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.