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...