deft command.
He swept aside all opposed
To do as he had planned.

The world he saw was transformed
To fit neatly in his mold.
To their tasks others swarmed,
Doing as he had told.

Stanford walked with eyes closed
To hold within his dream.
So content, now he dozed
To realize his fine scheme.

The world changed not a bit --
All continued as it was --
Dreamer alone with his wit,
Hearing his own applause.

Macbeth on Mars

Macbeth on Mars
The infamous Macbeth has gathered renown
In cities and countries the world around.
His temptation, ambition, and destruction model
The lust and loss of a coveted citadel.

Despite his short struts upon the stages
Ending at the curtain throughout the ages,
Macbeth evokes from us an iconic remembrance
To climb to a level of global significance.

But who on Mars knows his name
And links their thoughts to his ill fame?
And outward, far amongst distant stars,
His meaning shrinks to nil just like ours.

By simple math, the proportion reduces
Of unchanged dividend as expanding divisor looses.
But is there truth in the numerator's steady state
As the opportunity of the denominator does dilate?

Does a man move to signify less
As his consideration does more address?
Is significance a relative ratio to the world
Or an absolute impact of an embodied role?

How does a man affect his world?
In solitary action outwardly hurled?
A thought, a ball, sent forth on sound,
Off the nearest obstacle to rebound.

And when that echoing ball comes back,
Does the man judge the extent of his impact?
And when from the cosmos, it never returns,
Does he despair of the void he discerns?

But people that volume with others to play,
To catch that ball, recast, and relay.
Though never again his bouncing ball to see,
His impact grows by the power of synergy.

The insignificant are those who clutch tight
What with others to share they might.
Nobody to propagate their selves in time nor space,
Alone in their walls to diminish without trace.

Insignificance

Insignificance?

Macbeth strutted upon his stage
Unto his death to end his petty page;
The greatness of deed and misdeed shrink
As all disappear after a blink.

But, wait, do you know that name?
A lifeless character with everlasting fame,
Who breathed naught but fictional air,
A creature from pen and ink heir.

Was he created to line the purse
Of a self-centered dabbler of verse?
In his small world, the writer was king,
And all existed due to his making.

But in his more expansive view,
Away from him his importance flew;
The more who see his plays,
The less the impact his drama conveys?

A man's pettiness is more easily felt
By the tightness of the cinch upon his belt.
The shorter his reach, the less he touches,
The higher the boundary, the more hobbling his crutches.

Did You Miss Me?

Did You Miss Me?

Did you miss me?, said the mouse to the cat.
Sorry I had to dash away like that,
But when duty calls, a mouse can't say no
And must, with haste, to wherever called go.

Oh, were you gone? the cat replied to him.
I had my fur to groom and claws to trim.
So many more important things to do,
The dog and I had not a thought of you.

The dog asked, we have a cat in our home?
I have rabbits to chase and fields to roam.
There is no time to waste in my busy day;
I must be ready when Boy wants to play.

Mom called, have you walked the dog today, Boy?
You know that he is not just a stuffed toy.
Not now, he said, I've a ballgame to catch,
But I'll get to it right after the match.

Is that game today? Dad said from his chair,
I completely forgot, not I don't care,
But I need to be elsewhere, sorry, Sport;
Are you pitching, fielding or playing short?

Each at the center of his own universe,
Where, but briefly, others ever traverse,
We let pass without note, and small effect,
The doings of others in our neglect.