My wishes for me and y'all both to carry us through 2016:
- for good health, and enjoying the lives we have been given,
- for creative inspiration, that our works will undeniably be a product of our love
- for less waste, either in time, or in materials, or through careless mistakes
- for good fortune, that we may celebrate in each others' accomplishments and share freely all the blessings we have been given
- for much laughter, showing that we know how to learn from our mistakes, and still not take life too seriously
- and for quiet contemplation, aware that this life is impermanent, yet we remember and honor others as we recount the past "brief lives"
----
Part of this is inspired by Gaiman's wishes for the New Years...

So, 2015, I thought I'd write a poem a day. That fizzled out in December, due to chronic writer's blocks.
I'm thinking that 2016 will be the year of meditations. At least 10 minutes per day - some guided and some silent...
I'm only worried that my poor time management may cause issues...

As I fumble once more for words,
I often do wonder,
"Was I meant to chatter like birds?"
Or, am I to be a stealthy hunter,
Like a cat low in the grass,
Observing prey for a blunder?
...and the bus rolls on,
without power for the phones.
So, sitting in silence,
I watch the plains roll by;
And I try not to notice
The love birds cuddling beside me...

The bowl hung low
Above the Western horizon,
Filled to the brim
With ghost memories of the Sun...

Dancing around in my underpants,
Hoping that everyone understands -
I want more than a sideways glance...

Get to work Christmas Eve and Christmas... Extra money will help, but kind of bummed about it.

Then again, I didn't have any other plans, so good to be out of bed.

P.o.t.D. 12/13/15: "Dawn's Palette"

As the sun crept above the wharf,
Treasures left there by the night tide
Were seen, strewn along the sea shore.
With the advancing morning light,
Colors returned - first red and orange,
Then rainbows struck my labored sight.
Pink, purple, blue, and so much more -
Even pine greens sprang from the night.

P.o.t.D. 12/9/15: "Clouded Thoughts"

Bedevilled by gnats...
Walking with my head in the cloud,
A buzzing in my ears,
A tickle in my nose -
I want to be at peace
With the annoying minutiae.

Take a deep breath,
Or two...
Or twenty...
Collect my scattered bugs
Flying all around my head space,
Triggered by the critics
Cutting me down to size -
Some justifiably,
Some just telling it like it was.

Breathe in,
And cough out the sickness,
Like in "The Green Mile" -
Just let it all go,
Even though some words
Haunt me for years,
With their stinging truths.

P.o.t.D. 12/8/15: "A long rest?"

The words stuck in my gut,
Blocked by deep dark depression
Choking back tears and outrage
And causing the poems' cessation...

But, all you saw,
Was an absence from the page...
If you were even looking.

P.o.t.D. 12/4/15: "moving on..."

To describe the present moment:
Sitting at the kitchen table,
Searching on the laptop for jobs
In hopes my life becomes stable.

P.o.t.D. 12/3/15: "Marching Seconds"

The clock is ticking,
Marking off moments in life,
That slowly add up.

P.o.t.D. 12/2/15: "My Voice?"

People want to hear my voice -
Not shares and likes without comment,
Or stuff that's just pretty pictures
Usually paired with "Quotes"
Of vague repute or half-truths...

People want to hear my voice?
Let me retreat into my shell,
Like a tortoise stung by a bee,
Reeling from the sudden pain
That all these memes are not me.

Do you want to hear my voice?
When words collide in my brain,
Coming out sideways in my pain -
First drafts with very rough edges,
And lots of "uh's" and hedges...

So shy, and yet, I shall speak my voice,
To declutter my friends' feeds
From the fluff and fandom
Spawned by all the shares and likes,
Such as the AT-AT cake I've seen thrice.

Would I blame the games?
I think of first-person shooters, and live action assassins gone awry, and how my competitive streak has taken some of those to unhealthy levels - I mean, my first hospitalizing manic episode came only one week after the heightened paranoia that surrounded assassins...
Or do we point fingers at the movies and media, where violence is glorified?
Crime, zombies, action flicks - with all their associated gun fire, and so little grief seen after words...
Then there's that whole American ideal: "the right to defend one's home" or "the right to bear arms"... which, to me, seems to say that we can justify violence as a quick and easy means of righting personal wrongs. Yet, in reality, that's just an escalating cycle of violence which quickly leads to physical harm or death of somebody involved. We cheer when it's the initial wrongdoer, and we regret when it's the victim...
What makes people choose to pull the trigger? Is it really insanity, or do they believe it's accepted by society?
I claim no answers, only some hazy theories. I'd like your (civilized) inputs...

P.o.t.D. 11/30/15: "Time Marches On"

Overslept again.
Life doesn't care - it moves on,
Leaves me scrambling...

P.o.t.D. 11/29/15: streaming on deficiencies.

streaming thoughts:

poverty sucks,
it really sucks...

to not have the power to buy a meal,
and subsist on old sandwiches

to worry about past-due rent
or credit card debt
spinning out of control
or not being able to see a doctor or dentist
because the copays too high

even though health seems to be getting worse
worries about cancer in the mouth or the colon
probably just an over-active imagination

and yet...
sharp twinge of pain down my right leg
as i get out of bed this evening
recalls horrible memories of sciatica
and reminds me how poorly
i do not maintain good physical health

back to poverty sucks -
it's not all finances
there's this emptiness
this lack of connection
with friends and family
so that when I suddenly need help
i'm afraid to write emails
or make phone calls
because i don't want to be
some random stranger making an imposition

i'm an introvert,
a hermit,
a solitary man
and that could very well be my undoing
because i need to be reminded

that sharing life
does not divide life -
it multiplies it
through the many perspectives

sure,
i might be pigeon-holed
as a star wars fan to that guy,
or a math nerd to another circle,
or a game player or merry jokester or monologue reveler or ....

i am not just my
collection of interests
or my common habits...

and yet, I feel uncomfortable
talking politics,
and behind the curve in the sciences
nothing "serious" seems to be my strength,
because I do not want to read and research

it takes so much strength
just to get out of bed these days,
and shower,
and brush my teeth,
and wear myself down
working
in jobs i do not relish

there's a poverty of energy?
or a poverty of hope?
I can't see why I should struggle
when i feel that I'm destined
to die alone, penniless, forgotten.

or there's that fear
that struggle as i may,
the rest of the world
is still caught up in an avalanche
of a great disaster
that we're all watching in slow motion

i feel bleak, disheartened...

some times, I just want to run away
to the mountains of Tibet,
to drop all possessions
except a bowl to eat rice out of
and meditate with monks
and live simply.
probably a rash decision,
but I could at least meditate each day,
to try to get centered,
to sort the wheat from the chaffe
in this barren field
that is our capitalistic society...

so i feel myself
getting weathered down
by poor finances,
lack of romances,
worries over health,
fears of the stupidity of others,
and i have to wonder,
"Will I come out of it all
As some well-worn river rock
hiding a beautiful geode inside?"

or will i just fade away...?

and "Comfortably Numb" just started playing on my radio.

Wondering about communication methods?

"the Facebook couch": yep, one of my weaknesses, at this moment, is an over-reliance on Facebook for communication. I whine about people not visiting, calling, or writing; and yet - what have I done in order to try to fuel those other channels? Nothing. No contacts initiated

I wanted to share some of the ideas in this post in the AA meeting that happened an hour before this post... but I never got called on to share, even when they opened up the sharing to volunteers at the end.

Why broadcast to the general public? Probably some hope that somebody, somewhere will pick up when I feel extremely limited on people I can emote with... It seems I've lost touch with most of my family, except my Dad for a variety of reasons. I miss the days of having best friends or neighbors that I did things with on an almost daily basis. I'm craving companionship...

Should I seek professional help? More than likely, yes. Yet my insurance does not have psychiatric services based in Austin. The therapist that was provided thru DARS dropped me about two years ago, because I was not following thru on our action plans. I don't think a general practitioner would do much, aside from prescribing medications. I could always call a suicide hotline, but I'm not pondering suicide, so part of me would feel like I'd be abusing that resource.

So... yet another time thru the bipolar cycle, and another holiday clouded by doubts, and a hope that somebody out there, somewhere will listen...

P.o.t.D. 11/28/15: "Poverty Blues"

To live without cash
Is tough, a marathon dash:
Running on empty...

There's this....
general feeling of ennui...
this sense that I've been betrayed...
abandoned...
written off as worthless or fake...
It could be some weird paranoia, with no basis in reality; or it could be quite true, like that gut feeling when you're in a bad relationship.
I'm not good at distance relationships, I think. Stuff that involves letters or phone calls, or trying to communicate past other barriers. I don't think I'm very good at casual chit-chat, either - just trying to connect with others. I don't think I behave like normal people do; it's even been pointed out to me how I remind a lady of her son with Asperger's Syndrome.
It hurts, that I want to be included and accepted, and instead I feel ignored by the majority.
Yet, my experiences do not always integrate well with yours. My stories do not always make sense, or end with a good point or moral. My needs are not always clearly expressed, due to communication barriers. My actions are not always noble, and some times quite destructive.
So, I suffer, even though you see me joking. That makes me wonder if "I need to change my tact", as pointed out by a friend earlier this week. What do I expose to the elements? What do I share?
Could probably write more, but I'm NOT very good at monologues.

grumbling about being alone

There's this....
general feeling of ennui...

this sense that I've been betrayed...
abandoned...
written off as worthless or fake...

It could be some weird paranoia, with no basis in reality; or it could be quite true, like that gut feeling when you're in a bad relationship.

I'm not good at distance relationships, I think. Stuff that involves letters or phone calls, or trying to communicate past other barriers. I don't think I'm very good at casual chit-chat, either - just trying to connect with others. I don't think I behave like normal people do; it's even been pointed out to me how I remind a lady of her son with Asperger's Syndrome.

It hurts, that I want to be included and accepted, and instead I feel ignored by the majority.

Yet, my experiences do not always integrate well with yours. My stories do not always make sense, or end with a good point or moral. My needs are not always clearly expressed, due to communication barriers. My actions are not always noble, and some times quite destructive.

So, I suffer, even though you see me joking. That makes me wonder if "I need to change my tact", as pointed out by a friend earlier this week. What do I expose to the elements? What do I share?

P.o.t.D. 11/27/15: "Feast or Famine?"

No poems made on Turkey Day;
It was spent with friends and feasts.
Many fun games were than played
After we snacked on roast beasts.

Got home, then got on Facebook;
Flooded with thanks from more friends...
Tough to read, to even look,
When I feel crushed, at wit's ends.

Cheers for crumbs, like petting cats,
That can become hearty loaves
When faced with pesky poor facts
That feed this depression's lows.

Ah, but I'm grateful
For friends and family 'round
Sharing lots of love...

General low-level malaise.
Don't want to do holidays...
Hopefully, just a passing phase.
Maybe just need some love and sun rays?

P.o.t.D. 11/25/15: "Ambience"

Scanning the air waves,
Hoping to find great music
That will drive my nights...

P.o.t.D. 11/24/15: "Dawn: Herald of Vivid Colour"

As the light scattered
Across the sunrise sky,
Some clouds were painted violet
And others faded to a bright pink.

While I walked
Towards a fiery orange horizon,
I marvelled at how
Pitch became baby blue.

What spectra would be revealed,
If we let the machine
Try to make sense of it all?

What spectres would be dispelled,
As night is chased away
By what looks to be a sunny day?

P.o.t.D. 11/23/15: "patterns?"

Looking for patterns
In Earth's complex patchwork quilt
From simple lives built.

P.o.t.D. 11/22/15: "At night, I wonder"

Oh, quiet nights!
My solace, my refuge, my recharge!

To work in silence,
Cloaked under cover of darkness,
Under that slight chill
Of a grinning Chesire crescent -
That fingernail of God
Pointing out a day done,
Or a dawn to come...

Keeping my solitary company
With the planets and stars,
Not concerned with this blink of man -
Shining brightly like beacons
Of aeons long past,
When we were but stardust.

To marvel in "God's glory",
In the great Whole
And a Path
That leads to the One -
Trying to get all spiritual, now...
But I embrace the sky and the Earth,
And woefully shake my head,
At those who deny it all,
Not caring beyond their death or birth.

We are nothing,
Such insignificant nada,
When mapped against the stars -
It feels so surreal,
Like the movement Dada...

So, let me move in wonder,
Gazing on glorious fires,
Burning way out yonder!

P.o.t.D. 11/21/15: "Jekyll and Hyde"

Go ahead, drink up!
Gave yourself a drunken rage,
You'll regret today...

P.o.t.D. 11/20/15: "Deadline Approaching..."

With audible clicks,
Each second ticks;
Feels like razor nicks
From a pendulum
Swinging over my corpse,
As I'm weighed down
By cold hard bricks...

P.o.t.D. 11/19/15: "Career Search"

Looking for fun work,
Using fancy Math degree -
Figure, "It's my love..."

P.o.t.D. 11/18/15: "Stretches..."

Twinges of muscle pain
Trickle along the lower back...
Another old age sign,
Maybe pointing at workout lack.

Years of foregoing bends
And stretches just to stay limber...
Catch up in an amends
Needed for one to remember:

"It's best to balance mind
With body, to live complete lives;
'Lest rusty muscles find
Us confined in bed, while pain thrives."

P.o.t.D. 11/17/15: "Breaking News!"

The brain's blocks are strong,
But it's battered by news, non-stop;
What staves this onslaught?

P.o.t.D. 11/16/15: "Lacking Inspiration"

My mind is rotting in my skull,
Like the Halloween pumpkins
Left out until Thanksgiving,
Getting all soft and mushy
In the late Autumn Texas heat.

There's a curmudgeon in me that refuses to stripe my profile pic...
My heart goes out to those in Paris and Beirut; just as it hurts when I hear of another "shooter on campus"...
...but I want to show my support of the victims with some more substantial act than wearing a ribbon, or changing a profile pic, or other acts of iconography.
Where are the posts pointing out the charities we can donate our time, money and/or service to?

P.o.t.D. 11/15/15: "Celebrating Creativity!"

I would love to snorkel
In a sea of sights and sounds...

Immersed in the arts,
Celebrating creativity -
Not just man-made, mind you...
But a dash of nature
To spice up my days...

Bah! no flow in that!
...self-criticism is the worst!

Meditating to music I adore,
So that, in my dreams, I may swim, may soar.

Eating up images I find online -
Some text, some art, some crude, some so sublime.

Craving to be in the spectacle's crowd,
Succors sharing souls, in silence's shrouds.

Put people aside, to ponder pure plants,
Simple, yet elegant, in noble stance.

P.o.t.D. 11/14/15: "Some Times, My Mind..."

A bag of cuties, upon the kitchen table,
Beckoned to me, with easy peeling,
Sweet juices and no seeds to gag on -
Each one more decadent than the last,
As my little addiction monster kicked in...

Looking at the plate now,
I see just the skins, the remains of ten.

...plus a pineapple container,
And two plastic shells that
Held cheese, nuts, and wrinkled raisins...

Is it me, or could this poem be,
In a pornographic way, taken?

None the less, I feel a bit more healthy,
From an orgasmic frenzy of vitamin C.

P.o.t.D. 11/13/15: "Looking for Nothing"

"A world possesses an abstract item."

After six refreshes,
This seemed like
A random sentence
That I could work with...

Although, the third one...

"A heterosexual spreads himself."

Had definite possibilities, too -
Probably not fit for children, though!

So, how could we describe
This abstract item,
Within our grasp?

That is, assuming a world
Might be a conclave of souls,
Huddled against deadly cold
Of unused, pitch Outer Space.
It could be that blue marble
That we dig our feet into,
Even as green phases to brown.

Do we have any true love,
When we trash others and our land,
Without thought of damage caused?
Prove me wrong, yet I doubt man
Will learn the restraint of self
To gain such a devotion...

Is there a society,
With grace and calm dignity,
When lives revolve 'round TV
Or phones, or technologies -
Tools to battle apathy...?

What does our world possess,
In the midst of our distress,
Claiming we're not like our guests?

Alas, I feel like I am
Just pulling at frayed, loose threads,
Stringing ideas together
To form a derived fabric,
From which my world has been cut...
Not knowing if it connects
With your life's rich tapestry
Like some knitter's patchwork quilts.

What makes the item abstract,
Sentence random, like a crash
Making the world less intact,
Hiding meaning with words brash?

I put up my quill,
Dissatisfied still -
Perhaps today will,
With effort, unveil
A story to tell...

P.o.t.D. 11/12/15: "help.."

"...help....me,"
he whispered,
with his passing breath,
as the empty bottle
tumbled to the ground...

"HELP ME!!!!"
She screamed
To the heavens,
Not knowing
If he was there...

"Help us...,"
They chanted,
Years later,
In their widening
Circles of survivors...

P.o.t.D. 11/11/15: "Long-Distance Amnesia"

Forgot how to chat
When many miles came between
Us, in other states.

P.o.t.D. 11/10/15: "Local maximum, but not global"

Fighting inertia,
Peace on my local mountain;
Scared to cross valleys...

P.o.t.D. 11/9/15: "A Spectre's Spectrum"

Red for passion's glowing embers,
Fading now to dull grey ashes...

Orange for the "Once white-hot" school pride,
Waning as he walked life alone...

Yellow for the aging bleached bones,
Left to decay in Texas sun...

Green brought new sprouts pushing the Earth,
Alas, they withered in brutal heat...

Blue, the color of eyes weary,
From crying over hopes now lost...

Indigo stains cloth so royal,
Hiding sweat spilled on distant fields...

Violet fades into pitch black,
As light's waning spectrum is palled.

P.o.t.D. 11/8/15: "Vague Memes"

To find brilliant thoughts,
One must muddle through darkness,
Wary of false shots...

Cranking noisily away
On my little music box,
Like a lost, manic monkey
Enamored by evil thoughts...

------

Pulling fiery passions
Out with milky Pensieve,
Cooling, congealing black ice
Splattered across your snowed screens...

P.o.t.D. 11/07/15: "Procrastination...? Or worse..?"

Yesterday?

I spent twenty-one hours
In my bed,
Listening to classical music
From the radio across the room.

Why I did not
Get up to eat,
Or to shower,
Or to visit with friends -
I do not know....

Maybe this is
Depression,
Twisting its knife
Across my soul.

Such a jagged knife
That rips and tears my life
Into tattered shreds,
All while I stay huddled,
Under covers on the bed.

P.o.t.D. 11/5/15: "Winter is coming"

Staring at the white space before me,
Trying to paint it black with bloody words.

My mind's lost in some twisted blizzard
Of noise and disjointed ideas -
I feel so unaware, out of the loop,
Lost in the frozen wastelands.

Is this depression,
Twisting it's knife in my skull,
Rendering me impotent,
Like some poor cattle
Led to the slaughter?

Each stanza begets a sentence.

Fighting my preoccupation with haiku,
Bandying words about loosely, like improv,
I still try to slap a structure on it,
Like Bob's "Put a bird on it"?

Back to the chilling realization
That I can't think of what to say...

Nothing develops.
It's all snow,
Blotting out the sunlight.
The stains of my pain
Left on the still, pristine banks
That are but a quiet memory
Of the flurries and flakes
That chipped off
The cloudiness of my brain, beset
By Obstinance and Obstruction...

I feel I should be screaming
Into winter's dying wasteland.
I want to emote,
I want to be heard!
Yet, when pressed for a sharp word,
I find myself stung numb
By thoughts mundane and dumb.

Writing is such a chore,
And I'm trying to get out the door,
Thinking a first draft is enough,
Not willing to invest in
Revising it to something more.

The thought crops up,
Like a new sprout in spring soil,
That, next year,
I can revisit all this churning
And tighten it up into
Something fruitful for my toil.

Most of all these words
Are scratchings at the surface -
First draft nonsense,
Tossed out, offhand,
Attempts to save some sort of face.

I don't want to be spending so many hours,
Hunched over the computer,
Mulling over thoughts somewhat sour,
Yearning for those days when I tutored -
Feeling myself mired in deep drifts,
Out of my depth, just scrawling...

No conclusion to be made,
Just a howl in my own way...
Because I still know not,
What I have left to say.

P.o.t.D. 11/4/15: "Disabled?"

What's it like to be Deaf or Blind?
Is there a total abscence of sense,
Or a confused muddle
Of which the brain
Simply can not make sense?

I looked at his cane,
And Coke bottle bottom glasses,
And I thought of extreme focus
That only made the eye's strange blurs
Just a fraction more sure...

If the brain has so much garbage
Fed into it by distorted
Eyes and ears -
What a challenge, then,
To try to create
The external world
Inside the mind.

Who's to say, though,
That there's any sensory input -
After all, there could be
Horrible damage to the nerves
Leading to silence or darkness
Or nothing left
Where once there was plenty.

Would it be better to
Never sense at all,
Or to have tasted
The sights and sounds so sweet,
And now be left
With...?

P.o.t.D. 11/3/15: "Cancer Concerns?"

Scalp scabs are scary -
Signs the sun is singing skin...
Hope hats help head health...

P.o.t.D. 11/2/15: "Bending Rules"

"Alphabet's
Beginning
Current lines,"
Decided I,
Even with smirks...

For in this foray
Grows simple patterns
Hiding in other
Intellectual plays
Juggled about with quirks...

Keeping patterns going
Leaves no room for the words
Making a good story,
Now that I'm locked in these strange
Ordeals where the poem's a jerk...

"Quit now! Shred it all! Begin again..."

Reticent, the Rat retreated,
Sensing shame, shunning the game
Traced thru tortured, twisted
Undulations of one's uvula
With the words wrapped 'round rules.

Yo! You notice now, the shattered patterns?
Zip through the lines again, zeroing in on the missing three...

"How would you fit them in, then?"

P.o.t.D. 11/1/15: "Fuzz"

November arrives
With floods, and furry faces
Blossom like flowers...

P.o.t.D. 10/31/15: "Halloween Nod"

Goblins, ghosts, and ghouls
Slink through the streets, seeking sweets
To gnaw on, next month.

P.o.t.D. 10/29/15: "Rumours"

Stories left untold
Gather strange twists, somewhat bold,
As the facts unfold...

P.o.t.D. 10/28/15: "Life after..."

I passed by a flower bed,
Full of thick, little, clipped stumps,
Each sporting vibrant green cacti sprouts -
Perhaps life weighing in
After the recent foot of rainfall?

I was reminded of another clipped cactus,
That I'd pass every day
On my treks up and down Jones Road -
It was twenty food round, it seemed,
Filling the scene with so many sprouts...
Recently, it has been trimmed,
Cut down even with a plane
Passing along the sidewalk's edge.

I used to check in,
As I passed that cactus,
On an app now forgotten...
Just because I was racing
To be a mayor here,
Or a point leader there...

It's probably way past time
To trim my phone
Of frivolous apps,
Gathering electrons
Yet never used...

Time to simplify,
To rearrrange, declutter,
And make time for dreams.

Yet I feel stuck,
Pricked by past lives,
In debt to experiences?

Tired refrain:
"It's hard to write poems
After a long night at work..."

P.o.t.D. 10/27/15: "Moises is Old"

It's not your birthday,
Yet I'd like to celebrate...
Still up for movies?

P.o.t.D. 10/26/15: "regrets..."

Just a note, dear Dad:
My life's gone from good to bad -
This makes me quite mad.

Ranting at midnight...

Ranting at midnight, about nothing in particular... I may think it's important while others write it off as "the rambling madman"

No focus. not even sure what's that little irritation in my brain. how i want people to call or visit more often. how i feel so horribly alone, unsupported, abandoned... of course, the advice will probably come back, "Get out and do stuff! Get engageged with your friends first!"

But... when you're depressed, it's so hard to leave the blanket fort.

trying not to get hung up about line breaks, topic breacks, punctuation, white space... all that attempts to organize what I'd rather just stream.

watching as friends disappear, i feel the hollow carved out of my soul, wondering what i might have done to help drive them away. then again, maybe they were doing stuff on their end that made them ashamed to continue our association - a drug or alcohol relapse comes to minnd

where am i finding my friends? some in recovery, with many of those based on very flimsy connections. some in gaming, which is good, because that is an interest of mine. then, my obsessive parts in my brain latch on to those activities, and try to fill my schedule with them. leaving me one-dimensional, because I'm not developing any of those other activities that I feel fulfilling. then again, it's hard to wrap my head around "doing more stuff" when so much stuff seems to cost money...

and frustrated I am that money is not mine to have. desire to find better work is out there, but obsessions leaves work search gathering dust on a back burner. so frustrated that I've pissed away great opportunities to become a better worker in many better positions.

ranting about me me me... maybe because it hurts so to follow the news. i'm one of those unfortunates who gets most of his current events via facebook - because i don't want to watch the cnn 24 hour marathons, or buy a paper, or even search the web... hell, most news is beyond my control, any way. I can rattle my saber, only to find out it's a butter knife.

I still feel alone. Cut off from the world, and written off as nobody. Writing in a vacuum, that sucks the life from my soul.

So, I trudge on. Some days, my mind is like a dungeon, beating my rationality senseless with it's depressive bludgeon.

doesn't feel like a great rant. perhaps that's how i know i'm depressed: I can't get my thoughts together.

P.o.t.D. 10/25/15: "Downpour"

Rain drops form thick sheets
Draped across the land; plant beds
Gulp up nature's sweets.

P.o.t.D. 10/24/15: "Originality..?"

Original Ideas?
I've heard those beasts do not exist...

As we wrap our brains around the bones
Of others' theories - meaty marrow sucked dry
Through their repetition, reexamination, and reanimation...

You may think, and think quite well,
That adding your peculiar twists
To the urban legend makes it taste sweet
And become easily savored, maybe even believable...

Ah! Yet truth is often stranger than fiction -
Pardon the belaboured cliche -
For those pesky little mundane facts
Often mesh far better with our own experience
Than crazy Texas hyperbole
Or the fantastical phrasings from folklore...

Yet, I've strayed -
I've plumbed down the depths of storytelling,
Which is but a fraction of all that we share -
Not thinking how the rigors of science
Forge theories that trap nuggets of ideas -
"How could general relativity condense from physics before?"
Also, what about impartial reporting of an event,
When the observer almost always sees things with their spin?

Is there an original thought left to be found?
Some breakthrough, that,
Though built on the backs of our ancestors,
Still teases out a connection
Previously unseen, in the world?

Is there storytelling that's a bit more sound
Than the tall tales and fantasies
That propogate far quicker,
Because they appeal to our mental dissections
Of right and wrong unfurled...?

Part of me thinks
We've only scratched the surface
Of what we can yet learn,
If only from truth,
We do not turn.

P.o.t.D. 10/23/15: "Conscious Feedback?"

Spend your time with "them",
Instead of wasting minutes:
"Stuff" never gives love...

P.o.t.D. 10/22/15: "Bitter Poem"

Such exquisite torture,
Wracking one's mind,
To string words together
With twists of rhyme -
And failure seems so sour
Like an old lime...

P.o.t.D. 10/21/15: "Hydra"

Let's play tag, shall we?
If the post is what I'd post,
Then add me to it...

Will I be Star Wars,
Or AA, or democrat,
...pictures of a cat?

It's so hard to say
What image Facebook conveys
Through my likes each day;

A giant hydra
Of giggles, or some tears shed,
Each new like - new head...

What, upon your screen
Do you so happen to see
Of mention of me?

P.o.t.D. 10/20/15: "Blacksmith Puzzles"

Twist and turn puzzles,
So iron ring will release
Like a magic trick.

P.o.t.D. 10/19/15: "How Old?"

When we turn away from the sun,
Then deep secrets at night are spun:

Men with the universe are one;
Kin of stardust we have become...

Since atoms were fused by billions
Whence stellar fires burst forth once;
Hence we share much from deaths so young -
Princes are the same as the dumb.

Dense in mind, scared to trust iron
Lends proof that science has now won
Pensive debates 'bout time's long run.

Bends our truth, keeping light unshown,
Mince theories, and arguments are honed...
Pins their flaws on walls, forgets bones...
Wince as one debates, wails, and moans...

Generations led down paths wrong,
Finished by science and her song.

Win battles, yet war rages on,
Thin threads of false thoughts are woven.

P.o.t.D. 10/18/15: "Unfinished Business"

To hide in the shadows
With three poisoned daggers:
One kills quick, like gallows;
Two causes such swift sleep;
And three lingers, like scotch
Aging in casks shallow -
Burning as it enters
The bloodstream, stays for years,
Victims all feel hollow.

The assassin lingers
Within the dark doorways.
With lightning quick fingers
She'll strike out from that place
As "The March" meanders
Through streets and alleyways.

Who will be blessed with strikes
Of such sudden slumber,
And who cursed by dagger
Through pain, makes one dumber?
All the guards... all ten deep..
In death, find their number...

P.o.t.D. 10/17/15: "Start Simply..."

There's nothing to say,
But simple observations -
Mind's at war...? Or peace...?

P.o.t.D. 10/16/15: "Autumn's Arriving"

Crimson berries:
Precious life locked in simple seeds
To be eaten by feathered friends
And passed on through to distant lands...

Brisk morning chills:
Subtle signs that summer is past
And plants will shed bits and pieces
While people add layers of clothes...

P.o.t.D. 10/15/15: "Gamer's Nightmare"

"Roll a d20.."
'Oh no! It's an effing one!'
"You fall on your sword..."

P.o.t.D. 10/14/15: "Today's offering?"

I lay out six ripe bananas,
A loaf of raisn bread,
Three mini pound cakes,
And a couple of Mexican chocolate concoctions.

Who's to say what will be
Snatched up by hungry roommates,
And what will be left behind?

I squirrel away some burritos
In the freezer with past hauls,
All saved for that rainy day
When the money runs out
And the hunger gnaws at my gut.

My house mates are welcome
To sandwiches in the fridge, too,
Or even the rare gem
Of a fruit cup,
Not yet fermented.

I think that I'll be
Having the pork chops, tonight,
Passed on to me by my room mate,
Who has moved on,
Hopefully to more
Fulfilling pursuits...

P.o.t.D. 10/13/15: "Mendelsohn"

On the radio,
The violin sings briskly
With umph and gusto!

P.o.t.D. 10/12/15: "Minority Opinion"

I'm afraid to write
Poems that expose what I think
When I feel I'm right.

P.o.t.D. 10/11/15: "Talking Heads"

It's weird,
Wrapping my head round this post;
Because it feels like
I've hammered it out before -
You know, deja vu?

Yet what I want to talk about
Is how repetitive we can all become...

Like how bands easily slide into
A signature sound,
Or a one-hit wonder
That they can't seem to craft
Beyond...
Yep, a trap, a slippery slope,
A style of singing that's
So evocative of who they are,
That it's hard to believe
That they sing in other styles...

Or how a poet, maybe like me,
Falls back into the same
Rules, rhymes, themes, and such -
It's their own little bird song,
Their own style of expression...
"Their engulfing pit of doom!!??"

Yes, there are topics I'm drawn to,
Like the moth to the flame,
And modes of speech
That I fall prey to -
Because that's a bit of who I am.
I have my collection
Of memories and memes
That I operate from,
My box of interests
That I'd like to share with the world -
Note phrasing like the Coca-Cola commercial?

Yet...
Life is not so simple
That you can white-wash me into
A Democratic ecological math nerd -
Even though those do have an influence on how I speak.

I believe that,
Sometimes with quite a bit of effort,
I can move beyond my mode,
And gain the perspective of another.
However, it does become hard, indeed,
When we are such creatures of habit,
So used to speaking when we're blue in the face -
Just because we don't think
That anyone's listening anymore.

Now, I'll go beack to listening to
The Talking Heads artist station on Spotify,
Even though the songs are blending together...

..and, true to my form, this year,
I'll leave you with this first draft,
Without much concern for
Editing it into a proper poem...

P.o.t.D. 10/10/15: "Caffeine Vectors?"

Coffee, tea, or coke?
I pretend to be British
And ask for the bag...

P.o.t.D. 10/9/15: "A Melodic Shower"

Tickling the ivories
Creates a waterfall of sound
Cascading round my ears,
Leaving my mind spell-bound.

Ah, sweet melodies -
How you ring in visions dear
And leave me sustained!

just a note or two
building to a crescendo
and then? the song ends.

P.o.t.D. 10/8/15: "Under Cover of Darkness..."

"Under cover of darkness..."
Sounds like a phrase ominous,
And could be boding of much...

Under cover of darkness,
Henry V recites his St. Crispin speech,
Pulling me awake at 4 in the morn,
Or maybe it was 3?
Not sure if my roommate awoke, too..
But the speech? Ah, it was Branaugh - a memorable one.

Under cover of darkness,
I toil away, marking off sandwiches,
At the ill-lit store,
Which still draws customers in,
Looking to light up
Just one cigarette more.

Under cover of darkness,
I saunter out upon the streets,
Perhaps with fellow drunks to meet,
Or maybe just to grab some tacos to eat...
I feel this false safety,
Blindly unaware of dangers dogging my feet.

Under cover of darkness,
Do the spies meet in back alleys?
To trade secrets and cash
With fears that this night may be their last?

Much happens under the moon's lunacies,
And secrets are secured by starlight,
So, creature of the night that I am,
I give you the above
As truths whispered
Under cover of darkness.

P.o.t.D. 10/7/15: "Blending Joy"

Do I dice all of this,
Or just toss it in the blender?
How much do I use of each,
And what do I need to include
To have a superior salsa -
Maybe attempt to recreate
That Glowing Neon Green Concoction
From the NASCO Ann Arbor trip,
Which had everyone in tears...?

For the basic recipe,
We'll use tomatoes, onions,
Garlic, lime Juice, cilantro,
And, of course, some peppers
Picked to pull the tears from your eyes...

Although, I wonder...
Do you really need the peppers?
Or does the lime juice and cilantro,
In sufficient amounts,
Give the Italian base
Enough zing to become a Spanish treat?

One could move beyond the basic six -
Perhaps throw some mango in,
For tropical sweetness,
Or possibly pineapple...

If the tomatoes are not adding
Enough salt for your tastes,
Then you could add salt to taste -
Although I'm loathe to do so,
As I think too much salt
Can kill any dish,
Or even speed along a heart attack
To kill you quickly.

The question, of course, is,
"What portions does one use,
Of each ingredient,
To wind up with just the right zing?"
Thinking about it, one needs some knowledge,
Of how your pieces fit into the whole -
I recommend starting with small portions,
Sampling as you go,
To gain experience, you know,
With how each item makes the taste grow.

I miss the days of blending
Sweet salsas, for all to enjoy -
Perhaps I should get a blender
This Christmas, to make great gifts
For every girl and boy...

P.o.t.D. 10/6/15: "Morning Yearning..."

Coffee stout, yet sweet
Beside shortbread - tasty treat!
Alas! ...but a dream.

P.o.t.D. 10/5/15: "Nothing to Say?"

Words.
Empty words.
Meaning so much,
Yet meaning nothing really.
No facts can be found,
Reasoning has left, the minds unsound.
Just a flood of errant opinions there,
Trying to back up positions the speakers share.
A constant stream of gibberish populates the web page,
Burying, through misinformation, the validity of a true speaking sage...
Is there anything that's news or new?
Perhaps, under the deluge?
Truth?

P.o.t.D. 10/4/15: "The Bathroom Mold"

'I stand on top of the chair
To get a better look
At the upper bathroom cabinets
That I've decided to finally clean...'

"Make a sanity check, please, at minus ten."

'Oops. I failed that one big time...'

'Great molds from the outer realms
Bending space and time to their hive mind,
Growing out of control on these shelves -
Their black mass undulating
And releasing foul spores...!!'

That's the last they heard of him,
Finding only shredded clothes and shoes,
But a minute later
Atop the strangely blackened chair.

The lesson, ladies and gents?
Clean your bathroom regularly,
Or else Cthulu may become a cupcake
Compared to the gruesome mess
Growing "Out of sight, out of mind".

P.o.t.D. 10/3/15: "What I Want to See?"

A color and an object,
Or maybe a series of them -
To paint some scene in your mind
Of what I pass by, on my way home,
Without a significant thought
Marking it all as possibly poetic?

Foiled once again,
By lack of inspiration,
Or maybe just a malfunctioning mind
That can't dredge up the words
To convey sweetly those images
Sticking oh so briefly in my eye.

I fear my imagination has left
For planets unknown, or places
In the distant past and far future,
And it forgot to leave a forwarding address
By which I could parlay with it
In this grindhouse year of many poems.

Perhaps this is why so many yearn
To travel to other countries -
That they can have a change of pace,
A culture exotic and inticing
That might make their home
Seem reassuring, or, more likely, really boring.

I would like to visit Scotland and Ireland,
To hike to cragged grey castles
Amid fields of emerald clover
That bring a diamond sparkle
To my ice blue eyes,
Amid a lingering stealthy scent
Woven amidst my ruddy red locks...

Instead, I pass a hedge full
Of bright green pods,
Waiting to explode as flowers unknown,
And other trees adorned with lavender tissue puffs
And various lawns cycling between
Drab browns and vibrant greens
As the Texas rains come and go, crying "Mary".

P.o.t.D. 10/2/15: "Empathy, Detached."

I wonder if I still feel others' feelings.
Caught up in the modern world,
Surrounded by media overload,
Perhaps I've forgotten how to feel;
Because I don't want to digest
All of the horrors - and delights -
Pushed upon me,
Like a thirty ton weight.
Yes, I've become a comfortably numb pancake -
It seems to be the safest way to cope.

Then again, I could always unplug,
And enjoy the return of cool weather to Austin;
And maybe even be at one
With the task of cleaning the neglected bathroom.

I'd write more,
But my busy schedule pulls me away...

P.o.t.D. 10/1/15: "My Math Weakness"

Just blindly believing all that I'm told?
Or perhaps, checking the system rules,
To see if each construct logically holds?

I suspect math trumps science here,
As I'm not making crazed experiments
To test conjectures that I hold dear.

Just looking for sets of laws
That work well together
Without trying to fathom their cause...

In the background, always, lurks Kurt
Who says there will be some statements
That, unproven, still makes one's brain hurt.

P.o.t.D. 9/30/15: "Scream? or Yawn?"

As I described my mental meltdown,
Which kept me in bed all thru Monday and Tuesday;
There was this joviality
About it all, kind of like,
"Yeah, I was depressed,
And contemplating downing all my psych meds,
But I just hid in my blanket fort,
While my job came in jeopardy,
And my class fell upon the drop axe..."

Big, old run-on sentence, there, yep.

Depression makes no sense,
And thoughts of doom spin
Round my head, as real life is sent
Crumbling into the abyss
Because... "Life is unmanageable?"

I want a cathartic moment in this poem.

I want to make some sense
Out of my mind's nosense...

I hate that I'm prone to
Throwing hiding tantrums
When life is not going my way,
Hiding and withdrawing and
Trying to sleep my way past
This uncomfortable point in time.

...and I still feel overwhelmed,
Struggling to find a next right action
In a sea of a thousand choices.

P.o.t.D. 9/27/15: "Suffering in Silence?"

Is there a point
To meditating?

It's calming, relaxing,
Even a bit sedating...

Until something clicks your mind open,
And the cloud-like thoughts crowd in,
Making the sit feel a bit painful
Since the nightmares were allowed in.

Not all meditation is peace;
For some growth comes painfully
As suffering is transmuted
To wisdom through contemplation.

Pain comes from suffering,
Suffering from attachment,
And attachment is just
Excessive wants or aversions.

Can you sit for twenty minutes,
Without worrying about windows
Or itches or sleeping feet?
If so, you can do better than I -
At least for today...
Perhaps picking up my practice
Will open up my Way,
And yet...

Not all meditation
Is sedate and calming -
Not every breath is easy,
Not each step is perfect,
Some trees fall, and fell more...

P.o.t.D. 9/26/15: "Eating By the Full Moon"

Slept longer than I had planned -
Now, I'm wide awake and hungry...
Thinking that a late night journey
To Arranda's is next,
'Cause I'm a salsa fan...

P.o.t.D. 9/25/15: "Sleeping Sands"

I do not know the desert.
Twisted rock outcroppings
And cacti keeping company
With sidewinders and baying coyotes.
No man wants to tread those sands,
So no lights blot out night's Milky bands.
I imagine there's an old peace
Settling upon that sun-baked land
That cares not for the passings of man.

P.o.t.D. 9/24/15: "Just streaming stuff"

Perched upon the keyboard,
Awaiting some turquoise spark
Of burning inspiration -
It hasn't come yet.

Listening to the epic classical playlist,
Sitting in a darkened dining room...
Tempted to strike out and
Generate a random web page,
In the hope of fueling dying embers
Of a fire that snuffed out months ago.

Reminded today is National Punctuation Day
And I feel like not participating
In this stanza just to be
a little archie imitator
for some mehitabel i have yet to serve

random random random
shuffle and repeat
seeking and yet avoiding
hoping to be more than a hack writer

what interests me really
perhaps that could procreate
the hundred or so poems
left before me
in this year of poems

i do like to write
when i really like my topic
i suppose everyone
enjoys sharing their opinion on some things

then again
some fear speaking out
for they know they are attracted
by taboo and illicit items
like moths to the flickering flame

would they talk about homosexuality
knowing they may be
beat black and blue
by backwards friends
who do not understand

what about bondage and submission
and our cultures strange infatuation
with control instead of love

i saw a male customer at the 7-Eleven
just the other night
get all upset and try to put
his girlfriend in what he thought was her place
sending her out of the store out to the car
just for asking me a simple question about our products
i thought he was way wrong for this
but i did not know
what my proper response should be

so... controlling jealous boyfriends (and some women, too)
strike me some element of domination and submission
i do not think it is right behavior mind you
but I do think it is prevalent these days

and i wonder
what makes these assholes attractive in the first place
honestly, what's going on biologically
that seems to be sexually selecting
mates who are so anti-socially aggressive
is there hope for some
twisted "strong arm" parenting skills?

if you're scratching your head on this,
just think on it:
"Why would domestic violence still be a large part of today's society?"

but back to fanning the coals,
hoping to stoke a fire

there's probably lots wrapped up in sex
that could feed a few poems

i imagine math and science and especially ecology
could get me going on a lot of tangents

i might have an opinion on politics
although i feel woefully unprepared

there's the whole debates
revolving around theologies and science
and possibly pop psychology and sociology too

sure, there are topics to be delved
but, like politics, i feel woefully under-read in them,
and, god forbid! I would not want to be
easy meat for the trolls!

who am i kidding?
no one's going to read these
random midnight scrawls,
next year or the year after -
for there is no content,
no fire

just coals blinking out
like the Terminator's eye
in the final scene...

P.o.t.D. 9/23/15: "Minimum wage blues"

feeling so hopeless,
stuck in a employment rut,
"paycheck to paycheck"

P.o.t.D. 9/22/15: "Procrastination's Curse"

Let's shatter some dreams
With bad choices, distractions -
Avoiding failure?

P.o.t.D. 9/21/15: " http://www.boneville.com/ "

Looking for inspiration for today's ditty,
I thought, "Why not google a random web site?"

Alas, my google does not let me
"Feel lucky", and take whatever
The electrons deem to be a tasty view,
Delivered to me by some one of you,
With unknown perils and pleasures thus found.

Google will let me sift through a host
Of random bits and pieces, catering
My lucks of the draws
With strange search heuristics
And other such hidden laws...
Thus I found myself visiting
"random website dot com",
Which appears to work on
Much smaller subsets of the web.

Much to my surprise,
Upon my first click,
I'm transported to Boneville,
A comic drawn by Jeff Smith -
Fondly remembered from 20 years ago,
With that burned-in panel memory:
"Stupid, Stupid Rat Creatures!"

I must say that comics
Are quite a foundation
For humor both light and twisted,
And I am quite pleased
That Bloom County has resurfaced
This year, with all of its guys
Bringing tears of joy to my eyes...

Ah! Animation!
Allowing us to bend reality,
Or to delve deep into its secrets -
I just want to shout out for
Calvin and Hobbes,
Hepcats, Cerebus,
Cyanide and Happiness,
And so many more
That have left little marks
Upon my soul...

Still, today,
I was reminded of "Bone",
And I hope you can visit them,
To enjoy bits of humor that may hit home...

P.o.t.D. 9/20/15: "Silence at Sunrise"

Awakened early in the morning,
Without clock's alarm warning,
There's silence and solitude all 'round
Instead of a blaring TV sound.
Focus without effort seems to arrive,
Helping creative mind to thrive.

P.o.t.D. 9/19/15: "Argh, Me Mateys!"

All things considered,
I do not need to sprinkle
"Arghs, Mateys, and Scurvy Dogs"
Throughout my speech today;
For I am a Wylie Pirate,
By token of my secondary school attendance,
And, as such,
I talk like a pirate,
Whether I like it or not!

Now, do I act like a pirate?
Am I talking with parrots,
And demanding your cargo,
And sending you down the plank?
Or, am I one of many
Dread Pirate Roberts
Training my name's heir
When I become loaded down with good fortune?

Alas, no, no, no, and no...
Men do not fear me,
Nor do they revere me -
For I am humble to the core,
And, usually,
Satisfied to live among the poor.

P.o.t.D. 9/18/15: "Procrastination"

Minutes became years -
Lost in idle tasks and chat,
Nervous to finish.

P.o.t.D. 9/16/15: "Expiration Dates"

Poem's been forgetten -
As digestion is rotten
From meals ill-gotten.

P.o.t.D. 9/15/15: "Early Meditation State"

Words are like crazed birds,
Flying around, way up high;
Clouds, noted, move by.

P.o.t.D. 9/14/15: "When to draw?"

Spent Mondays in bed,
Avoiding my drawings due -
Squeeze them in, 'round worK?

P.o.t.D. 9/13/15: "Typical Sunday"

My Sunday routine:
Meditate, then some board games -
Peaceful times with friends.

P.o.t.D. 9/12/15: "Troubled Thoughts"

Demons torment me
Through addiction's cruel cravings,
Will my mind know peace?

P.o.t.D. 9/11/15: "Another Addiction?"

Iced tea, hot coffee,
Hot tea, iced coffee -
A bit of sugar
And carbonation,
And we have sodas?

Ah, caffeine, my precious,
How you stir up cravings
That just make me wonder:
"Do I need to quit you?"

Keep going, at this rate,
Down to fruits and water
Upon my dinner plate -
Am I consigned to life
Stupid, boring, and glum?

P.o.t.D. 9/10/15: "Time is Relative"

So, I wonder, "Why is it,
That when I try to meditate,
Twenty minutes seems so long?
Yet when I go about my day,
Just bouncing hither and yon,
Twenty minutes get swept away
Like the fragile grains of sand
Caught up by the fierce ocean waves?"

P.o.t.D. 9/9/15: "Whistling, But Not in the Dark"

To face my life's trials,
Both grand and tiny,
With a bit of humor,
Grace, and dignity -
Trusting in Gods above,
Unattached simply -
Helps get me out of self
To love life's beauty.

P.o.t.D. 9/8/15: "Demon in a Pack"

The time had finally come
To leave the smoke puffs alone,
To brave the road with my Dad
And not bother him hourly
To feed a foul addiction
Whose claws were in me so bad...

So, on September the Sixth
In the year of Twenty-Twelve
At 10:23 a.m.,
I choked down my last cheap square
In Dad's front yard, in Garland,
Praying I'd not smoke again.

We took the trip to Kansas,
Stopping for meals on the way,
And I ate snack after snack
To curb the devil's cravings -
How I had to talk myself
Out of getting one more pack!

The worst was watching my Mom
Chain smoking her Pall Mall pack,
And hearing my demons scream,
"Ask her for a cigarette,
You can handle it, just fine!"
She's quit now, from what I gleam...

Using food to curb cravings
Tapered off after some months,
Although I still like the sweets.
I'm so glad to be smoke-free,
It's saved me health and money -
May all smokers try this feat.

P.o.t.D. 9/7/15: "Falling Apart"

Sporting grey hairs in my beard
And strange skin spots have appeared...
Then there's aches in foot and knee;
I age and my eyes won't see
Signs of dying that I've feared.

P.o.t.D. 9/6/15: "F***ed in my Head"

What is it we seek?
Money and comfort?
Fame and glory?
Peace and serenity?

...time, precious time,
Spent living each moment
Savoring the bitter sweet taste of it all,
Without insatiable desires
Demanding to be met...

I can't piece together the words,
Or fit phrases to funny rules.
I can't write a poem, it seems.
I can't find my voice,
And speak my truths,
As my mind is so shattered, it seems...

Flitting from one idea to the next,
Like some bee working the field of flowers,
Gathering pollen all over his body,
To be picked clean by his hive...

Perhaps the perfectionist,
Thinking I can write once, and be done,
Without any revisions.

I have nothing to share, it seems -
So beat down by poverty,
Specialized in my education,
Lacking work experiences
To prove that I'm capable
To my next boss.

Lost in a crowd,
Lost without connections,
Lost in an unquiet mind.

So frustrated
By the impending doom.

alt P.o.t.D. 9/5/15: "starting to rant"

"Unleash the Kraken!"

Thus begins this little rant.
I'm sitting in the sober house,
where I think I'm still behind on rent,
pecking away at the common computer's keyboard...

because the wireless service has gotten all screwed up,
and no one's attempts to fix it have made headway...

I'm worried about my slivers of time
getting decimated by trying to go to school,
and work, and play board games, and go to meetings, and do my chores

i feel overwhelmed
Hell. I'm exhausted from pulling yet another 12 hour workday,
vy design and not by accident -
I really do not like these shifts,
at least not shouldering them all by myself.

fuck it. i'm tired.
i'm going to sleep now.
i hope to attend a potluck tonight,
meditate with friends tomorrow morning,
and then play games in the afternoon.

i hope that actual rest and recuperation comes with the sleep
now and tonight, and perhaps many more nights to come -
that i can feel refreshed enough
to catch up on my drawing class assignments...

I just don't like being plagued by body aches.

good night all!

P.o.t.D. 9/5/15: "Green Berries"

As summer drags on,
Green berries sit there, stunted
Since rains are long past.

P.o.t.D. 9/4/15: "Soldier Forgot!"

Sticking a weathered, ragged quill pen
Within the confines of his scraggly grey beard,
The once great, now forgotten soldier
Scratched at his balding, scabbed crown,
Hoping for a touch of genius to alight there upon.

His feeble blue green marble of a planet
Had made quite a number
Of spins round about the sun,
Since last he saw that fateful comet
That motivated him to desert, and hide in foreign lands.

------------------

Poem pieced together from 8 randomly generated words:
pen, planet, beard, comet,
genius, soldier, crown, number

P.o.t.D. 9/3/15: "Sights and Sounds"

I wander around,
Plugged into my phone's headphones,
To blot out the sounds...

Whether it's outside
Traffic on streets, or silence
That spawns busy mind

Churning up voices
Planning and plotting my way
Through today's choices.

I'd like to tune out,
To be entertained, immersed
In music about

Human conditions
Like men of constant sorrow,
Or epic visions

Conjured by movies
Recalled, who used tunes with scenes
To evoke beauty.

P.o.t.D. 9/2/15: "Working the Graveyard"

While the sun shines,
All seems so fine,
But on the flip side of the Earth..?

Drunks and addicts abound,
Who feel their antics sound
So funny - annoying at ten years sober.

Transients come by in drifts,
Practicing a thousand grifts,
For food picked from the trash, or coins from strangers.

Then there's just plain crazies,
Lost in their mind's mazes,
Thrown up to parry reality's harsh, sharp blows.

Vampires walk the streets,
Symbols of disease,
Sucking the life from their fellows' marrows.

Socially awkward,
Or sociopaths?
These solitary crows congeal into a murder,

Making another night
Facing the Graveyard's frights
Pass into a peaceful day, even though slept away.

P.o.t.D. 9/1/15: "Thirty Hours"

Start of a long day
With some games, some work, some chores
And art as book ends.

P.o.t.D. 8/31/15: "Pebble's Erosion"

Anchored in the stream of life?
Or, easily carried by currents
Like a pebble battered
By a downpour's raging runoffs?
To end up far from a solid home,
Weathered down to a tiny core
That might one day
Be that irritation
In someone's shoe...

P.o.t.D. 8/30/15, second attempt: "Eulogy for a snowflake"

Ah! Such a delicate little snowflake,
Dissolves swiftly away upon our brutal touch
Of inner fire, human desire, and grasping hopes to acquire!
As the glaciers recede, the mountain tops are laid bare,
And Poles sink into the ocean waters -
We become such ugly tyrants, evil masters,
Sealing our doom,
Like that poor minuscule crystal
Became fated to lose all finessed detailed
When it drifted into our hula hoop's room.

P.o.t.D. 8/30/15, first attempt: "chaos"

Delicate snowflake
Dissolves swiftly upon touch -
Ugly tyrants, we.

P.o.t.D. 8/29/15: "birthday haiku?"

Another year passed
With its failures and success,
Wisdom gained, joys learned.

P.o.t.D. 8/28/15: "Blind Contour"

Without looking,
I trace upon the paper
The line that my eyes pick out
From along my subject's surface -
One continuous path followed
Falteringly, with flaws galore -
And yet, some shapes and surprises
Are teased out of the process,
Easily overlooked and dismissed
By what I thought was there.

P.o.t.D. 8/27/15: "First Day of School"

Butterflies in my gut, perhaps?
Or worms of worry, eating serenity?

First class starts in two hours,
And I feel just a bit unprepared.

Not sure how strict they'll be
About the drawings I'm to produce,
Or the time to devote outside of class...

Worried that computer problems at home
May tangle up my time,
Send me to a lab as yet unknown.

Not sure if work will interfere,
With its long hours, late at night
Making it hard to produce during daylight.

Some frustration around finances, too...
Waiting for money to appear
That was promised last weekend -
Even then, it may not be quite enough.

Why am I taking this class?
...Honestly?
To try to better my skills,
To become a computer worker,
To back out of the dead end
I seem to have found myself in:
Retail workers are a dime a dozen,
And the tutors have no students.

I do want to go to this class,
Yet I feel that I'm rushing in.

P.o.t.D. 8/26/15: "Listening..."

Tin can for a drum,
With a new friend playing bass
On upright washtub...

Making music any way we know how,
To beat out the angels and demons
Hiding behind our crinkled brows...

What horrible torture became me,
That I now sing off-key -
An octave and a third
Below what used to be.
It seems that now I mimic
Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen, and Lou Reed -
Mind you, not that bad of a company.

I tried to play recorder as a child,
And gave my early years at college
To walking and playing riffs on harmonica
Until I bent it forever, by sitting upon it.
Yet, no instrument do I claim finesse upon.

So, I guess I must be a fickle critic...
Forever discriminating what I hear
With what I hold oh so dear.

I claim no song written today,
Or even good metric talents,
To line up words to funky beats...
Some times I like to throw out some rhymes -
Influence, perhaps, of Pink Floyd and all their lines.
Still, no forced rules today,
No attempt to rhyming play.

I wonder aloud,
How music lifts my dark clouds,
When I just listen.

P.o.t.D. 8/25/15: "too much stuff"

Lost in this town's crowd,
With simple lives out of reach -
Options beget fears.

Does that even make sense?
Can people see the portents?
Probably not, being so busy
That it's tough to sit and breathe...

P.o.t.D. 8/24/15: "Where Is the Art?"

a mumble and a stumble,
i then take a brief tumble.

unable to digest some truth,
i feel like a broken tooth -
pain zapping through me, forsooth!

in desperation to get the deed done,
i write haikus,
or maybe i'll just rhyme some?
then, noted, archie writing style?
...but there's still shifted punctuation, hmm?

feels like some sort of surreal act -
this is not a poem, yet it tries.
who can tell that what i write
might still separate truths from lies?
under every line, a scene I do draw
that seems like fluffy stuff which money buys -
"trying too hard!" he will sing
and i shan't reply, like the humble mice.

This week begins another journey,
A second foray into visual arts..?
A class on visual illustration,
In preparation for a degree in game design...

Unlearn what mind sees,
Teach hands to follow eyes, to
Trace reality.

P.o.t.D. 8/23/15: "On the Death of Romance?"

Many years of my life have been spent
Living solitary and single.
I suspect love's inspiration went
South, when no ladies asked to mingle...

P.o.t.D. 8/22/15: "Minutiae"

Pebbles in my shoe
Aggravate me, like the small
Mosquitoes in tents.

P.o.t.D. 8/21/15: "Why, God?"

Men created Gods,
Hoping to explain
Powers that they could not fathom.

That's my first theory,
But I think it has some flaws -
Like anything created
By imperfect, incomplete men.

I believe, that we want safe shelter,
Sanctuary from the chaos
Of the massively independent universe.

We want so much
Just to belong,
To feel a part of,
To feel we have a great purpose,
To feel connected to it all.

I depend on God(s),
On Powers greater than I,
To trust in causes and effects
That guide my actions
To help the greater good.

There are still times,
When I react out of fear,
Trying to snatch and grab
All that I can from the show.
Let that greed leave me, now.

Also, I can not predict
My fellows' actions,
As they may not play
By the rulebook that I use.
May that hate..?
Dissipate?

Is yearning for polite society -
And also carnal passions -
Are those desires to be with others
Fueled by Suffering,
In the Buddhist sense of the word?

What do I need,
To find quiet peace?
Right actions,
Some times self-sacrificing...
Interactions,
Some times quite unexpected...
A sense of direction,
Some times hidden by minutiae...

I rarely try to bludgeon you
With details of the God(s) I use -
Yet there they are,
Lurking in the background of my superego:
Scientific models and explanations;
Mythos Greek, Norse, Indian, and more;
My Catholic upbringing,
My current Zen Buddhist and Taoist leanings,
Modern mythos like Gaiman's Endless
And urban legends and society's group ethics;
And just my plain past experiences
Of things done right and things done wrong.

Why are there God(s)?
To bring order to the chaos,
To give sanctuary for the wounded,
To guide the group consciousness,
To make our time on this blue pebble
Just a little bit more bearable.

P.o.t.D. 8/20/15: "42..?"

Wandering confused,
Wondering, "Why am I here?"
Squandering my time.

P.o.t.D. 8/19/15: "sun spots"

a solitary drop
upon my scalp
where once a bump annoyed.

unsure if i'm blessed
by birds above,
or rain struggling to arrive
in the sweltering summer heat.

is this a Chinese Water Torture
concocted by Mother Nature?
"Just give hime one drop,
and fuel the possible paranoias..."

after many nights of pressure pains,
the bump was skillfully cut away
by my family physician;
yet now I am troubled by
"Other Spots"
appearing around my skin.

too many long walks;
in heat, cold, sun, rain;
through the heart of Texas
without great protection -
almost mocking the weather
and all the havoc it can bring.

so, now I carry an umbrella,
and a tube of Neosporin,
but no sunscreen yet,
and very rarely, a hat.

I suspect, in my foolish Lone Star heart,
that I am a worshipper
of this weather that comes down so, so hot.

P.o.t.D. 8/18/15: "Here's Johnny!"

My spark lies dormant,
Flat-lined by bipolar meds:
"All work and no play..."

"Before the Fall" (P.o.t.D. 8/17/15)

Classes start real soon;
Unsure how they'll be paid for...
"It will all work out?"

"Combo Dinner" (P.o.t.D. 8/15/15)

Barbacoa, guisada, and avocado -
A trifecta to spawn many tacos -
Is complemented by rice and refried beans
To create a tasty dinner
Settling well within my gut...
"Ah! Arrandas! Awesome as always!"

"Game of War Fumble" (P.o.t.D. 8/14/15)

Thousands lost today,
Because I forgot my shield...
Time to rebuild troops.

"Listen..." (P.o.t.D. 8/4/15)

Everyone speaks,
Yet no one listens to them.
Attention trumps talk?

"To Be..." (P.o.t.D. 8/3/15)

Be open.
Be kind.
Be loving.

Be free...

From suffering,
From "blinds",
From attachments...

Be at One,
With All around.

Be at peace -
With mind sans sound.

Breathe.

Be.

"Is not..." (P.o.t.D. 8/1/15)

This...
Is not.
A poem seen
By all I know,
Gathering comments,
So few and far between -
Which begs the question,
"If it is not,
Then why write,
When naught
Read?"

"Oh! The Travesty!" (P.o.t.D. 7/30/15)

With much iced tea imbibed,
And a plate of fried foods devoured,
I leave Buffet Palace,
Not suspecting my walk will sour.

A block away, I fart,
And some liquid makes its way out -
Oh, how ashamed I feel
As I now walk soiled and pout!

It could just be old age,
Even just eating the wrong stuff;
Yet it darkens my day,
And makes my five block trek so rough.

Now, sitting at my home,
After quite the cleansing shower;
I wash more of my clothes,
This won't ruin tonight's game hour!

"Sharing Seems Futile" (P.o.t.D. 7/29/15)

Feeling exhaustion -
Like, "Why even try? This crowd..?
They're wrapped up in self."

"Six by six" (P.o.t.D. 7/28/15)

Why am I still awake?
'Cause I procrastinate...
I don't feel inspired,
Or have a writer's fire...
I often think in scenes,
Instead of wordy things...
So, this is what I write,
Before I snuff bed light...
Hope for a vivid dream,
Brought by coffee and cream...
Yet, I feel I'll soon sleep,
No memories, I'll keep.

"Job Worries" (P.o.t.D. 7/27/15)

Stayed in bed today...
Afraid to face unknown Ways
Of earning good pay?

"Unfriended" (P.o.t.D. 7/26/15)

She lingers in my thoughts, a resentment
That subtly preys upon my peace of mind.
I am perplexed why she left no mention
When she cut off contact in ways unkind.

"Helping Acceptance" (P.o.t.D. 7/25/15)

I do not wish to be someone unique,
Separated by perceived difference.
I do not like being afraid to speak,
Cast off by those who think I make no sense.
It's just common ground, with you, that I seek;
Yet I must shed my fears and my pretence.
It's just treatment of the humble and meek
To be allowed space to "get off their fence".

"Do you...?" (P.o.t.D. 7/25)

Do you still love me,
Flaws and all - imperfect soul?
Speak true now - do you?

"Nothing Gained" (P.o.t.D. 7/24/15)

"Pick up the pebble, playing 'pon my palm."
Swish! Snatched at too slowly, securing zilch!
Even with nothing, you remain so calm -
A Zen master, not flustered by failed filch.

"Unfinished House" (P.o.t.D. 7/22/15)

Paint swathes cross the door
Telling tales about a home
Abandoned, it seems.

"Two Bits" (P.o.t.D. 7/21/15)

Some two-bit poem hack:
Tries to be writer, he acts,
Tortured by mind wracked.

"Seed Cycle" (P.o.t.D. 7/16/15)

The flowers' petals have fallen away,
Leaving tiny green seed pods in bunches
That will grow into red berries one day
To become many hungry birds' lunches.
What will happen next, is Nature at play -
"New blooms, far away" - those are the hunches.

"Ode to Beginner's Mind" (P.o.t.D. 7/15/15)

Most days, my mind is like an empty vase,
Free from all sorts of bother and worry.
Without clutter, life is easy to face,
And I don't run amuck in a hurry.

"Organize!" (P.o.t.D. 7/11/15)

Organize chaos...
Random thoughts, upon the page,
Gathered as the mind does rage.
Anarchy "rules" within the brain,
Never making it easy to train
Intellect's galumphing, dumb
Zoo of wandering, random
Emotions and thoughts.

Transformations...

Time seems to evaporate,
While fears coalesce...

"Bloom" (P.o.t.D. 7/8/15)

After rains, flowers
Bloom in pinks, purples, and orange -
Such lovely walks home!

"Ennio & Dario" (P.o.t.D. 7/7/15)

Terror hunts me now,
Hinted by my phone's music -
Do I like these songs?

"Trickle" (P.o.t.D. 7/5/15)

Does your money flow,
Throughout our society?
...Or congeal, like grease?

"Swimming With Sharks?" (P.o.t.D. 7/4/15)

Why do they hate so?
To survive vicious circles
Of intolerance...?

"Ten Word Autobiography" (P.o.t.D. 6/29/30)

Enjoys puzzles, games;
Bit cultured...
Many jobs held;
Suffering poverty.

"Haiku Hack" (P.o.t.D. 6/27/15)

I wrote a poem, see?!
With syllables all counted,
Yet no point was made.

"How We Roll.." (P.o.t.D. 6/25/15)

Sticky rice, rolled up tight
Upon a crispy, salty sheet of nori,
Snuggling with cucumbers, carrots,
Halibut perhaps - or other fish:
Ingested with the zesty tang of wasabi!

"Two minutes, Twice" (P.o.t.D. 6/23/15)

Two minutes: Go!
How fast can I type?
How fast can I think?

Of course, my critics
Will tear this idea apart -
Saying where's the flow of ideas..
Silly rule you're using..
and so on..

I do not know what
Will come from the race,
But an attempt to stream,
To bring the thoughts

Talking about what i want to talk about

...and timer rings.

So.. update my phone app,
For the next quest,
And I start the timer again.

Time is trickling past,
Sometimes roaring like rapids -
Eating away at the thread
Woven for my path
By the Three Fates

Time is one of my
Most valuable assets -
If I give you my time,
My attention,
my devotion..

then - damn. two minutes gone again.

"Cutting Cuts" (P.o.t.D. 6/22/15)

Cutting up in the kitchen
Cuts short my labored thoughts...

Cutting off his corn -
Cut to the chase -

Cutting hurts...
Cut deep,
Cuts.

Measuring Bipolar

How can I tell that I may be depressed?

I feel so sluggish, I just want to stay in bed, I'm not eating a lot...

I can't find the motivation to write, to explore, to do stuff...

It's weird. It's not like I have a perfect mood meter in my brain - partly because I'm trying to take a measure of my brain with my brain. So, when I'm depressed, I'm not always in a foul mood, or wishing to die, or having a pity party - I'm just having a hard time piecing ideas together, and following through on plans. My brain is just not operating as fast as when I'm normal.

Now, when I'm manic.. whoo.. it becomes hard to stay focused on one train of thoughts, because others keep trying to jump up in their place. Also, because my brain feels so alive, I do get excited, but I also can get irritable.

At either extreme, I can easily lose focus, which can make me ineffective in getting things done. Also, the swings are not really tied to external events, like my job or my relationships or the weather - the swings just happen. Now, I do think good or bad events in my life CAN impact the severity of the swings...

In any case, I've been feeling depressed, in the bipolar fashion. I'm just not getting stuff done, because I keep feeling like I'm running out of time. I just want to stay in bed, because I feel exhausted.

"Bottom of the Can" (P.o.t.D. 6/21/15)

Disappointing grounds
Made coffee look, taste like tea -
Time to buy a can.

"Night Shift" (P.o.t.D. 6/20/15)

As rain trickled down,
Sleep swallowed the sunlight time -
Night finds me awake.

"Haikus cry, 'Help me!'" (P.o.t.D. 6/16/15)

Feeling frustration,
Order mixes with chaos,
And dime poems are born.

"Writer's Lament" (P.o.t.D. 6/14/15)

The desire is an ashen ember -
Dying bonfire in the summer night -
As painful weariness draws out the tears
Sacrificed upon losing writer's fight.

"Feeling Fetal" (P.o.t.D. 6/13/15)

Huddled in my bed,
Hiding from some simple jobs –
Hindered by my mood.

"Four subject words" (P.o.t.D. 6/11/15)

Pick four words from the environment around you,
And write four fairly simple sentences,
Using them as the subject...

So, I'm in the kitchen,
Typing away at my laptop,
Perched upon the dining table;
And I wonder why I signed up
For a grammar group?

None the less, I'll give it a whirl,
Using books, computers, television, and the couch -

"As the unread books gather dust,
The television blares in the background,
And the couch sags under his sleeping weight.
Meanwhile, the computers sit idle,
Frozen upon webpages visited hours ago."

"Kotter's Groan" (P.o.t.D. 6/10/15)

My brain is pudding,
My muscles twitch and ache so,
Gray hairs - all speak age.

"Freedom of Speech, or Peace of Mind?" (P.o.t.D. 6/8/15)

Remaining silent,
The anger simmers, unheard -
Leave the post to trolls.

"Noise Disruptions" (P.o.t.D. 6/7/15)

Came home to silence,
Set up to start my writing –
Now, noisy house mates.

"Oh, Thank Heaven!" (written for contest: "Sandwish") (P.o.t.D. 6/6/15)

Sandwiches at the 7-Eleven
Live for only two days, or perhaps three,
Before they're written off to some heaven -
At least, that's what the dumpster divers see...

I could say, "Oh, so much more...", but, "Alas!"
By working there, my words face an impasse.

"Navigating Highs and Lows" (contest entry) (P.o.t.D. 6/2/15)

The summer that I just turned twenty-four,
A bipolar episode crossed my door...

Now that I have somehow turned forty-two,
I have learned tricks to appear sane to you.

Eighteen years of suffering strange mood swings
Has led to much pained wisdom that each brings.

"Beauty at Dusk"‏ (P.o.t.D. 6/1/15)

Bright spot at sunset -
Venus undressing, perhaps
Through bedroom windows?

"Chocolate Chips" (P.o.t.D. 5/31/15)

Hiding deep within the wings,
As the crazy show goes on,
Manipulating some things
That create effects brazen...

Will I step into spotlights?
Or remain unheard, unseen,
Masked by shadows, no more brights.
What has Fate said, that I've been?

"Obsession" (P.o.t.D. 5/29/15)

Wide awake with words
Swimming like subconscious sharks;
They make me mental.

acrostic... (P.o.t.D. 5/24/15)

Am I awake, or a sleeping zombie?
Nothing spins my mind like thought tornadoes -
Growing such grand replays within my head -
Enter people telling me that I'm wrong,
Reasoning with flawed logic, emotion...

Seems like science is under such attacks
Everywhere I look, without mercy,
Eroded by popular opinions
That won't face up to lining up the facts.
How has the wool been pulled over our eyes
Every day by snake-oil debators?
Saddens me, that this - this is our culture...

"Strengthen, Oh Capillaries!" (P.o.t.D. 5/23/15)

Wouldn't it be nice
If poems flowed from my fingers
Like blood through my heart?

"sleep beckons" (P.o.t.D. 5/22/15)

Sleep beckons me back
To bed, to dream, to feel warmth,
To hide in covers.

"Under the Heel" (P.o.t.D. 5/21/15)

I feel such outrage
As the wealthy's money chase
Leaves me desolate.

"Sixth Street Saga" (P.o.t.D. 5/20/15)

Before the clock had struck barely past ten,
A painted up tart waggled her loose tongue,
And a fray spilled out from the seedy den
Over all the damage her words had done.

For them to regain order and control,
The cops passed through the crowd, on razor’s edge,
Binding and cuffing and bumping heads ‘til –
They wound up Plopping dozens behind bars.

As the wounded's anger fizzled and itched,
A palpable foul cloud permeated
The jail’s grid, leaving all on razor’s edge,
Wafting like a toxic substance, heated.

Hours later, the tart still drank at the bar,
While the angry men fumed in the dank cells
And the police kept the streets, under guard.
She’d make no money that night for “a nail”.

contest - The last analog generation (P.o.t.D. 5/19/15)

When I was ten, and my brother fifteen,
We'd wage war with plastic models reworked.
His flagship? A SR-71
With a launching bay for a small fighter...
That was '82, when we played vinyl.

The summer I turned nineteen, I played games,
Like Battletech, at a fantasy con,
With friends I had met a few weeks before
Through BBS networks, across Dallas...
'91, and walkmans still held some sway.

I was 28, living like Spartans
With roommates who would play lots of board games.
Strange that no computer was always on,
We couldn't afford that necessity...
2000, probably CD's last years.

Now, I'm 42, though youths would not know
How that's the "Answer", because they don't read
Anything beyond their Facebook news feed.
Alas, I find myself playing phone games...
Today, we download and skip radio.

"Feeling Dirty" (P.o.t.D. 5/18/15)

Blood, sweat, dirt and more -
Feels like they’re a second skin,
Not letting me breathe.

"Catatonic Conundrum?" (P.o.t.D. 5/15/15)

Falling into a deep slumber,
No dreams appear, no midnight thoughts
Of me gently sawing lumber -
Oh, but that's a low, growling snore,
And there's plenty of that in store
Which I still do not remember...

It's sad that I no longer dream,
As dreams are icing on the cake,
Irish tea with decadent cream:
Food for my poor beleagured soul -
They help rest my mind, make it whole,
Give insanity a good trim...

I hear tale, that I do mumble
As my mind in its restless rest
Does blindly wander and stumble.
I feel I cling to waking hours,
And even when upon my bower,
As reflex to talk, I grumble.

"Oh, the Senseless Death!" (P.o.t.D. 5/13/15)

'Nother squirrel dead,
Seen on the walk to my house..
Must they cross the street?

untitled (P.o.t.D. 5/12/15)

Sky crying, leaves tears
On ground - dying leaves stuck here,
Not flying: seeds' gear?

"Hallmark" (P.o.t.D. 5/10/15)

Is it another Hallmark holiday?
Mothers and fathers and lovers and more
Are sent cards, given dinner - loved this way...
Hopefully, it does not feel like a chore.
It would be nice to be thankful each day,
Alas, we forget, most days, to be sure.

"Whispers, Like Thunder" (P.o.t.D. 5/9/15)

Sharp intake of breath!
She saw me admiring her -
Surely, she smiled back!

"Where do I go from here?" (P.o.t.D. 5/8/15)

Some times, we just want to get out and skate,
Not caring about careers, or ladies -
Just riding the board, doing tricks 'til late.

Some times, we will take time out for the gym,
To push and pull machines and their weighties,
To stretch our bodies' muscles to their lim...

You see, we don't want to live in our head
When we can play board games with our maties
And chuckle when their armies are all dead.

You see, men get quite a lot of their joy
Reliving our youth, back in the eighties -
Simple times, when each of us was a boy.

"In the Shower" (P.o.t.D. 5/6/15)

Hot water cascades
Upon oily skin, washing 'way
Workday's exhaustion.

"The Smoking Feline" ( P.o.t.D. 5/5/15)

"'Twas no ordinary feline,
Rather an assassin divine -
Skilled at striking birds from the skies,
With her claws, sharp as steely knives;
Or, if the birds flew out of reach,
Then, swift with blowpipe, she could breach
Their feathered breasts in single blows,
Sending their souls where God 'lone knows."

(waiting to see if I can post the picture that inspired this, over here)

"Poverty Laments" (P.o.t.D. 5/4/15)

Life becomes much harder when I'm so poor.
I worry on how I'll catch up on rent,
I can't buy food at the grocery store...
Where, oh where, has all of my money went?

I'm kept under thirty hours at my job,
Paid close to the minimum hourly wage -
So on healthcare.gov, I can still shop,
But without employer help, I do rage!

Sixteen dollars per month, earned in food stamps
Do not stretch very far - maybe four meals?
Does not eating right lead to muscle cramps?
I don't know. Doctor's fees are so unreal.

So, that's a peek at my painful pinches
Of poverty, at which my heart wrenches.

"Two Bee Attempts" (P.o.t.D. 5/1/15)

To fly, like a bee,
From hive to flowers, all day,
Working to make food.

Or...

Flying amidst fields of fertile flowers,
I gather pollen, all through the day's hours,
Only to return to my humble home,
To feed queen and larvae who cannot roam.

"Dune Reference?" (P.o.t.D. 4/30/15)

Fear - the mind killer -
Leads us to ill-thought actions
With later regrets.

"Bemoaning Work" (P.o.t.D. 4/29/15)

Stocking groceries
Took longer than expected,
Left time constricted.

"Talking About the Weather" (P.o.t.D. 4/28/15)

A damp chill crept into town, late last night,
Riding forth on the backs of slate grey clouds -
Casting grave portents of much rain, today
To bless the fields and their flowering crowds.

"What the Nose Knows" (P.o.t.D. 4/27/15)

The pungent smell
Of dirt, sweat, and toilet
Tells the poors' tale
Of living on the street,
When, riding on city bus,
Did we happen to meet.

"Ten Year Chip" (P.o.t.D. 4/26/15)

The brass medallion holds a bit of weight,
Engraved with an "X" for ten sober years -
Some quite happy, and others not so great -
Earned today after much laughter and tears.

"Imperfect Copy"

My simulacrum
Works days, while I work the nights -
Our music differs...

"Exhausted" (P.o.t.D. 4/25/15)

It's one of those days,
When I'm wore out from my job
And writing is tough.

"Threshold" (P.o.t.D. 4/24/15)

A desire to describe dreams deferred
When writing is now a wrangling of each word -
How then will my hopeless heart be heard?
Be still, my soul, to soar like the black bird...

"Global Warming Haiku" (P.o.t.D. 4/22/15)

Stewing in our filth,
Heat creeps up, slowly, deadly -
Cockroaches rejoice!

"Finding My Boyhood Kindness..." (P.o.t.D. 4/20/15)

Why does the crawling cockroach scare me so?

The hairs on my skin bristle at the thought
Of that bug touching me with prickly legs!
So I would end its brief life's crawl without
Second thoughts, claiming, "Oh! But it lays eggs!"

As a young boy, I would embrace bugs, frogs,
Snakes, and other non-mammals with such glee!
Did I grow wiser, as I aged, because
Bites and stings can cause pain - that I now see?

Yet I've grown softer now, and show respect
For all the many lives beyond my own.
Show them to the great outdoors, to infect
Some other boy, with new wonders he's shown.

"Questioning Leisure" (P.o.t.D. 4/19/15)

Is it time wasted,
To play games, and write these poems,
When those give me joy?

"Pollen sucks." (P.o.t.D. 4/18/15)

Look! Pretty flowers -
"Ack! Ack! Thbbt..." (They're killing me,
These damn allergens...)

"Separation Anxiety..?" (P.o.t.D. 4/17/15)

Seasons roll on, in this cycle of life.
Despite our clinging to those brief moments,
The Reaper will swing wide his razor scythe
And separate us from our sharp torments.

"Personal ad?" (P.o.t.D. 4/13/15)

Seeking some good words
To entertain all my friends
In my daily poems.

"International TableTop Day" (P.o.t.D. 4/11/15)

Ah! To play today
Many games of luck and skill -
The planet plans it!

"Testing Dilemna" (P.o.t.D. 4/10/15)

Teachers face testing
That drains their students of hope -
What else is out there?

untitled (P.o.t.D.4/8/15)

Roses are in bloom -
Blushing pink and scarlet reds
To wilt away soon.

untitled (P.o.t.D. 4/7/15)

Memories laid bare
As I wrestle with the words,
Trying to write poems.

"Seeking the Sweetness" (P.o.t.D. 4/6/15)

Peeling the hours away from this sweet day
To get to the juicy fruit of a dream -
Not remembered, drinking at the cafe,
A draught of coffee, with sugar and cream.

"To Cleanse.." (P.o.t.D. 4/5/15)

Step into shower
Where warm water washes 'way
Worries of the day.

"Worried over water" (P.o.t.D. 4/4/15)

'Tis but a fine mist,
Yet they predict drenching rain -
Stay inside, stay dry.

"Write-offs" (P.o.t.D. 4/1/15)

Sandwiches, brownies -
Surviving on last night's trash...
Still, thankful for them...

"March" (P.o.t.D. 3/29/15)

A thousand pin pricks
All 'cross my skin, from the cold
Bites of March morning.

"Technical Evolution" (P.o.t.D. 3/26/15)

There was a time...
Before calculating devices,
When stories around fires reigned.

There is a time...
Men and tools are so tied together,
Struggles 'gainst this stream are vain.

There will be a time...
When computers become self-aware,
No longer needing these men.

"Whispers" (P.o.t.D. 3/22/15)

Secrets lay unsaid,
Hidden under many words
Given so freely.

"Light Up My Life!" (P.o.t.D. 3/21/15)

My neighbor's flowers
Are little sunbursts, alive
With rays and colors!

"Carpenter at Work..?" (P.o.t.D. 3/18/15)

Pondering our lives:
Hardness, surface, depth, and grain
Like some woods we stain.

"St. Paddy's Limerick" (P.o.t.D., 3/17/15)

I arrived early at the movie site,
Forgoing getting a quick breakfast bite...
Stayed quite busy throughout the day,
And many options I did weigh,
'Til I ended up playing at Game Night.

"On the Court" (P.o.t.D. 3/16/15)

With a wink and a gracious bow,
The lad offered his hand to the girl,
To take her onto the dance floor
Where they'd go round and round in a whirl.

By the fourth dance, she was laughing
As they tried to move in East Coast Swing,
Even though he had no lessons...
What's absurd? He also thought he'd sing.

She gave him points, though, for trying;
So, he offered his hand to the girl,
As he pulled out a diamond ring -
From there, 'tis a secret, what unfurled...

"Words With W" (P.o.t.D. 3/13/15)

We wield this whip,
To work, work, work -
For what money
Or career perk?

"Cats'... Bird... March... May... Start?" (P.o.t.D. 3/10/15)

Today's poem will be a string of words:

Cats chasing errant little birds...

Posts and tweets galore
Spewing from Austin's floor -
Music and film and computer madness
Leads to citizens feeling badness...

March is upon us, with rain and cold
And so many events, good as gold -
Rodeo, basketball, and fest
Makes me feel this month is best...

Well... May is quite awesome, too,
With the academic events,
Like the state one-act-plays,
And the end of college days.

All that started from cats,
What, then, would be sparked from dogs?
Or, if you're more esoteric wizards,
You could play with goldfish or lizards!

Ready..?
3..2..1.. Write!

"Accumulate" (P.o.t.D. 3/9/15)

It rains upon me:
Water falling, tasks undone -
Both pool into floods.

"Time ticks by..." (P.o.t.D. 3/8/15)

Time ticks by...

Happy - lying beside my love,
Watching minutes weave and wander
Through their periodic patterns -
Palindromic time: 10:01, 12:21, 1:41;
Repetitive time: 10:10, 12:12, 1:11 -
And on and on, they cycle through...

Time ticks by...

I study mathematics,
She studies Roman classics -
Was this love bound to happen?
...or is it "Fated to Fail"?
Then, as sweaty summer ends,
So ends our brief relation.

Time ticks by...

The sun rises later today,
As we add an hour, in our way.
"Spring Forward" will cause missed meetings,
And confusion from clock readings...
Of course, a host of Facebook posts
Bemoan our time loss, through their roasts.

Time ticks by...

We are but one week away
From the century's Pi Day -
So much fuss now being made
Over time just so arrayed...
Seems so faked, so I ask "Why
We write numbers 'cross the sky?"

"Ogres are Like Onions"

My contradictions
Derive from many hobbies,
Diverse and yet mine...

"Sing a New Song" (P.o.t.D. 3/5/15)

It's a tough challenge
Writing a new poem, each day -
Think before I say...

"Delusions" (P.o.t.D. 3/4/15)

Bubbling up from within my core,
Thoughts bounce around my head, in war.

From where do I draw my life's power,
When crisis looms upon the hour?

Is it through talking with my friends
Upon which "Solution" depends?

...Or praying to something above,
Source of unconditional love?

Maybe following set of rules
Is key for my base kit of tools...

Then, while walking back to my home,
Thoughts of undead did slyly come.

Am I a vampire, like disease,
Drawing life out, with fatal bites?

Or maybe a lich, living through
Arcane studies, learned in dark nights?

Could I be some sort of foul ghoul,
Feasting on flesh, in carnal rites?

'Tis not literal life effects,
But treats others as "things we fight"...

Then, the whisper comes, in my mind,
On the solitary night walk -
"How'd I survive, sixteen years past?
Am I embedded in matrix,
Or implanted with small machines?"
...So my mind wanders, in weird ways...

"Haiku on Frustration" (P.o.t.D. 3/1/15)

My mind disconnects
From hunger and lack of sleep,
Making poems so hard.

"Physical Therapy" (P.o.t.D. 2/27/15)

It is amazing:
A few stretches... a massage...
And I sit sans pain.

"Pondering Poetic Form" (P.o.t.D. 2/26/15)

Yesterday...
I was stumped on how to proceed,
So I looked up poetic form,
In wikipedia -
A nice, little knowledge repository -
And learned about villanelles.

However, there's some lingering discussion,
Bouncing around my brain,
Trying to separate poetry from prose.

These days, poetry is often free form,
Without rhyme, or meter, or other structure;
But it still picks up a rule,
Here and there,
To focus on pieces,
Instead of an over-arching story.

There's no entry requirement,
Where the words form a haiku,
Or sonnet, or villanelle, or limerick -
No entry fee of just so much assonance or alliteration...

For all I know,
The next line in this poem could be:
asdl;fjaoijea;slkaj
- A cat or cockroach crawling across the keyboard.
Even that has structure, though,
For you can plot where the cat's feet,
My fingers, landed.

Also, a little can be said
Of breaking sentences up,
Before their punctuation marks -
Where I want the reader to linger
And digest some small truth,
That might well be missed,
Mulling over a novel.

Poems become all the more powerful,
Read aloud, by their authors,
Adding inflections and emphasis
To the parts, to the refrains,
To little bits of everything.

"Distracted: A Villanelle" (P.o.t.D. 2/25/15)

Too much interferes with my sight,
Pastimes by which my life is based
Leave me alone, that I might write.

Fox news is flooded by the Right,
Leaving in my mind, a bad taste;
Too much interferes with my sight.

Playing board games, many a night -
Some chide me, calling this a waste.
Leave me alone, that I might write.

Tugs 'tween work and play are my fight;
My mind, in pleasures, is encased.
Too much interferes with my sight.

That I could scribble through the night,
Awake, to books, when my mind raced.
Leave me alone, that I might write.

In poverty, do I, "Dude, abide!"
My debt, I wish would be erased -
Too much interferes with my sight.
Leave me alone, that I might write.

"Winter in Texas" (P.o.t.D. 2/22/15)

Winter falls upon
Our fair city of Austin,
Some trees' leaves are gone.

"Prelude to Rest"

What is wrong with me?
What is wrong with the world?
How come there's such a disconnect?

...I'm going to take a nap now...

Maybe a good rest will give my mind a cleansing...

"Out of Ink"

Just a fragment:

"My pen is spent.
Will it rise again?"

Yes, I think everyone should have access to quality education.
However, I don't think our current system has enough qualified educators to meet the demand. I also don't think students can afford to foot the bill, if we want to attract educators with good pay and good technology. So, part of me wonders, how are we going to pay our teachers?
Education is a field that I don't think meshes well with profit-driven capitalism.
Just thinking aloud... (It's possible a similar scenario could be in health care, and quality doctors)

"Murmurings of a Madman" (P.o.t.D. 2/15/15)

Probably playing with pink poinsettas
Plagues people with petite poisons...

Christmas came early, crowding out
Halloween and other holidays, honored not...

Just throwing out some alphabet lines,
Thinking of my friend Cat and her "rhymes" -
Alliteration and assonance all about 'a'..
..or the other letters are fair game, too.

In a gaming mode with this poetry challenge -
I was trying not to write about writing... oops.

Part of me was thinking of creating
An adventure with another cat,
Alas time is ticking away,
Adding to the challenge,
"Can I write 'one off's', from the cuff, and
Still squeeze a good day's rest,
Between two work nights,
While creating something worth reading?"

I'm limiting myself, I think,
By writing so rinky-dink,
Sacrificing style and structure
Just to crank out another piece...
With many more amassed,
Still waiting for their first revisions.

I feel comfortable writing about writing,
But the results feel so void of content,
So lacking of narrative, yet one more
Bit where I'm in the meta-writing,
Without making good writing.

I'm tired now, though,
And going to go to sleep;
Hoping I can summon Dream, and gain
A collection of exquisite images
That stretches my brain's notions of poetry...

"Don't talk with strangers" (P.o.t.D. 2/14/15)

Sipping on his coffee, reading paper,
He steals a glance at the Goddess nearby...
His mind's been knocked senseless by her beauty,
He is stunned, unable to say a word.

I imagine it's all gone for the best -
Who's to say talking with her, in stunned state
Would not lay a bedrock of half-truths, lies
Building a house of cards, to topple soon.

He had never seen her before that day,
So biology was running amuck...
Despite what the films portray, in their dreams,
Comments from strangers are just plain harassing.

"Cloak of Fears" (P.o.t.D. 2/13/15)

All wrapped up in a cloak of fears,
Trudging becomes a rough challenge.

Acute pain travels through the leg,
Making it move like a dead weight.

While trying to treat the numbness,
Money just slips through the fingers.

Living from paycheck to paycheck,
Not sure how to now recover
Lost hours, sacrificed, one night dark...

Does the cloak cover up the tears?
Does it conceal the limping gait?
Does it add to the cash dumbness,
Or prevent going on a lark?

Stark reminder of mortal bounds,
Fears grow acute, as they surround.

"ode to archie" (P.o.t.D. 2/12/15)

Another day is upon me, meaning
I pause as I write - my mind is scheming.
Oh, how I'd love to take you, dear reader
On grand old adventures, as your leader...
As I slide around on the chair,
Hoping not to "go nowhere"
Not to bore you
With my Spartan life
Abandoning rhymes, meters, punctuation

i become archie as the stream opens up
half listening to mehitabel
as she also opens up

i could be a faithful cockroach
transcribing all of her words
true down to the letter
but no
i want to go on a flight of whimsy

i wonder if i am immortal
able to withstand our atomic holocaust
lurking in the background
wielded by korea or isis or

i do not think i am going to die
more likely i am not
prepared for when i might die
no burial plot
no life insurance
no partner to ease my pain
when this body i leave again

there is this lingering thought
that i look for what i sought
in a past life reincarnated
i was not always a cockroach you see
and i should look for what karma surrounds me
is there a lesson trying to be learned
in my abyssmal state of abject poverty

Brought pack into the present,
By peeling off dead skin,
I nod at archie, circa 1930
And he waves his antennae
At Bean, circa 2015...
Although I do not really think
I was archie -
Something can be said for emulating
His style, His character, His adventures;

And, in this scribbled end, I again note
Talking about, the form of a poet.