"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!

"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.

"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"...?

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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?

"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”.

"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.

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.

"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.

"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)