Robert Ronnow Poems

1

I say I'm a designer of systems, plans
Man's
...

The Jewish brothers in Defiance were definitely tough.
One wanted to kill many Germans, the other to save
      many Jews.
The German soldiers were expendable, unmarried,
...

There cannot be two identical things in the world. Two
hydrogen atoms
offer infinite locations within their shells for electrons.
Thus, nothing can be definitely eventually known.
...

Next to my son's anger
plate tectonics are nothing
to me. His unhappiness
was caused by me.
...

Last night's Wim Wenders film Wings of Desire, not
      starring Adam Sandler,
great in the great tradition of Metropolis, Fellini,
      Children of Paradise, Ikiru, Open City.
...

Watching Homer struggle
to explain how a god wounded by a mortal
cannot die but may thereafter live with minor pain
...

Have some fun.
Presentation of self.
Afterlife functional illusion.
...

All conflicts are resolved via coercion, implied or
      applied,
of the dominant party over the denied (Niebuhr) .
Not news at the 2nd St. jail. But the Constitution
...

Between conjecture and classification there is
observation, experiment, data (collection and analysis) ,
statistics, calculus, and a good guess
about God's intentions - probabilities, fractals, chaos
...

            Your past, your romantic past, is a shadow. Like all towns, Port Washington was a combination of rain and clouds, sun and mist, with a chamber of commerce, barrooms and boards of directors, the known and unknown. No one of course is completely unknown. I was known for my tragic love life. She had found another man, a backwoods man, living on the land but not above a night on the town, who according to her would wipe snot on his pants, a statement of poverty or thrift or anger against the niceties of society. All of us heated our hovels with wood but only the rich burned hardwoods, me and probably this guy were softwood gatherers.

            There were few aspects to my life. First, I can remember a nook in the kitchen of the house I shared with a beautiful faceless woman who wore a ring in her nose where I wrote and watched flocks of unidentified birds comb a tree for seeds. This particular day the sky was blue with clean pillowy cumulus clouds floating toward Puget Sound. I believe all the poems written in that nook have been forgotten by their author.
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