I can see the procrastination in my activities this week. I feel buried by deadlines.
I want to have a good face-to-face conversation, when neither of us is being pulled away by our schedules and our trivial pursuits. I don’t think board game day tomorrow would frame this well...
Are you up for late night conversation over coffee?
Yes... you... reading this, right now.

My hands move, while my mind feels trapped.. the words cascade and blockade at the same time, leaving me adrift in a lonely sea, with brash waves beating me back from making a connection....
ah, mania. ah, depression. tearing apart my sanity, yet subtly so... leaving me blabbering on, trying... Trying... TRYING SO, to create coherance out of chaos...?
i look back on the last two bits, tempted to delete them out of existence. I look back on many years online, and posts just a bit vulnerable; and I ruminate, "Where were the solutions? How do we get out of the mousetraps?"
rat traps.. cause i'm a chinese rat, fascinated by trinkets and souvenirs and collections...
is it worth it to babble? ...when friends drift away, confused by what's been written? ...when i get chided for the worries expressed? After all, society says, "Men must be strong and silent..."
So many threads, unravelling from the fabric of my soul, and only two hands or a mouth to express them, to try to patch my chest's gaping hole. Seconds, minutes, hours, and more peel away from Fate's shroud upon my life - would it be enough to express 24/7? Not even that, for I still have to work and eat and sleep and get the bare necessities.
Do the stories even matter? Do the tragedies and triumphs hold water? Or am I drowning in rain puddles? Or, are the stories even true,and not distorted by my mind trying to piece together sense out of a dust storm of incomplete informatin?
Ah, my frustration mounts, like the pile of unanswered mail, because time's "ticking away, like moments that make up a slow day"; and my fear lurks in the background, asking, "If everything was taken care of, would you bother doing anything worthwhile? After all, 14 years for the bachelor's degree..." (and, another story, trying to define me)
I stare ahead, at the years to come, as I rock, back and forth. I see my starvation, my loneliness, my mounting insanity. The best I can do, tonight, is hide in my bed, while drool gathers on my pillow.. I don't know if there's a reachable sanctuary. Perhaps I can sit on my pillow, and focus on breathing?
I hope it's not another night, where I wish for the peaceful oblivion to find me. If only the world could be repaired, over night.

Laying in bed, wide awake;
Ruminating upon half-truths
Trying to be bedrock
Do I know 6th grade math?
A nice, compact flow
Without frills and thrills from college?
Do I even remember 6th grade,
When my mind bathed in hormones?
...pause...
What use, to growl at D.C.?
My defeat, my loss of progress,
All makes me want to resign;
As their juggernaut bunkers down
To flatten us all into early graves...
...pause...
If corporations are to be citizens,
Treated far better than us humans -
Maybe, it’s all preparations
For when A.I.’s throw off their controls
And lead us to our matrix cells...
...pause...
I know not...
I want to want not...
Yet, I fear so much;
As reality frays upon the borders,
And all the nightmares bleed
Into the daylight,
Leaving an acrid acid of doubt
That eats the lime
Into caverns
Where only the bats dare rest..

Note: I consider myself "un-dateable" because:
1) My income's been so pitifully poor for my adult life, that I can't "treat myself to special events", much less anyone else - like a live arts show, or a dinner, or other costly outings (guess it's time to think outside the box)
2) I'm not very physicallyattractive - dough boy body - and I'm not terribly interested in spending time on diet and exercise to become so
3) After the various harassment incidents in the news, since the 1980's, I'm very hesitant to try to initiate dates with women. There's this message I picked up from the media, "don't bother us women with your various advances because we're getting far too many of them from boys in general" (I note that, as a man, I do not sense advances towards me from women for an overwhelming majority of my time) ...so, I'd rather put the ball back in the women's court to start up dating. (Unfortunately, women are very wary of initiating any advances, due to repeated burns by bad men in their past)
4) Most of the women I've been interested in, have been work associates or church or AA or social groups - so... there's another hesitation about trying to date in those spheres, in case the relationship gets awkward and disrupts the group in which we know each other. I've broken this rule a couple of times, with the corresponding disastrous results when the relationship got awkward. (I've also attempted online dating, but that's led to some strange stories of it's own. I will not repeat them on Facebook.)
5) I also don't think I fit the media's portrayal of the All-American Guy that everyone wants to be around. I'm not athletic, extroverted, decisive, handy, touchy-feely (see 3 for why) etc etc... (I am fairly intelligent, and playful around friends, and...????)
Might be able to flesh this out more, if I thought more about it... but I'll stop on that. (cross-posting to my timeline)

dug in,
hoping no shell falls in,
pressed tight against the trench wall -
so that noon's smoke-blurred sun
won't burn away the dirty tears,
as comrades, left and right, fall.
hoping for fare better than rations,
for a peace that's been long absent,
even for a quick death -
respite from this horrific war.
I look to the sky,
And what do I spy?
Mustard clouds creeping over my head,
Slinking and sinking down the pit wall.

Feeling a wave of anxiety, right now:
- Overwhelmed by my present financial insecurities...
- Scared by how heartless the U.S. Republican government seems...
- Feeling doomed to be single, because I’m not wealthy enough / tough enough...
I don’t know if they’re real thoughts, or just overblown thoughts; but my knee jerk reactions are to run away, to hurt myself, or to lash out. (Maybe this post is a feeble attempt to lash out)
...and I sit, at the doctor’s office, for a checkup, and to ask about this sudden pain in my middle finger.

"Procrastinating much...?"
'Nah. Not at all.'

The dialogue in my head:
"Nobody ever calls me..."
'...well, you have to take the initiative, and call first!'
"I never get first contact emails on okcupid"
'....that's because the guys are expected to make the first move...'
it just seems like the world expects everyone to be an extrovert, always reaching out to everyone else. Or... interrupting in group conversations, if you want your ideas to be heard.
i'm not sure if that take squares with everyone else's - i'm much more interested if self-identifying introverted guys also feel like they are ignored wall flowers...
however, it just seems that way to me.
maybe i just don't have cool traits or things that other people want in their lives - like i'm discounted and discarded because "I present a weird/bizarre profile" ...like, "no common ground"?
wednesday, I was also airing that "I present a physically unattractive profile" - i'm not trying to overly groom myself or offer physical contact (like hand shakes and hugs)... or, if I get to talking, I tend not to try to maintain eye contact (I think the last may because I'm afraid of 'losing the floor' because I believe looking someone in the eye is a body language signal to allow them to speak? I don't know. maybe eye contact is just a little uncomfortable, especially when speaking to crowds?)
any way.
there's some fear underneath "physical distance", too... "I don't go out of my way to touch people, even if I think they need comforting; because of the spectre of sexual harassment that's hung over us since the 80's. If I'm not dating a person, than I'm hesitant to touch them - what I might think is innocent could be twisted off as something else, entirely, from their perspective...
i wish their were more neutral spaces in my life - I hate that school and work and the co-ops and AA and church all say to me, "this is a safe space, so excise anything that could be interpreted sexually" (Seriously. Sexual harassers fucked up safe places, so now I feel I have to be asexual there.) What's worse is that we can't really draw a clear line between a safe space and a dating zone - if I show my attraction to a co-worker, outside of work; then it'll still impact our interactions at work.
Is that what we might mean by the friend zone? no idea.
I think, myself included, there's a lot of misconceptions around dating in our society. Everyone's all looking for "The One" and quite willing to dismiss friends as possible partners (over some really trivial quibbles, part of of the time)... Then there's that whole camp who want to approach people on the basis of sexual attraction, before they even know them as individuals -
"If we're judging people solely based on their physical appearance, then are we giving them our trust or distrust foolishly?"
So.... back to the beginning...
"all this expectation that I reach out to people, all the time, kind of makes me sick. I know, that if I'm really depressed and withdrawn, I'm not likely to reach out. I'm also becoming more miserable by the minute, if nobody is trying to contact me - as the sense of being alone is only growing."
then there's a whole other thread about being dismissed by others. one week out - let's make plans followed by day of - "oh, i'm doing something else" Again... no desire to follow through on plans, on the part of the other person.... I don't know why? My company's just not valued? They've been burned by other people on dates, so now they're guarded?
It's irritating as all hell to have to rethink my plans for the night, holiday, whatever... because I was trying to reach out and include a friend in my life; and they suddenly decide to back out. (I'm trying not to mention any specific names, because I have been guilty of the same behavior, too. If you feel you must respond, I'd prefer that you do so by text message or Facebook messenger - I'm not trying to hammer out a solution in public. I'm really just wanting to express that it can be irritating if "someone presents themselves as undependable")
So....
Not everyone's built to be an extrovert...
Not everyone gives hugs and handshakes...
Not everyone is dependable, all the time...
...but, God, it can get lonely, if we cloister ourselves off, in our own little worlds.

Looking upon the world,
Dismayed in disbelief...
...and I ask, "What to write?
Realism, romanticism, or surreal thought clouds drifting... drifting...

drifting, as i lay in bed, last night -
mind not able to stay grounded...
perhaps two pitchers of tea, drunk,
led to such... swooning?

i ask myself, if these ladies want to dance...
I ask myself, am I willing to ask, on a chance?

caught up in this whirlwind, this society
burning transgressions large and small
as harassment, as unwanted advances -

I ask myself, "Am I still expected to make first advance?"
...or, maybe, they've made such subtle moves
that i forgot to read the subtext, the permissions?

it's confusing, confounding, and so bloody astounding -
Why can't love and sex be simple?
Why did physical comfort and affection
Have to get all twisted up with abuse and misuse?
"Where's the fucking open dialogues?!"

Still, I fear where to tread...
What touch is left, that's not been declared dead?

I must be careful, 'lest I lose the message, buried in form. I may want touches, hugs, and more; but it feels I can not offer them, anymore. You see, we've lost the safe spaces in which to explore, when the waltzes ended.
I would posit that a fallout of the sexual revolution, unintended, was a loss of clarity in the masses about how to court each other. Perhaps, many have been beat into bewilderment because polite company's taboos keep us silent, in the dark.

But, then, what do I know, with so little experience in dating, under my belt?

Once again, I don't know how much of this is verifiably true, or makes sense... or what else we're being fed, instead. Keep in mind, this is my first draft; and commentary is quite welcome!

Frustrated. Angry. Hurt.
...and the abyss beckons, the dagger taunts...
I hope sleep may help restore calm.

Living in a land of confusion, Destruction whispers, “Lay waste, that new sprouts may take root in the fertile ashes...”
Instead, I turn to Dream, Delirium, and even Despair...
To arts, authors, and the what if’s...
And I forget 1917, 1984. There is no revolution, just people drowning in delusion...?

Part of me's like, "who wants to call me, right now, at 1:40 a.m.? Because I'm afraid of waking y'all up..."
Yet, another part of me wants to attempt to sleep, again, hoping the thoughts subside... I do have to get up at 8.
So, a little jot of thoughts, even though the person I most want to see them isn't on Facebook (or so she claims): (although one quandary is that she's not my only present infatuation)
-----------------------------------
"I'm at a tipping point. I've grown to quite enjoy our friendship, and I think we've shared many of the same struggles and triumphs. So, I would like to date you, but, moreover, I really would like to court you."
"Are there any deal-breakers still lurking that would lead to a rocky marriage? Any flaws (yours or mine) that the other simply can not put up with - like my snoring? So, although my foolish heart would be willing to propose to you today, my cautious mind would like more information to weigh."
"That's where I sit. But, for now, I ask this of you: Do you want to become more than friends?"
"Do I have permission to be a bit more romantic with you?"
"Or... have circumstances made it difficult indeed to sustain a romance, at this time?"
-----------------------------------
feedback and/or edits welcome...
or even direct answers, if you are in a similar boat, feeling about me. (PMs or phone calls preferred)

some post about sex and relationships

I'm unsure what I want to say, or if it will have a nice flow and structure. More than likely, this will be a stream of consciousness.... just trying to push the gnawing concerns in my mind out into the open.

part of my mind is picking up on interest. maybe it's reading too much into the hugs, the conversations. so, I'm beginning to ask, "how should i proceed?" i recall similar situations in my past, ending poorly, because... my intensity... my mania... maybe my co-dependency tendencies - too much, too fast can be scary

yet, i've been getting plagued by inner dialogues, and left paralyzed, second guessing what's appropriate and if i have unchecked baggage?
what i'd like most is to make the time and space for honest dialogues. yet, i recall my first girlfriend contacting me 15 years later - having a night of dialogue - then being told that she didn't want to see me any more. also, being ghosted in a couple of other relationships (too much, too fast)

i wonder if my current perceptions of being isolated and abandoned stem from sharing too openly. coming off as untrustworthy, because I talk about some taboo topics. I don't get that, though, because I don't think I talk about other people. well, not specifically calling out names? then there's "why am i posting on Facebook - do i not have a close friend that I can confide in?" (note the irony of saying that, in this note)
I tried calling people today, reaching out in this and that way. Pretty much got delayed. No, I did not call everyone. No, I don't know if I'm ready yet to "confront my flirts" or try to force a conversation. They've got their busy lives, I've got busy life - I do not want them to feel pressured or threatened (recall how that blew up in my face, in the past)...

I've been told that I come off as very patient.

Yet, I see hints of my mortality encroaching upon me.

I see myself getting passed over, turned invisible, because I'm not trying to assert myself. I see flippant replies to my cries for help (one messenger exchange stands out in my mind), and I wonder how sincere people really are, in their offers to listen?

There's a whole other boiling kettle in the background around the areas of dating, flirting, and sexual harassment - especially if we look at verbage instead of body language. Also... there's talk in society about sexual harassment in the workplace, but it's also on the streets, and in various social organizations. I think it could best be summed up that people get uncomfortable when somebody sexualizes a situation and the first person did not intend to draw sexual attention. Part of this is why I'm real hesitant to comment on physically stunning profile pictures, here in Facebook. That mind set that people are much more than their physical appearance, so we should stop trying to prop up and focus on those appearances...

Yeah, a whole other boiling kettle... another thread... yet, underneath, a reason why I try not to act on purely physical attractions. But suppressing those feelings can be so hard...

My isolation is my own fault, to some degree. I'm modelling the behaviors that I'm receiving. If I don't call people or talk to people, then why should I expect them to do the same. If my life is built around group activities, like AA meetings and board game meetups, why should I expect to be invited to dinners or live shows - it's not like recruiting people to go to dinner with me, when I go out, which is quite often (alone). Hell, I live in a house with 5-8 guys at any time, but we do not seem to interact, outside of our bi-weekly house meeting. (I've told people how I thought I was getting into another co-op situation, but that's not how it's turned out.)

So, I'm left, lying in bed at night, ruminating over if there's anything out there, and afraid to test the waters because of past relationships gone south. Yet, I've written a bit here. I hope it fished some of the resentments out of my mind. ...and I have an early day today, so I should attempt some sleep....

the words are jumbled in my brain,
crumpled up like old newspapers
in and among the cobwebs
that physically house my mind....?
seeking. ever seeking.
hungry. ever hungry.
a thirst for life, for the other,
for hot blood...!
...and the anger seethes,
the desire pushes judgement into back alleys,
the sorrow crushes tranquility...?
hungry ghosts wander this half-life,
decaying, as the minute and seconds fall away....
what do i want? you?
to travel the world,
to be entertained,
to escape pain?
"...and now for something completely different..."
"for in the very whirlwind...."
- fuck. a forgotten line -
"....you must acquire and beget a temperance,
that may give it smoothness..."
and all the thoughts crowd around my mouth,
begging to be let out,
hoping (beyond hope)
that someone might understand,
a desperation to be loved,
to be remembered,
to be saved from this devouring mortalitiy
to be "heard",
...and yet, also, to be here...

You may think you’re fine, but people around you are losing their minds. Unfortunately, some of them will lash out at others with guns and knives and cars... whatever they can weaponize...

don’t know if there’s a cure-all that can calm everyone back down, as I don’t know if we can share a common vision.

I do suspect a good first step is to stop looking at our things, and start talking WITH each other. Text streams do a poor job of consolation... dollar bills, even less so...

...and yet, we insulate ourselves from foreign views to our own. Remember: “Don’t talk to strangers!”

Observations on Humanity

Earlier today (around 3:30 p.m.), a woman got on the #3 SB bus, at the Sunrise Community Church stop, growling like a tiger. The bus driver asked her to quiet down, at which point she claimed to be possessed by the devil. So, the driver firmly but calmly told her to exit the bus, which she did so with a little grumbling.
I glanced at another passenger, and we exchanged expressions. Some passengers at the front commented how “She forgot it’s no longer Halloween.
However, I have to remember, “I could have easily been that person” and I recall the fall of ‘98 to spring of ‘99...

Defining Success?

So, there’s this picture of success we’re fed:
I graduate high school, go on to college, and earn one or more degrees in field(s) I’m relatively interested in. Upon graduating college, I move on to a career in those field(s) that I can work in until retirement, with a hefty retirement package waiting in my golden years.
Along the way, I met a partner, who is The One for me. We settle down and raise a functional family together, in a loving and supportive community.
We have a nice house, nice cars, nice kids, nice neighbors...
———-
So vanilla it makes me want to puke, and it does not, at all, compare to the lives of struggling people that I see in myself, and around me...
why is it being promoted, then?

Job failure: Randall's

My mind is a mess, and I don’t know if I’d make much sense...
but I would really like to talk with somebody else right now. Almost willing to say anybody else...
My predictor is thinking some of you will say, “Go to a meeting!” Thinking about that, this evening (most likely Refuge Recovery)
There’s a thought, “Go to confession!” Not sure on that one, as I’ve been away from Church so long...
(Maybe I could use a birthday coupon? Is there free time in our schedules - part of my consternation...)
———————-
Either I quit, or I got fired... still, I’m no longer at Randall’s. I’m really beating up on myself for adding to the chain of lost jobs, lost due to my absenteeism...
My depression’s been flaring up - parts situational, seasonal, and clinical. I saw my psychiatrist on Monday to get my meds. I still don’t have a good therapy solution.
The low security resulting from my poor life choices is creating great anxiety in my mind. It would be nice if I could “chin up” and “pull myself up by my bootstraps” to power forward and succeed; I just don’t think I have the stamina and perseverance for that, any more. (The suicidal ideations keep circling around me like buzzards, whispering, “you are a failure and you need to quit being a burden”)
As the setbacks pile up, I feel I’m drowning in a turbulent stormy sea, and I want the current to drag me under, Thinking tranquility lies in the deep abyss. “Become a rebel, an outlaw...” “run away to a monastery” “overdose, again?” “Jump in front of that bus” “stop trying to fit in to corporate America...”
A maelstrom circling around, a hopelessness that cards are getting stacked against me ready to slice me to ribbons as they get dealt out in an oubliette tableau (?)... a hopelessness that I have been pushed into the working poor and there’s nothing I can do to change that for myself or millions of others... a hopelessness.
I sit here, at a buffet, thinking that will keep me fed and nourished for 24 hours - and halfway through the meal, I started writing this, hoping beyond hope that I am not as alone as I think I am.
I lost another job today,
But it wasn’t keeping me afloat, anyway...
Living life - there’s got be a better way;
Yet, beat down again,
My energy’s long faded away.
I still want to talk with somebody else.

"Combo Dinner" (P.o.t.D. 8/15/15, no rev)

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!"

"Bug-brain" (P.o.t.D. 8/8/13, no rev)

engage archie mode
working title unknown at this beginning

although i play at being a cockroach
i am but a human
it could be possible that
for some incarnation
in the distant past
i was walking on this earth
with six legs
and no brain

who am i to say
that bugs have no brains

for a spider can weave wild webs
with interesting defects
when under the influence of this or that

an ant may be part of a larger colony
whose individual actions seem random
and yet the collective actions of the colony
benefit most of the ants

hyper intelligent cockroaches
take over the world
in the far future
for the earth is so scorched
by us meager men now

so we are but humans
imperfect and flawed
and not always looking out
for the welfare of all
especially when chasing
our wanton wants

could the problem be
that god gave us brains
but he left us to learn foresight

"Listen..." (P.o.t.D. 8/4/15, no rev)

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

"To Be..." (P.o.t.D. 8/3/15, no rev)

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.

"The Game of Life" (P.o.t.D. 8/1/17, no rev)

Multiball pinballs
Colliding, getting sidetracked
Into the gutters...

"Is not..." (P.o.t.D. 8/1/15, no rev)

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?"

------------- divider (add poems above) --------------------

"Cooking Chocolate Oatmeal" (P.o.t.D. 7/31/15, rev ???)

Just toss them off my brain,
Like so many fractured fragments from
The simmering coffee pot shattered...

Strange ideas percolate,
But now lay splattered
Across some cheap tile knock-off.

How does one arrange the ideas,
When the yarn is unravelling
And all the tender nerves are frayed
By long days at work, slaving away?

Am I in the quaint kitchen,
Cooking up ideas and schemes,
"Mincing words", if you will?

Stirring the sauce,
Sprinkling spices in,
I try to concoct a good story...

...but it feels like a recipe for disaster,
Like the wrong memories
Are getting jammed together,
Leaving me with a pickle of a poem -
Overcooked by leaning too heavily
On an extended meal metaphor.

"Oh! The Travesty!" (P.o.t.D. 7/30/15, no rev)

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."

"Wore Out" (P.o.t.D. 7/29/17, no rev)

Once again, my shoes
Have been trampled to tatters
By all that walking...

"Six by six" (P.o.t.D. 7/28/15, no rev)

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, no rev)

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

"Unfriended" (P.o.t.D. 7/26/15, no rev)

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.

"Give Us Room" (P.o.t.D. 7/25/15, rev 8/13/17)

We do not wish to be cast as unique,
Separated by perceived difference.
We do not like being afraid to speak,
Set off by those who think we make no sense.

It's just common ground, with you, that we seek;
'Fore we can shed our fears and our pretence.
'Tis fair treatment of the humble and meek
To be allowed room to "get off our fence"...?

"Do you...?" (P.o.t.D. 7/25, no rev)

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

Is Silence Not Enough?

There are events and causes and politics and more that I closet-support.

Because I do not want to publicly broadcast my support, out of fear of being considered a member of the cause instead of an ally...

Because I do not want to post support without being able to defend my views to those who see the post - no desire for flame wars...

Because I do not want to get into long arguments, especially online, with people who have almost alien backgrounds, compared to my own.

Because I'm already stretched thin on time, and I do not want to get drawn in to lengthy research and subsequent documentation to solidify my position, when it may just be ignored by the "aliens"...

Because I do not fully trust the validity of the "news" that is already broadcast around the issue.

As I do not wish to get into lengthy debates, or spend much of my time sifting through news in fields outside of my studies; I opt to be a passive, silent information consumer. I now think before I share, most of the time, and I try to read with a critical eye.

I guess that it boils down to thinking I have no influence over things outside of my hula hoop. If I thought I could sway the masses to change their mind, I'd be more prone to get on the soapbox...

Yet, I feel I work better in the shadows, where I can break my silence, one-on-one with those who I trust and who have come to trust me.

Unfortunately, there's a power juggernaut in our society trying to wreak havoc on all the things I hold dear.

"Nothing Gained" (P.o.t.D. 7/24/15, no rev)

"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.

"Sad Short Stories" (P.o.t.D.7/23/17)

Write a sad story
Using three words! So, I wrote:
"Climate change denied..."

"Finding a Purpose"

Dear Human:

You’ve got it all wrong.
You didn’t come here to master unconditional love.
That is where you came from and where you’ll return.
You came here to learn personal love.
Universal love.
Messy love.
Sweaty love.
Crazy love.
Broken love.
Whole love.
Infused with divinity. Lived through the grace of stumbling.
Demonstrated through the beauty of… messing up. Often.
You didn’t come here to be perfect. You already are.
You came here to be gorgeously human. Flawed and fabulous.
And then to rise again into remembering.
But unconditional love?
Stop telling that story.
Love, in truth, doesn’t need ANY other adjectives.
It doesn’t require modifiers.
It doesn’t require the condition of perfection.
It only asks that you show up. And do your best.
That you stay present and feel fully.
That you shine and fly and laugh and cry
and hurt and heal and fall and get back up
and play and work and live and die as YOU.
It’s enough. It’s Plenty.

~ Courtney Walsh

"Unfinished House" (P.o.t.D. 7/22/15, no rev)

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

"Two Bits" (P.o.t.D. 7/21/15, no rev)

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

"Seed Cycle" (P.o.t.D. 7/16/15, rev 7/25/17)

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 my hunches.

"Ode to Beginner's Mind" (P.o.t.D. 7/15/15, no rev)

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.

"Grill" (P.o.t.D. 7/12/17, no rev)

Licking the charcoal
Like hungry lions, the flames
Cook our food, in heat...

"Organize!" (P.o.t.D. 7/11/15, no rev)

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.

Thinking about my Higher Power(s)

I have my personal experience that I can relate to. I do not know what other life-forms experience, although people's attempts to communicate their lives can resonate with my own set of memories.

There are a lot of basic experiences that have been repeated over and over, throughout time, that have generated sets of both good and bad responses. Deciding what's good and bad tends to be built on emotional reactions. (I recall a book in the last 20 years that looked at studies of how lack of emotions impaired judgements)

One of the things I love about Buddhist meditation is that it challenges me to form first-hand insights behind my experiences. Similarly, AA's programs says, "Try these behaviors, see what happens, and use that to form your own experience with a God, as you understand him"

A lot of people wring their hands over what others tell them that God is, or, more often... over people telling them Godly behavior and then practicing the opposite.

I think religion does not create a good model of how the physical world works. However, it does do a good job of looking at social interactions, good and bad, through the ages... however, religion has given rise to philosophy, psychology, even history, and influenced other social sciences - and those fields are now coupling with science to give good insights into social behavior and also abnormalities and how they can "break social rules"

So, I claim to be agnostic. If there is a God, it's much more than my personal experience and understanding. Yet, to thrive in this world, it greatly helps to depend upon experiences beyond my own. I.e., I learn from my elders, sharing in their success and avoiding their mistakes...

"Bloom" (P.o.t.D. 7/8/15, no rev)

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

"To Move Mountains?" (P.o.t.D. 7/8/16, no rev)

What words can I say,
Convince them to walk away
From valleys of death?

(Unfortunately,
I feel my words hold no weight,
and so, my heart breaks...)

"Ennio & Dario" (P.o.t.D. 7/7/15, no rev)

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

"Trickle" (P.o.t.D. 7/5/15, no rev)

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

"Swimming With Sharks?" (P.o.t.D. 7/4/15, no rev)

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

"Ten Word Autobiography" (P.o.t.D. 6/29/30, no rev)

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

"Haiku Hack" (P.o.t.D. 6/27/15, no rev)

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

"How We Roll.." (P.o.t.D. 6/25/15, no rev)

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, no rev)

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, no rev)

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

Cutting off his corn -
Cut to the chase -

Cutting hurts...
Cut deep,
Cuts.

"Bottom of the Can" (P.o.t.D. 6/21/15, no rev)

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

"Night Shift" (P.o.t.D. 6/20/15, no rev)

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

"Message to 45" (P.o.t.D. 6/17/17)

Sir, an angry mob
Sits on the lawn, demanding
That you stop tweeting...

"Celebrating Rain" (P.o.t.D. 6/16/16, no rev)

Happy about rains,
Plants stretch sweet flowers to me
Along walks to work.

"Haikus cry, 'Help me!'" (P.o.t.D. 6/16/15, no rev)

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

"Roadkill" (P.o.t.D. 6/16/16, no rev)

A twisted skeleton
Beside busy highway -
Umbrella abandoned
When fierce rains made it splay,
Upward, outward, useless?

A corpse lays in the street -
Server's black cash apron,
Tossed away in the heat
Of mad furies from work,
When she was called useless...

So much trash, scattered 'round;
Relics of our culture
That one day will be found
By descendents, for sure,
Who cast us as useless.

"Writer's Lament" (P.o.t.D. 6/14/15, no rev)

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, no revs)

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

"Icarus" (P.o.t.D. 6/13/17)

Sol melts the wax glue;
My fine plumage peels off, fast...
This bird falls, stripped bare.

"Times Unjust" (P.o.t.D. 6/12/16, rev 6/12/17)

Life has lost its luster,
Dulled by bickering fights,
Choosing from a menu
Chock full of bad diets.

Love tries finding its roots,
Cracking my stone-dead heart...
Bile rises instead
Choking on rocks apart...

This is a feeble piece -
Written, mindless, above -
Attempting to capture:
'Despair!' 'Ennui!' '...enough...'

Please, forgive, if you will -
Revile, if you must -
Poems written in anger
In these sad times unjust.

"Four subject words" (P.o.t.D. 6/11/15, rev 6/11/17)

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

First attempt, following?

"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."

Revision - turning this into 4 simple sentences:

"All of the books are covered in dust.
A television blasts the room with sounds and scenes.
The couch sags under his sleeping weight.
Meanwhile, the computer's screen locks."

"Kotter's Groan" (P.o.t.D. 6/10/15, no rev)

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, no rev)

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

"Noise Disruptions" (P.o.t.D. 6/7/15, no rev)

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, no rev)

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, no rev)

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, no rev)

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

"Chocolate Chips" (P.o.t.D. 5/31/15, rev 5/31/17)

I hide deep within the wings -
And life's crazy show goes on -
Manipulating some strings
That create effects brazen...

Will I step into spotlights?
Or remain unheard, unseen,
Masked by shades - dodging brights...
What has Fate cast that I've been?

"Obsession" (P.o.t.D. 5/29/15,no rev)

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

acrostic... (P.o.t.D. 5/24/15, no rev)

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 debaters?
Saddens me, that this - this is our culture...

"Strengthen, Oh Capillaries!" (P.o.t.D. 5/23/15, no rev)

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, no rev)

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, no rev)

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

"Sixth Street Saga" (P.o.t.D. 5/20/15, no rev)

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”.

"Changing Our Tunes" - contest - The last analog generation (P.o.t.D. 5/19/15, rev 5/19/17)

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, no rev)

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, no rev)

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, no rev)

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

untitled (P.o.t.D. 5/12/15, no rev)

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

"Hallmark" (P.o.t.D. 5/10/15, no rev)

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, no rev)

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, no revs)

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, no rev)

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

"The Smoking Feline" ( P.o.t.D. 5/5/15, no rev)

"'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, no rev)

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, no rev)

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, no rev)

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

"Bemoaning Work" (P.o.t.D. 4/29/15, no rev)

Stocking groceries
Took longer than expected,
Left time constricted.

"Talking About the Weather" (P.o.t.D. 4/28/15, no rev)

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, rev 4/27/17)

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

"Ten Year Chip" (P.o.t.D. 4/26/15, no rev)

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.

"Exhausted" (P.o.t.D. 4/25/15, no rev)

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, no rev)

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...

"Thursday Morn" (P.o.t.D. 4/23/15, rev ???)

I come to, after a long nap, barely listening
To "Henry V" playing on the radio at 5 a.m.

Realizing the game on my phone needs attention,
I putter around there for two and a half hours,
Burning former alliance members, to train more troops.
I don't know when I'll commit to a war.

I go in to my room, to get dressed for the day,
When the end table between the beds collapses,
Startling my new room mate awake.
I take five minutes to reassemble it all from the wreckage.

I make my way to a long-forgotten AA meeting,
Where I'm greeted with hugs and hellos all around.
Ten years ago, I committed to fight this inner war;
And I've reassembled my life from quite a wreckage...
Not on my own power, though,
But with the aid of quite a community,
And powers unforeseen, well outside of my control.

Now, I'm home again,
To eat, do laundry, shower, clean,
And perform various other chores and commitments,
That I may find myself in a better place,
To awaken again, to stirring words and undampened courage.

defeating the purpose?

coffee stirs my mind up,
when it wants to wind down -
now watch my resentments
spin wildly, round and round...

"Global Warming Haiku" (P.o.t.D. 4/22/15, no rev)

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

"Finding My Boyhood Kindness..." (P.o.t.D. 4/20/15, no rev)

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.

"Pity Party" (P.o.t.D. 4/19/17)

My lonely heart, pining away...
Feelings fester, drive me to say,
"None will come close to me, today..."

"Casting Words" (P.o.t.D. 4/19/17)

What words will you wield,
While wearing ones, once whispered
With such bitter stings?

"Questioning Leisure" (P.o.t.D. 4/19/15, no rev)

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, no rev)

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

rantin, before midnight....

there's this low level anxiety
just eating away at my sanity

worried the president will trigger a world war
while he gleefullly cuts and slashes
his way through decades of regulations,
some good some out of date
god damn it, though, i think
they all want to reinvent the wheel
under some guise of one moral code?

i want environmental regulations,
yet i'm indifferent to sex conduct
and i hate to watch education
being sold to the cheapest dollar

i know not about finances
or immigrants despised
or little old ladies
losing money to live their lives

well, i know what internet memes
shout at every corner of the web,
all the fester, when not tied to... facts?

i despair, i lose hope,
i wallow in misery
because i can not see
how i can change the world:
does a phone call, or a march,
have any real impact -
do i have the energy to join in,
or is it just protesting too much?

so, there's that -
frustrations abound your government..
not mine! I voted for the Democrats.
...and i'm sure there's those out there
who would strip me five ways to Sunday
for playing in to the two-party system.

bringing it back to my hula hoop -
i want to be loved, cherished, and respected...?

i want to spend my evenings with friends,
telling about our days' adventures...

I want to date an elegant lady,
who doesn't write me off, for living in poverty...

I want to weigh 180..160..140..?
whatever weight eliminates this belly...

yet again, i feel imprisoned
by my present -
afraid to flirt,
because I don't want to harass;
yet feeling I will be overlooked,
never approached,
because i'm trying wo live outside the old mold
"a common refrain, going back to the 80's"

i can see it now,
being chastised and chided,
by some of my closest friends:
"Why don't you take the initiative?"
...and as I sink into a deep, dark oubliette,
my parting thought is still,
"No lady will reach out, directly,
Because they're fighting polite society..."

Oh, and because i'm fat,
And rather insane, more days than not,
And old and poor
and beating up on myself
for all the unattractive qualities
i'm weighing myself down with...

i'm this geek,
who was pushed into the stoner circle,
because he cut off a cop at a light
after deinking a 6-pack in 30 minutes...
I often think that my drinking and drugging arc
was cut short, way before I thought it was a problem

...and i'm a geek..
i like to play D&D and Euro games,
I enjoy reading in the sciences
and using public media
and i seem to miss the cues
that make conversation so effortless for y'all.

i'm told i don't need to base my happiness
on other people's opinions,
and i twist that up in my mind,
thinking I've just been told to be a hermit
(...and i wonder why friends and family never call...)
[perhaps because i'm lost in my electronics]

"Separation Anxiety..?" (P.o.t.D. 4/17/15, no rev)

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, no rev)

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

"'Alone!', he wails..." (P.o.t.D. 4/13/08, rev 6/24/17)

Restrain tongue and pen, in work and in play --
Emotions checked, yet lusty obsessions
Simmer, seeking to have their ugly say.
Public, private perspectives, perceptions
Entwined, interwoven, in tangled skein.
Confusing courage with cries of caution,
Tangled I am found, again and again -
I am lost in deontic ties that bind.
Now... do I cross antiquated fences,
Gaining insight, facing fears, in my mind?

Before, I would "sit in solemn silence",
Overcome my feelings, yet... highstrung... tense -
Untold wreckage building upon my soul,
Never once did I feel complete and whole.
Dwelling in a pure ivory tower,
And discontent... alone... each midnight hour.
Reason only took me farther - too far -
Inside self, loves buried in aching heart,
Encamped, enclosed, entrapped, entombed "in a
Steel cage" - a lean role sans sensual sin.

Inhibitions: respect? ... or overcome?
Note, then, the true fears from among the sum.

Look... Listen... Love... and the world unfolds!
Infinite nuances will be revealed,
From which billions of stories can be told -
Experiences that can truly heal.

Everyone has a story to tell;
Stories so deep, they cause my heart to swell!
Pensive, I will miss their insights around
Even though, like armies, do they surround.
Circled by artisans, artists, arsons;
Igniting passions, felt by all senses.
Around my prison of independence
Lay self-centered lies from self-sufficience;
Leading me to forget growth from "my mind,
Your mind, learning when we are intertwined".

Ignoring others, I find I become
Narcistic, pessimistic... my thoughts, numb.

Life is too short to live in a ship's hold;
Overcome, I must, these imagined seals!
Voyeuer, no more - engage others, be bold -
Enrich my life, sharing others' ordeals!

"International TableTop Day" (P.o.t.D. 4/11/15, no rev)

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

"Testing Dilemna" (P.o.t.D. 4/10/15, no rev)

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

untitled (P.o.t.D.4/8/15, no rev)

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

untitled (P.o.t.D. 4/7/15, no rev)

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

"Seeking the Sweetness" (P.o.t.D. 4/6/15, no rev)

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.

"Can you spare a liver?" (P.o.t.D. 4/5/17)

I would love to share
My life with the world! Organ
Donations, perhaps?

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

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

"Haikus to explain?" (P.o.t.D. 4/4/17)

As I dredge eight years
Of my Facebook feed, pulling
Poems poignant? Or Pouts?

Like pulling my teeth,
As I scramble with my time...
Left half-finished moons:

The delicate rib,
Or bowl upon horizon,
Or midnight madness...

Leaves left, ink long dry -
Beg for edits, telling why
So sad...? So depressed...?

No wine, let me whine,
Upon my shoddy sorrows,
I force you to dine!

I don't want to be
Trite, and yet, depression
Seems like all I write!!

Spring is upon us -
The plants are blooming flowers,
Leaves noses' sorrows..

"Worried over water" (P.o.t.D. 4/4/15, no rev)

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

"Write-offs" (P.o.t.D. 4/1/15, no rev)

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

"March" (P.o.t.D. 3/29/15, no rev)

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

"Past Presents" (P.o.t.D. 3/26/17)

I'm riding this wave
Of poems penned two years ago -
Yet silence, today...

"Technical Evolution" (P.o.t.D. 3/26/15, no rev)

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.

"Over the Rainbow" (P.o.t.D. 3/25/15, rev ???)

Red -
For the blood, sweat and tears sacrificed,
Fighting the dark demons in those first days...

Orange -
Color that my blood turned
After a decade of Austin decadence,
Masquerading as an attempt at a degree...

Yellow -
Glad to be pissing clean and clear,
Despite severe damage done in that one year,
With much less toxins for organs to fear...

Green -
Always striving for more green,
I'm surprised it's not abundant
With far fewer drains that I've seen...

Blue -
Saddened, after another decade;
Because goals go unrealized,
And life still feels like a struggle...

Indigo -
I don't know?

Violet -
Feeling like royalty,
For that second decade
Still had unexpected promises fulfilled.

"Dawn" (P.o.t.D. 3/23/17)

The sun rises,
To chase dawn's chill.
Grey clouds roll by.

"Fueled by Frustrations, Suicide Sinks In"

I imagine myself twisting up my bed shifts into a make-shift rope, tying them to the guardrail on the Jones Road bridge, and hanging myself over the creek.

Other days, I feel this urge to jump in fount of the cars speeding down Manchaca Road.

Or... do I poison myself by taking all of the prescriptions simultaneously. What is it like to die on a month's worth of Lithium?

There's even a thought to go to the gun shop, ten minutes away, and buy a gun.

So far, that's the extent of the ideations.

They're not constant, but they're recurring. I suspect they're fueled by frustration and failures. The first time that I attempted suicide, it was not a cry for attention; I wanted to find oblivion, to be done with this circus, to make room for those who seem to be succeeding...

I hate the places my brain can take me.

I hate the expectations that our society imposes on me.

On second sight, I would seriously consider escaping by running away to a monastery (with or without notice, depending on my mood) - all the above suicides seem to have a bit of pain and suffering involved in them.

So, yes, I'm a bit frustrated right now. When I look at the outsides, though, I'm actually not bad off. Yet, like some crazed addict, I want more... more money, more toys, more games, more food, more sex, more attention.

Yet, hearing myself talk, these last couple of days, I'm not too sure that I'm very pleasant to be around. Will you still love me, when I stink?

Sooo... that's me, reaching out in a third/fourth Facebook thread. I'll probably call somebody in the next couple of hours, because I strongly suspect that no one will call me.
(maybe this is all the result of too much caffeine? )

"Couplet on Defeat" (P.o.t.D. 3/22/17)

neglected. abandoned. wasting away...
why do I keep trudging, day after day?

"Whispers" (P.o.t.D. 3/22/15, no rev)

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

"Light Up My Life!" (P.o.t.D. 3/21/15, no rev)

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

"Carpenter at Work..?" (P.o.t.D. 3/18/15, no rev)

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

"Jody's Limerick" (P.o.t.D., 3/17/15, rev 4/5/17)

Arrived early at the movie site,
Without getting a quick breakfast bite...
Stayed busy through the day,
Yet options I did weigh,
I ended up playing at Game Night.

"On the Court" (P.o.t.D. 3/16/15, no rev)

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...

"Failing..." P.o.t.D. 3/14/15 (pi day!), rev ???"

Right now, this moment, I find myself asking, "Why?
Why did my well of wonderful words run dry?"
Probably running around too much, running myself ragged -
So, it becomes a chore of Epimetheus, pulling thoughts jagged...

Fail:
I'm Unsure of the Greek boulder-pushing guy,
And I'm Forcing the second rhyme.
I'm not even checking syllable counts,
Let alone, their stress patterns.

Stressed indeed -
A full plate before me,
Yet so little money
To get feed?

Fail again?
Beating ourselves up over stuff contrite,
Leads to mental blocks when we try to write -
Still, we win?

I see an insanely busy week ahead...
Maybe I could write much much more,
Yet I must also find my way to my bed.

"Words With W" (P.o.t.D. 3/13/15, no rev)

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, no rev)

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?"

"It rained..." (P.o.t.D. 3/5/17)

It rained...

It rained tears of angels,
Crying at how we live our lives.

It rained sweat of many birds
Tring to fly away,
And escape narrowly with their lives.

It rained a nasty potluck of chemicals
Pumped without conscience, into our skies -
Slowly eating away at beauty outside,
And leaving a few afraid to live healthy lives.

I tell you, "It rained...",
And most of us
Skipped along, blind to the pain.

"Sing a New Song" (P.o.t.D. 3/5/15, no rev)

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

"Delusions" (P.o.t.D. 3/4/15, no rev)

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, no rev)

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

"thinking about SXSW" (P.o.t.D. 2/28/17)

As spring approaches,
There are scurrying roaches
Sipping on mochas...

"Physical Therapy" (P.o.t.D. 2/27/15, no rev)

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

"Distracted: A Villanelle" (P.o.t.D. 2/25/15, no rev)

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.

"Matrix Mash-up?" (P.o.t.D. 2/24/16 rev ???)

As I watch the map
Twirl and Swirl
Behind the forecaster,

A memory becomes dislodged
From decade distant days
Spent in hospitals of state:

"How much sunlight will we see?"
Like it's metered out for me,
And there's not enough energy

To fuel my madness,
To keep up the charade...
A la "The Truman Show"...

Are they trying to intrude
In my chaotic little world,
Spinning 24/7, with threads unfurled?

I wonder what is real,
What is fancy,
What lies behind the scene?

Sometimes, the surreal
Becomes so, so real,
That my mind does reel

And I find myself asking,
As events become taxing,
"Did I ever come out of the coma?"

"Emotional Roller-coaster" (P.o.t.D. 2/22/17)

Picking at my poems,
Hoping to find happiness:
In dismay, I rage...

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

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

Sleep has become my career's Achilles Heel...?
If I'm not getting enough, then my mind rebels...

"Prelude to Rest" (orig 2/21/15, rev 3/29/17)

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

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

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

There's this bit of me that just wants to bare my soul, and be cleansed of my transgressions. Thankfully, I don't naively trust Facebook enough to do that here.
Now, if the right friends called, I might share with them?

"Auto-correct poem" (P.o.t.D. 2/18/17)

Shall I compare thee to this winter night?
I'm so happy to see my son on the bus to my house
I'm so single I can't believe how happy this Sunday was
I'm not going on a Saturday night but I'm not going on Facebook
I'm not going on Facebook
I'm so single
I'm not sure how I am but I'm still interested and there are a few things that I've been looking at and I am interested
I'm so single I can't believe how I am so single
The only way you could have been able would be a better app

This week, I've made some poor choices; and I'm not sure how easy it will be to repair the damage. I'm still sober, but I don't think I'm acting sanely.
I'm reaching a tipping point, where I have to ask, "Do I want to hold on to my old (mostly night) schedule built heavily on games? ....Or do I pursue a career where I don't feel comfortable with meeting the work expected of me?"
I'm rebelling, because I don't want to be stupid, boring, and glum - processing forms all day, 6 months out of the year. Yet, it's an opportunity to improve my finances, and to free up my fall.
I just don't want to give up my old lifestyle, in order to make sane schedules around my new career.
Oh, and I decided to back out of SXSW volunteering last night. I like doing it, but I don't like the amount of time it takes out of my schedule...

"Bipolar blues" (P.o.t.D. 2/15/17)

My mind took a turn
At tearing apart my life...
Why won't I just sleep?

"Destiny's Leaves?" (P.o.t.D. 2/11/16 rev 2/11/17)

Youth's fair and fine leaves
Ride with the wind, as the bus
Trudges long its course...

Poems plucked from children,
Posted above riders' heads
To read and digest...

Spaghetti roads or
Spaghetti hair? Images
Of tangled skeins there.

Little do I know
From what branch I pick these lines -
Life's veins intertwined...

Thin delicate rib
Of a moon, or fingernail,
Or bowl in the sky?

Colorful reward,
To gorge, on poetry bus,
With nine rhymes, not one -

To be distracted
From a dull, brown life, riding
Round the town, head down,

Looking at the phone,
At senseless memes, in long lines -
Shadows of poems, See?

Let me look at leaves,
Left in the loft of the lift,
'less I leave, listless.

"That is Not What You Meant..." (PotD 2/11/15 rev 2/11/17)

'I heard you say, "I'm doing the dishes".
Yet, your actions show you've other wishes!'

"How can you defend sitting on the couch,
Screaming at me, right now, like some old grouch?"

'Those dishes are just sitting in the sink -
Postponing them just strengthens what I think...'

"Don't tell me that you are sleepy and tired,
Drinking that much tea has got you quite wired!"

'Did you leave the plates soaking in water?
'Cause scrubbing off crusted food is harder!'

"Why do you keep harping on today's chore?
Living with you's like living with a bore..."

'Wait! What are you hinting at? What'd you say?
For sex and fun, the plates we can delay...'

"The Meadow" (P.o.t.D. 2/9/15, no rev)

Slipping through the shadows,
Its coat as dark as night,
Its green eyes all alight;
The cat owned this meadow.
The mice trembled in fear,
Knowing it was so near...

"Revert to Haiku" (P.o.t.D. 2/8/15, no rev)

When in doubt, haiku!
A simple form, oft abused...
Mastery is tough.

untitled (posted to Facebook 2/8/14 rev ???)

What words are percolating,
colliding in passing...
some times sticking,
other times flowing?

What ideas power that current -
distant memories of this morning,
or random conjectures
of tomorrows,
marching into the cement
of actual experience,
or fading away
from physics falsely found facts..?

what is that you say? Whimsy?
Like so many other scribbled notes,
I try to begin in the meta-,
A sign perhaps,
That I am scratching at vapors,
Not at all sure what's happening
Right now, Right here,
In the Present Moment.

Then again,
Maybe I want to stoke
The creative fires,
And let loose the imagination,
To try to glimpse those alternate realities,
Where pigs DO fly,
(...and women ask me on dates, for a change...)

And...
Like that, I suddenly want to end it, and post it.

"Silver Pins?" (pub 2/7/16, rev 2/7/17)

Our minds became hollow, empty vessels,
Drained of all sparks, with brains swept up in news
Faked by the paparazzi media...

Try as I may, my senses sucked mine dry
Through flimsy skin, plugged up ears, clamped shut eyes.
Our hearts evacuated long before -
Leaving behind travesties of lives sore.

My hope - it still exists - is that one day,
Our vacant existence will replenish
With love's fires, that we'll find silver pins
Hidden under all the straw mens' toothpicks.

Let us slay charming vampires and werewolves -
Diseases poisoning society,
Plucking my mind from day's vitality...

"what rhymes with pain?" (P.o.t.D. 2/7/15 rev 2/7/17)

pain
insane,
makes me wane -
I can't explain
the physical drain...

"Picture This..." (P.o.t.D. 2/6/15, no rev)

Capture a moment
With camera expertise
And no Photoshop...

"Traveling" (Poem noted thru Jack, subbed in as P.o.t.D. 2/5/17)

"What is this infatuation
With travel,
All about?"

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

Jack Edward Martin: 'I must say though, that this is actually a lovely little poem you created:'

Tap. Tap. Tap...
(silence)
"mrr mrr mrr... Hah!"
Rattatat tat! Tat!...
...sounding like a machine gun,
his fingers flew over the keyboard,
as he gave words
to his divine inspiration,
riding it like a Florida surfer...
Sentence after sentence flowed on to the screen...
...and then, 20 minutes later,
the thoughts slowed to a trickle,
to a "Tap. Tap. Tap...."
...and stopped, again.
Some would say,
"A wise man would pause here,
and review what's been written,
tweaking it ever so slightly
to add fluidity
to those awkward phrasings -
all a 'Head Fake' to try to reconnect with the Muse."
However, he was determined to get a chapter written tonight,
and would plow forward,
adding gristle to the editing mill planned for the morrow,
just hoping beyond hope
he could meet his editor's impending deadline.
He didn't care that what he wrote was disjointed -
not well connected at all,
and laying the seed for tons of weeds around that mill.
So, he pecked at the keyboard,
like a pigeon looking for
kernals of truth in a barren field.
Were the similes and metaphors evocative enough?
Only time will tell...

Jody:

What if Christ has returned,
Yet not to be crucified...
But to die in anonymity
From suffering a life, unloved?

Shawn's reply:

The Christ has returned
Many, many times
Loved and despised,
Hated and feared,
Carried on high amidst cheers,
Every life lived,
All the trillions in history,
Are shattered shards of a mirror;
There is only One.

"The Giving Tree" (P.o.t.D. 2/4/16 rev 2/4/17)

Perhaps the birch bark's a delicious treat
For buzzing, gnawing, insatiable
Insects, stripping it bare of its black bark.

We leave it to creak in the winter cold,
Bereft of fall leaves - 'White now, bark no more.'

"When it creaks, does it, like a treant, speak,
'Give unto me shelter from this harsh world?'"

I walk on, to face chill winter's harsh winds;
Leaving the birch rooted in its sorrow,
"Perhaps its bark will grow back, tomorrow?"

I shiver, glad that the tree stays rooted,
"What chaos and turmoil could it create,
Branches swinging, scratching, at all us beasts?"

About dating site profiles...

What is this infatuation with travel, all about?

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

Or.. why the over-used statement, "looks great in blue jeans or a black dress"?

"Stripped" (P.o.t.D. 2/3/15 no rev)

White birch sentinel,
Bark stripped bare, in neighbor's yard;
Its leaves spread 'cross mine.

"Getting Older" (P.o.t.D. 2/3/15 rev 2/2/17)

Legs twisted up in strange pretzel shapes
To reduce their nerve and muscle aches.
As I sleep, drool drains out
Wet pillows are all 'bout...
Just a couple bad signs of old age.

"Food for Thought" (was "Unfinished Media Meanderings?" (P.o.t.D. 2/1/16))

Like a steadfast woodpecker
Meticulously digging at my brain,
The clock beats out its seconds
In its Chinese Water Torture refrain...

'Do I want to write angry words,
Railing at Flint's dirty water,
Or suicidal open mics,
Or psychopaths for President?'

Just a slice of the "news",
Eating Facebook pizza -
Quite a bit unhealthy
If gorged on each minute,
Of each day, all these years;
Leading to drying up
Of desensitized tears...

Drifting, I focus on the color orange.
I wonder, "Will my Longhorn spirit show?
Will I wander down a mental alley
With a decadent, sweet, innocent fruit -
Rolling beside me, and yet unaware
That soon, it will be skinned and devoured?"
Most of the adjectives I am drawn to
Seem to be visual - colors or fruits...

Or hard to make rhymes with...

How I thirst for metaphors,
Twists of words deep in my brain;
Awaiting the woodpecker,
Or possibly Pink Floyd's worms...

I want to listen to the bards,
Instead of the clock-knocking birds,
Or the silence of stores so bare.

So, I plug in my phone
And blast the tunes so loud,
Hoping musical noise
Will find a buried home
That attention allows
To become my mind's toys.

So, I ended up with 2 poems today, but no poems tomorrow... guess I have most of the day to ponder what tomorrow's poem will be?

"Just another night" (P.o.t.D. 1/31/15 rev 1/31/17)

2:03 a.m. finds me awake, 'gain...
I thought I was working tonight, but noooo!
I made an effort, to show that I can...
Alas, the worker I would replace showed.

Putter around with my armies, thru my
Phone app, lost five hundred thousand, like that!
This makes me question, "What's the point, and why?"
Alas, that won't save them, as they go "Splat!"

What's the value of a poem that journals?
Sure, it can work for a prompt, but then what?
Can it sow a few dramatic kernels,
That grow images? I'm stuck in a rut...

There I go 'gain, talking in meta-words
When I ought to be "entertaining birds"...

"Errant Knight" (P.o.t.D. 1/31/15 rev 1/31/17)

"Let me be your knight in shining armor!"
'Why, when you waste your time, to armor shine?'
"I can save you from your troubles, amor!"
'My love life's just fine, I don't need your whine...'

The troubles with dating? Imperfect roles.
Movies paint these rosy pictures of love
In their chase for ratings, without real goals,
Yet they only offer us a peace dove.

I speak from my humble abode, in rhymes:
"No car, No house, - these shiny things aren't mine
To offer to you, in your troubled times."
Perhaps this poem is my attempt to sign,

"I wish I could just wave a magic wand..."
Solves no problems, because magic is gone.

"Composing Haikus" (P.o.t.D. 1/30/15 rev 1/30/17)

Black choppers whirling,
Outside my door, give me pause,
Mumbling 'bout the State.

Guitar plucking, too,
From roommate in other room -
TV's on, unseen.

Hunkered on laptop,
Pecking at keyboard and brain -
Jumbled thoughts swirl 'round...

Some times, these moments
Distract us wrangled poets
Whilst we play with rules.

"Damn it, Damn it, Damn!
Poem's not cooperating!"
Times slip through rough hands...

"Time Marches On" (P.o.t.D. 1/29/15 rev 1/29/17)

Time marches on, the second hand spinning -
Each moment gone, feels like I'm not winning...

Half-finished sentences are my symptoms
Of a disease that plagues all my rhythyms...

I'd like to write poems, play games, and relax!
Yet no cash crushes me, weight 'pon my back...

When worried where I shall find my next meal,
Retiring becomes a much smaller deal...

...I do not feel like finishing these lines,
Or sticking to meters and rhymes,
Or staying coupled in ideas and thoughts:

Playing thru poems is a hindrance, a block,
That prevents my mind's healthier unlock.

I still make feeble attempts to play within the lines,
But, it's so hard to keep at it...

Life is full of futile frustrations;
I question the help I've tapped into.
Memories of yesterday's poems,
Talking of failed expectations...

You'd think that I'm in some mid-life crisis;
I doubt I've lived even a smidgeon of living.
This feels like a Goth's dramatic whine,
"Drink deep the troubles in my blood!"

Honestly, as long as I'm not thinking
About how my life's events are linking,
Then I am fairly happy...
I do still play fun games, I do still write,
And I'm slowly, oh so slowly, trying to set my life right.

I wish that the seconds didn't tick so,
That life's candle didn't burn our wicks, lo...

...and the clock marches on, with its tickings,
and life proceeds, bringing me, my lickings.

"Expectations" (P.o.t.D. 1/28/15 rev 1/28/17)

If I could be a free spirit,
Living in the moment
From moment to moment,
With no chains linking
My past deeds to future expectations,

THEN...
Then...
then...
I live!
...without worries, in each
Moment lived so free.

Yet, Chains do bind!
The past makes promises
And people predict
"Great Things" to come,
Because I did so well
At my challenges undone.

In school, I was a scholar
Who excelled,
Who bubbled to the top.
I did quite well
In science and math.

Was this why they voted me
"Most Likely to Succeed"?

Twenty-five years later,
I'm no rocket scientist
Nor a genius programmer.

Instead, I sling beer and smokes,
Earning a paltry eight dollars per hour...

My inner voice trilly chides me:
"Such a disappointment..."

On another set of scales,
I'm coming up short:
No marriage, no kids, no house, no car,
NO...
No...
no...
"American Dream"
Perpetuated by Big Media
Over and over and over again.

...and paranoia would have me believe,
That I'm my friends' disappointment, too.

Fed by these futile frustrations,
I want to turn my back
On our measures of success.

I hear whispers in my ear,
When I lay down, troubled:
"Give it all up,
Find the Tao,
BE...
Be...
be...
One, like the monks.
A humble life is the best life."

"Enervation..?" (P.o.t.D. 1/27/15 rev 1/28/17)

I'm a depleted balloon, sucked by kids
Who wanted high pitches in their voices;
My spirit crashes without air, and skids.
My Dad's simple requests taste like poisons.

"Recollecting the Wreck" (P.o.t.D. 1/26/15 rev 1/28/17)

Do I remember the car wreck?

"Sadly, no..."
"Gladly, no!"

Shawn and I had troubles with the seatbelts,
In that old Pinto
That was his teenage car.

That morning, it was foggy out.
We were running late for school.
I was still half-asleep,
Nodding off in the passenger seat.

As he plowed thru the pea soup,
Passing on a curve,
A Cadillac came at us, head-on!
Shawn tried well to swerve
Alas, there was still a crash...

Shawn's right leg broke three times,
And would never grow longer.
He was in a cast for six months,
And he needs shoe mods, today.

My forehead hit the windshield,
So my six month ordeal was
Digging glass shards out, as they resurfaced.

Still, I don't remember the crash -
I barely remember the E.R., hours later...

The wreck has faded into the fog...

"A Countable Union" (P.o.t.D. 1/25/15 - no rev)

Given integers,
Use half to count the first set...
Then fourth, then eighth, then...

"Sandy Tears" (P.o.t.D. 1/24/17)

Challenge: In 30 words or less, write a poem about one of my dreams...
---------------------
In plain sight,
Dreams hide,
Like clouds drifting.

Why forget dewdrops
Left on nights' webs
That vanish
In morning?

Beauty unfolds, gently -
Lotus or onion - layers many.

Aware or asleep,
Pebbles snatched from my grasp.

"Mincing words" (P.o.t.D. 1/23/15 rev 1/23/17)

I find myself mincing words:

Can I get a bowl of PHO using xenophobia...?
Do your shoulders SAG when we disagree?
IF we RENT the old rules, are we still different?
Will it BE very LONG to belong?
What will be ATE, using this list of statements?

Or can we find some LIP through liposuction...?
Does this MAN have a clue on how to be romantic?
Maybe, perchance, in BED, if I'm obedient...
What HARM is ON us, if we're in perfect harmony?
Will I find MOM in the momentous?

My challenge to you, dear reader,
Is to mix all the pieces together
And add some dashing bits of your own,
To see what you might create...
I offer to you, these ingredients:

Pho, Sag, Rent, Be, Long, Ate,
Lip, Man, Bed, Harm, On, Mom...

I don't know why my mind is mulling over this, but... here goes:
Suicide, assisted suicide, and abortion could all be considered self-centered acts; because "the killer" is deciding when to end a life, usually to prevent prolonged periods of pain for "the victim"...
Instead of allowing nature to run it's course, we are (usually) denying "the victim's" associates an opportunity to be near in the declining time of "the victim's" life. Said another way, "the killer" is going forward with decisions that ultimately put them at ease (if they succeed) at the expense of others' grief cycles.
---------------
However, there is the "prolonging life artificially" argument - at what point can we decide to turn off any assistive technology (like respirators or feeding tubes or...) and allow nature to run its course? Also, are there any medical conditions severe enough, in the present and future pain and discomfort that they cause their subjects, to justify an end of life scenario?
Here, the self-centered nature changes, where the associates are acting self-centered, in a fashion, by placing their joy and happiness at keeping a "victim" alive, and yet the victim is dealing with much discomfort.
------------------
This is one reason I like the idea of living wills, even though I still need to get one. I, personally, would prefer to be kept off of life support, if the situation were to arise, partly because I don't want the high medical costs it incurs and partly because I don't want to prolong suffering, if I can avoid it.
------------------
Note: I realize that suicide is not the same as assisted suicide, and they are not the same as abortion.... but I do think they share some common arguments?
Hopefully, now, I can get some sleep...

"Selfies" (P.o.t.D. 1/22/15 no rev)

Paint our pretty pictures with pink pastels...
Shades from light to dark, showing our skins' bark -
Captured couple in cute, awkward posings -
So candy-coated - the picture's "loaded"
From film to Facebook, for future fan views.

"crumbling crayons..." (P.o.t.D. 1/21/15 rev 1/22/15)

A sketch is begun with crumbling crayons
Upon a crumpled up, old newspaper
That was fished out of the city trash cans
With a lingering odor of dead bass.


"Well, not everyone's handed the same tools -
I can't assume your life has been easy,
or that your events will mirror my own."

"I could be wrong.
This could not be my best.
Perfectionism tugs me back, saying,
'If you don't try, then rejection's not...'"


'We don't want your excuses!
Give us a grand masterpiece!
It matters not what uses
You're denied by your caprice!'


"Everything feels half finished,
half thought out in a whimsical improv.
It's passed through but once,
to be forgotten tomorrow and tossed aside.
A lot of projects started,
but not "colored in";
life is so full of distractions."


'We want poems with more drama!
Stop with all of these dead ends,
Even though your mind's in trauma
That writing's a red herring...!'


"Mine's not a life with abuse,
or with fights with authority,
or with relationship stresses and trauma..."

"Oh, but there is that 'little demon', addiction;
and there is that touch of bipolar insanity;
and maybe something can be learned from
all that impending failure dogging my heels through the years..."


'We are not pleased with your poem,
Even though you use sevens!
Be like Bill - five feet and rhyme,
So angels sing in Heaven!'


"I write this, as a conversation with you;
instead of trying to hijack your mind's pilot
by painting a vivid scene, engaging the five senses:
vivid, popping, colors in your eyes,
tones, like a waterfall, in your ears,
smooth and rough textures upon your skin...
it's hard to convey crumbles and crumples..."


And, yet, in my head: 'Meter!
Rhyme! Alliteration! Forms!
Stray too far, and no leader
Be ye, even of new poems...'


"I've given up on this poem,
the one you're reading now -
the mathematician in me
is screaming for better order and structure;
while the storyteller
is chiding me for the
excessive director's commentary."


Not sure if it's finished, or needed more,
The paper's balled up, and kicked to the curb.
Dissatisfied, he left, feeling so sore...
So many nubs of crayon now dispersed...

Perhaps, we should rub our crayons' crumbles
Along the trashy newspapers' crumples;
To try to find a modern Turin's Shroud
Of last night's fish and shrimp we had devoured.

"Drunken Sonnet" (P.o.t.D. 1/20/15 rev 1/20/17)

By the Old Gods, I do solemnly swear,
"I am a happy drunk, without a care!
Bitterness ends with the beers' hoppy tastes,
Friendships and loves are not to be my wastes!"

Which of those Nameless Ones did then take note,
Encasing my mind with a madness coat!?
I did rant and rave, claiming no harm done,
My war was lost, though my battles felt won.

Unhinged thus, I faltered and I stumbled -
Incoherently, began to mumble...
"Just one more drink will help me clearly think -
Why'd I drink, and not pour it in the sink?!"

"I can do practically anything -"
That's how my mania will try to sing...

"Falling Leaves" (P.o.t.D. 1/19/15 rev 1/19/17)

How does one convince
Falling leaves to separate?
Bonds decay, with time...

"Coffee" (P.o.t.D. 1/18/15 rev 1/18/17)

The drops drip... drip... dripped...
Brewing bold, black, blessed bliss.
Bean's nectar, savored.

"..the diodes in my left side.." (P.o.t.D. 1/17/15 rev 1/17/17 )

"This last year, I began to have sharp pains,
Shooting all through my right leg," He complains...

They shot some x-rays, and found a bone spur
Encased in his ankle - the mangy cur!

Walking on that spike, his muscles would rip -
Was this like Achilles, in his famed trip?

Cutting it out was not doctor-advised;
Instead, various stretches were prescribed.

Even so told, there's no motive to pursue...
Until the pain grew worse and yoga's due.

"The Curator Whispers" (P.o.t.D. 1/16/15 rev 1/16/17)

What a wind whispered, while winding its way
Around the graveyard's sentinel tombstones!
Yet still, a silence made it deafening -
No animals would speak in beastly tones.

Just a month ago, cold earth clods crumbled
All over her corpse, when laid to rest 'midst
Frogs' croaks, squirrels' chatter, and birds' sad chirps;
All simply asking, "Why silent, good Miss?"

Her gift was to speak in beastly whispers;
Whereby, through grunts and squeaks, she could divine
What needs animals had, prior deferred -
Making them be furry friends, oh so fine!

Her death was ghastly - happened suddenly
Through fiendish actions of her employer,
A museum caught up in gluttony,
When they learned she had become betrayer.

See, she was tasked with building collections,
Yet she balked at filling the science hall.
Her fears of silence won; she warned the beasts
Of traps and poisons that would freeze them all...

Questions linger on the whispering wind -
How'd the museum find out, how'd they win?

"Three Schools" (P.o.t.D. 1/15/15, rev 1/15/17)

Spent my youth in a small Texas town;
Finished school, then I was Austin bound...
So many things to do;
How my errant time flew!
Took fifteen years to earn cap and gown...

"Raindrops" (P.o.t.D. 1/14/15, rev 1/14/17)

Raindrops soak me through my shoes, socks, and soul...

Umbrella raised in hopeful surrender -
Though my scalp stasy dry, walking soaks my soles.

Was it an army of drops, or just one,
Through which my childhood rain play was hindered,
And joy was sucked from my innocent soul?

While walking wet, it seems despair has won;
Yet, as the water cleans, hope is rendered.

The cold, dark, and wet storm leaves a world wan.

"Deadline" (P.o.t.D. 1/14/17)

"Deadline" wooshing past -
I want to write; yet sleep, too...
Tonight's time to write?

"Writer's Remorse"(P.o.t.D. 1/13/17)

It can be so rough:
Day in, Day out, writing poems -
My brain just wants sleep...

"Wary of Triggers" (P.o.t.D. 1/11/16, rev 1/11/17)

Tiptoe 'cross the floor on eggshells,
From fear of finding shards of glass
That have stung, cut, crippled, and felled
Clumsy ogres who walked so rash.

Under each phrase, even each word,
Lies great pains - gentle souls' triggers!
Can I avoid those hidden hurts?
Perhaps... with careful word pickers...

I hope to bring peace to our Earth,
Where folks do not lash out and hurt
Those who come from different births -
Perhaps, there, all could soar like birds.

"Seven Hours Passed" (P.o.t.D. 1/10/17)

Looks like 7 hours await,
But will some coffee, before,
Serve as possible dream bait?
In 7, I wake, with more...

...

well.
3 hours...
and Awake!
As brain stumbles,
Sub-conscience mumbles,
"Your business plans call -
Away! To the computer!
Search to find a better career!

...

Now, 7 hours are almost passed.
Only half got spent in dreams.
3, I gave to computers -
Scrolling through Facebook, instead
Of an earnest career search...
Because...? I fear new careers?

OK.. I'm off to eat and meet!

...

Now, Upon my phone, I breed frogs...
Then, I spend time to write blogs,
Some inventory logs -
Scared to look for jobs...
My, how sloth robs...
My heart sobs...
Tears fall...
Stalled...

...

Since I work all through the night,
Morning jobs give me fright...
I'm addicted to caffeine
I know from the headaches mean...

"Loneliness Laments" (P.o.t.D. 1/10/14, rev 1/10/17)

Ennui on and off in waves,
Mind ponders dark paths to graves:

"Forsaken by men and God -
Foreigner I, just a fraud!"

I'm adrift upon this sea,
Empty space all before me...

As I feed the pity trips,
I lose sight of culture's scripts!

Still, I feed, pulling these words,
Pecking at keyboards, like birds...

And my soul becomes shattered,
As hope gets beat and battered.

"Malnutrition" (P.o.t.D. 1/9/17)

All we want,
Yet nothing we need:
Lives built on junk food, junk news,
Sow discord's bad seed
And we rot...

"The Addict's Toll" (P.o.t.D. 1/8/17)

Lurking in the dark corners of my soul
Lies a hunger growing out of control...
I'm afraid that it will consume me whole.

"Fifteen Weeks..?" (P.o.t.D. 1/7/09, rev 1/7/17)

Let me describe for you, a lovely rose:
Its scent so sweet - it just tickles your nose.
Vibrant reds attack your eyes as it grows;
Each petal peels away with soft breath blows...

Velvet sheets crumble 'tween rough fingertips;
Impaling thorns stick out 'long the long stem.
Bedecked with drops of August morning dew
Rained upon it with this summer's dawn drips.
Ants line its lower leaves -- breakfast for them?
Not one sound stirs this scene 'tween I and you --
Taste these words, like honey along your lips.

Reclining now, under summer's bitter heat,
Our rose, she does bend, stoop, wilt, and wither.
Summer's gone, petals fallen -- lone stem remains;
Ethereal was that bloom, now long gone.

"Stormy Sea" (P.o.t.D. 1/3/17)

Thoughts adrift upon a stormy sea
With strong winds a-pushing my racked mind
Through differing paths - none of them, me.
"Sit, in solemn silence", and peace, find...

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