“The rights essential to happiness. . . . We claim them from a higher source – from the King of kings and Lord of all the earth.” – John Dickinson, (1801). “The Political Writings of John Dickinson, Esquire: The speech of John Dickinson … May 24th, 1764 … praying the king for a change of the government of the province. 1764”, p.111
From herder of cats to herder of men, The voice of confusion thinks itself Zen. Thirty years of perverted energy Has produced something akin to synergy.
In this passage of marbled history Are the layers of false controversy That have forced America to rearrange While most of us stand back to watch the change.
Loose production produces laughter and levity, Mostly at how life, much like gravity, Leaves much more to be static and grounded Than the original ideas that were impounded.
One by one, what we called our own Became something we could not leave alone Until it became bigger than the total sum, And like Pink Floyd, we became comfortably numb.
No longer did American pretend it was the polite society, As we became overcome by neurosis and anxiety Until the rough crowd was the one allowed To take over the role of acting and being proud.
Sketches that start as something less Became fleshed out into masquerade of success. One with failure as the two ways to die. Opened ended questions with no need to reply...
It's funny how in a life full of choices, The best stories told are filled with voices. The type of voices that need to talk About the lives through which they casually walk.
Smiling like the moaning Lisa revealed Are the bits of truth no longer concealed. It's funny how stories felt dis reputable Have the longest run and slip into being credible.
The best humor comes from the tears of clowns. It's those special places in the soul turned around That speak to the heart deeper than the levity And on the surface, these are face painted as comedy.
(c) June 25, 2025 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
Drawing on our life's experience There are characters of preference. They serve as molds of imagination. So much of life is pure improvisation.
The charm that got us by As we hustled to give life our try. The shots of the frame-by-frame Are the shots that became our game.
Moving pictures tell the story. Inch by inch these grasp for glory. We were sixteen and knew each other. Our hearts were as close if we were brothers.
Lights out on the night of Brooklyn. Knights rode into the lights of our sins. These were the heroes in our own minds. Bullets flew to leave some of us behind.
The cinematic magic replicated life As swift as we thought, like a switchblade knife. There's so much that we did that it's okay. Who knew if we'd have it any other way.
The fashion of truth is mere dalliance, Fifty years out it might pass as brilliance. We drank from the well of the divine spark. Then we struggled to separate light from dark.
Always pushing forward for something more. Blow by blow, we learned to even the score. Along the way, friendship saw us through. I suppose it still does in everything we do.
The push through can feel like sheer brutality As life is lived with true humility. Every step taken is one that is real. It doesn't matter how we think it's supposed to feel.
Life and love is all about the chemistry. To be unafraid is to live our truest artistry. Experiments in experience of the go between, It's the visceral that is lived as if it is real.
It's the deep dive that is felt as if known. It's the along the way that reveals how we've grown. Day to day, life lived hits each of differently. It becomes our spirituality to be lived reverently.
(c) June 24, 2025 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
Almost all nations have peace or war at the will and pleasure of rulers whom they do not elect, and who are not always wise or virtuous. Providence has given to our people the choice of their rulers, and it is the duty, as well as the privilege and interest, of our Christian nation to select and prefer Christians for their rulers. – John Jay, Letter To John Murray (October 12, 1816), published in the Life of John Jay (1833) By William Jay, Vol. 2, p. 376
The top tier of all artistry Has the flow found in living free. The struggle and hustle of the city Has the habit of instilling its vibrancy
That grinds against the bone In a way that makes each soul its own. New York City cannot be seen differently. Up and coming artists feel this reverently.
Two blocks away from mere survival Is another perception that is its rival. The opportunities are no longer tribal And it pulls the survivors from the primeval.
No longer immigrants but a phase into more. Yet, no one knows what exactly is in store. As the second generation learns its other way, Living as it does to fight yet another day.
The mean street struggles push and shove, Changing the scenery to something closer to love. Finding ideals that rise above the corruption To bring the something greater than disruption.
The neighborhood has no empathy, Demanding full price without any sympathy. It knows it will always be there, Longer after its visitors have forgotten to revere
So any taking is done at the fullest price As it is for all the sum of sacrifice. Cinema changes along with fragments of history. It may be that this is the true mystery.
Life's soundtrack is all the buzz. It's a sentimental memory of what was. The city has very few quiet moments, But the music of it takes away the torments.
There is much we learn from those before. It is their ghosts that opened the door. To what pass off as glimpses of imagination. Without these, there will no no illumination.
(c) June 23, 2025 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
Heading out of Australia to escape this Aussie winter. First stop Japan, then UK/Ireland and if work doesn't call me back, onto Chicago. I will make it up as I go along
ALOHA PROMISES FOREVER 