"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...

"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.

"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.

"Silver Pins?" (pub 2/7/16)

My mind's but an empty vessel,
Drained of all life
By the paparazzi media circus.

As it was sucked dry
Through my clamped shut eyes and ears,
My heart was evacuated long before -
Allowing this travesty of modern life.

My hope,
If it still exists,
Is that one day,
This hollow existence
Will be replenished
By love's fire
Finding silver pins
Hidden under all the toothpicks.

Let us slay vampires and werewolves
Who are the diseases
Poisoning society's vitality...

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

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

I ask if I want
To write angry words,
Railing at dirty water
Or suicidal open mics
Or psychopaths running for President...

Just a slice of the "news"
Gathered from Facebook pizza -
Probably a bit unhealthy
If gorged on every minute
Of every day, for years;
All leading to a drying up
Of desensitized tears...

Then I focus on the color orange.
I wonder, "Will my Longhorn spirit arise,
Or will I wander down a mental alley
With a decadent, sweet fruit -
Unaware that it may soon be skinned and devoured?"
Most of the adjectives I'm drawn to
Seem to be colors -
Maybe indicative of a visual mind?

How I thirst for a lovely metaphor,
Or a twist of words
Sunk deep into my brain,
Awaiting the woodpecker,
Or possibly Pink Floyd's worms...
(Or Waits' "Sixteen Shells"...?)

I want to listen to the bards,
Instead of the knocking birds,
Or the silence of a store so bare.
So, I plug in my phone
And blast the tunes so loud,
Hoping some mix of noise
Will find a safe home
That my attention allows
To become one of my attic toys.

"Foreboding" (P.o.t.D. 1/27/15)

Like a deflated balloon, sucked by kids,
Looking for some new sounds in their voices;
My spirit crashes to the ground and skids.
My Dad's simple request tastes like poisons.