P.o.t.D. 10/11/15: "Talking Heads"

It's weird,
Wrapping my head round this post;
Because it feels like
I've hammered it out before -
You know, deja vu?

Yet what I want to talk about
Is how repetitive we can all become...

Like how bands easily slide into
A signature sound,
Or a one-hit wonder
That they can't seem to craft
Beyond...
Yep, a trap, a slippery slope,
A style of singing that's
So evocative of who they are,
That it's hard to believe
That they sing in other styles...

Or how a poet, maybe like me,
Falls back into the same
Rules, rhymes, themes, and such -
It's their own little bird song,
Their own style of expression...
"Their engulfing pit of doom!!??"

Yes, there are topics I'm drawn to,
Like the moth to the flame,
And modes of speech
That I fall prey to -
Because that's a bit of who I am.
I have my collection
Of memories and memes
That I operate from,
My box of interests
That I'd like to share with the world -
Note phrasing like the Coca-Cola commercial?

Yet...
Life is not so simple
That you can white-wash me into
A Democratic ecological math nerd -
Even though those do have an influence on how I speak.

I believe that,
Sometimes with quite a bit of effort,
I can move beyond my mode,
And gain the perspective of another.
However, it does become hard, indeed,
When we are such creatures of habit,
So used to speaking when we're blue in the face -
Just because we don't think
That anyone's listening anymore.

Now, I'll go beack to listening to
The Talking Heads artist station on Spotify,
Even though the songs are blending together...

..and, true to my form, this year,
I'll leave you with this first draft,
Without much concern for
Editing it into a proper poem...

P.o.t.D. 10/10/15: "Caffeine Vectors?"

Coffee, tea, or coke?
I pretend to be British
And ask for the bag...

P.o.t.D. 10/9/15: "A Melodic Shower"

Tickling the ivories
Creates a waterfall of sound
Cascading round my ears,
Leaving my mind spell-bound.

Ah, sweet melodies -
How you ring in visions dear
And leave me sustained!

just a note or two
building to a crescendo
and then? the song ends.

P.o.t.D. 10/8/15: "Under Cover of Darkness..."

"Under cover of darkness..."
Sounds like a phrase ominous,
And could be boding of much...

Under cover of darkness,
Henry V recites his St. Crispin speech,
Pulling me awake at 4 in the morn,
Or maybe it was 3?
Not sure if my roommate awoke, too..
But the speech? Ah, it was Branaugh - a memorable one.

Under cover of darkness,
I toil away, marking off sandwiches,
At the ill-lit store,
Which still draws customers in,
Looking to light up
Just one cigarette more.

Under cover of darkness,
I saunter out upon the streets,
Perhaps with fellow drunks to meet,
Or maybe just to grab some tacos to eat...
I feel this false safety,
Blindly unaware of dangers dogging my feet.

Under cover of darkness,
Do the spies meet in back alleys?
To trade secrets and cash
With fears that this night may be their last?

Much happens under the moon's lunacies,
And secrets are secured by starlight,
So, creature of the night that I am,
I give you the above
As truths whispered
Under cover of darkness.

P.o.t.D. 10/7/15: "Blending Joy"

Do I dice all of this,
Or just toss it in the blender?
How much do I use of each,
And what do I need to include
To have a superior salsa -
Maybe attempt to recreate
That Glowing Neon Green Concoction
From the NASCO Ann Arbor trip,
Which had everyone in tears...?

For the basic recipe,
We'll use tomatoes, onions,
Garlic, lime Juice, cilantro,
And, of course, some peppers
Picked to pull the tears from your eyes...

Although, I wonder...
Do you really need the peppers?
Or does the lime juice and cilantro,
In sufficient amounts,
Give the Italian base
Enough zing to become a Spanish treat?

One could move beyond the basic six -
Perhaps throw some mango in,
For tropical sweetness,
Or possibly pineapple...

If the tomatoes are not adding
Enough salt for your tastes,
Then you could add salt to taste -
Although I'm loathe to do so,
As I think too much salt
Can kill any dish,
Or even speed along a heart attack
To kill you quickly.

The question, of course, is,
"What portions does one use,
Of each ingredient,
To wind up with just the right zing?"
Thinking about it, one needs some knowledge,
Of how your pieces fit into the whole -
I recommend starting with small portions,
Sampling as you go,
To gain experience, you know,
With how each item makes the taste grow.

I miss the days of blending
Sweet salsas, for all to enjoy -
Perhaps I should get a blender
This Christmas, to make great gifts
For every girl and boy...

P.o.t.D. 10/6/15: "Morning Yearning..."

Coffee stout, yet sweet
Beside shortbread - tasty treat!
Alas! ...but a dream.

P.o.t.D. 10/5/15: "Nothing to Say?"

Words.
Empty words.
Meaning so much,
Yet meaning nothing really.
No facts can be found,
Reasoning has left, the minds unsound.
Just a flood of errant opinions there,
Trying to back up positions the speakers share.
A constant stream of gibberish populates the web page,
Burying, through misinformation, the validity of a true speaking sage...
Is there anything that's news or new?
Perhaps, under the deluge?
Truth?

P.o.t.D. 10/4/15: "The Bathroom Mold"

'I stand on top of the chair
To get a better look
At the upper bathroom cabinets
That I've decided to finally clean...'

"Make a sanity check, please, at minus ten."

'Oops. I failed that one big time...'

'Great molds from the outer realms
Bending space and time to their hive mind,
Growing out of control on these shelves -
Their black mass undulating
And releasing foul spores...!!'

That's the last they heard of him,
Finding only shredded clothes and shoes,
But a minute later
Atop the strangely blackened chair.

The lesson, ladies and gents?
Clean your bathroom regularly,
Or else Cthulu may become a cupcake
Compared to the gruesome mess
Growing "Out of sight, out of mind".

P.o.t.D. 10/3/15: "What I Want to See?"

A color and an object,
Or maybe a series of them -
To paint some scene in your mind
Of what I pass by, on my way home,
Without a significant thought
Marking it all as possibly poetic?

Foiled once again,
By lack of inspiration,
Or maybe just a malfunctioning mind
That can't dredge up the words
To convey sweetly those images
Sticking oh so briefly in my eye.

I fear my imagination has left
For planets unknown, or places
In the distant past and far future,
And it forgot to leave a forwarding address
By which I could parlay with it
In this grindhouse year of many poems.

Perhaps this is why so many yearn
To travel to other countries -
That they can have a change of pace,
A culture exotic and inticing
That might make their home
Seem reassuring, or, more likely, really boring.

I would like to visit Scotland and Ireland,
To hike to cragged grey castles
Amid fields of emerald clover
That bring a diamond sparkle
To my ice blue eyes,
Amid a lingering stealthy scent
Woven amidst my ruddy red locks...

Instead, I pass a hedge full
Of bright green pods,
Waiting to explode as flowers unknown,
And other trees adorned with lavender tissue puffs
And various lawns cycling between
Drab browns and vibrant greens
As the Texas rains come and go, crying "Mary".

P.o.t.D. 10/2/15: "Empathy, Detached."

I wonder if I still feel others' feelings.
Caught up in the modern world,
Surrounded by media overload,
Perhaps I've forgotten how to feel;
Because I don't want to digest
All of the horrors - and delights -
Pushed upon me,
Like a thirty ton weight.
Yes, I've become a comfortably numb pancake -
It seems to be the safest way to cope.

Then again, I could always unplug,
And enjoy the return of cool weather to Austin;
And maybe even be at one
With the task of cleaning the neglected bathroom.

I'd write more,
But my busy schedule pulls me away...

P.o.t.D. 10/1/15: "My Math Weakness"

Just blindly believing all that I'm told?
Or perhaps, checking the system rules,
To see if each construct logically holds?

I suspect math trumps science here,
As I'm not making crazed experiments
To test conjectures that I hold dear.

Just looking for sets of laws
That work well together
Without trying to fathom their cause...

In the background, always, lurks Kurt
Who says there will be some statements
That, unproven, still makes one's brain hurt.

P.o.t.D. 9/30/15: "Scream? or Yawn?"

As I described my mental meltdown,
Which kept me in bed all thru Monday and Tuesday;
There was this joviality
About it all, kind of like,
"Yeah, I was depressed,
And contemplating downing all my psych meds,
But I just hid in my blanket fort,
While my job came in jeopardy,
And my class fell upon the drop axe..."

Big, old run-on sentence, there, yep.

Depression makes no sense,
And thoughts of doom spin
Round my head, as real life is sent
Crumbling into the abyss
Because... "Life is unmanageable?"

I want a cathartic moment in this poem.

I want to make some sense
Out of my mind's nosense...

I hate that I'm prone to
Throwing hiding tantrums
When life is not going my way,
Hiding and withdrawing and
Trying to sleep my way past
This uncomfortable point in time.

...and I still feel overwhelmed,
Struggling to find a next right action
In a sea of a thousand choices.

P.o.t.D. 9/27/15: "Suffering in Silence?"

Is there a point
To meditating?

It's calming, relaxing,
Even a bit sedating...

Until something clicks your mind open,
And the cloud-like thoughts crowd in,
Making the sit feel a bit painful
Since the nightmares were allowed in.

Not all meditation is peace;
For some growth comes painfully
As suffering is transmuted
To wisdom through contemplation.

Pain comes from suffering,
Suffering from attachment,
And attachment is just
Excessive wants or aversions.

Can you sit for twenty minutes,
Without worrying about windows
Or itches or sleeping feet?
If so, you can do better than I -
At least for today...
Perhaps picking up my practice
Will open up my Way,
And yet...

Not all meditation
Is sedate and calming -
Not every breath is easy,
Not each step is perfect,
Some trees fall, and fell more...

P.o.t.D. 9/26/15: "Eating By the Full Moon"

Slept longer than I had planned -
Now, I'm wide awake and hungry...
Thinking that a late night journey
To Arranda's is next,
'Cause I'm a salsa fan...

P.o.t.D. 9/25/15: "Sleeping Sands"

I do not know the desert.
Twisted rock outcroppings
And cacti keeping company
With sidewinders and baying coyotes.
No man wants to tread those sands,
So no lights blot out night's Milky bands.
I imagine there's an old peace
Settling upon that sun-baked land
That cares not for the passings of man.

P.o.t.D. 9/24/15: "Just streaming stuff"

Perched upon the keyboard,
Awaiting some turquoise spark
Of burning inspiration -
It hasn't come yet.

Listening to the epic classical playlist,
Sitting in a darkened dining room...
Tempted to strike out and
Generate a random web page,
In the hope of fueling dying embers
Of a fire that snuffed out months ago.

Reminded today is National Punctuation Day
And I feel like not participating
In this stanza just to be
a little archie imitator
for some mehitabel i have yet to serve

random random random
shuffle and repeat
seeking and yet avoiding
hoping to be more than a hack writer

what interests me really
perhaps that could procreate
the hundred or so poems
left before me
in this year of poems

i do like to write
when i really like my topic
i suppose everyone
enjoys sharing their opinion on some things

then again
some fear speaking out
for they know they are attracted
by taboo and illicit items
like moths to the flickering flame

would they talk about homosexuality
knowing they may be
beat black and blue
by backwards friends
who do not understand

what about bondage and submission
and our cultures strange infatuation
with control instead of love

i saw a male customer at the 7-Eleven
just the other night
get all upset and try to put
his girlfriend in what he thought was her place
sending her out of the store out to the car
just for asking me a simple question about our products
i thought he was way wrong for this
but i did not know
what my proper response should be

so... controlling jealous boyfriends (and some women, too)
strike me some element of domination and submission
i do not think it is right behavior mind you
but I do think it is prevalent these days

and i wonder
what makes these assholes attractive in the first place
honestly, what's going on biologically
that seems to be sexually selecting
mates who are so anti-socially aggressive
is there hope for some
twisted "strong arm" parenting skills?

if you're scratching your head on this,
just think on it:
"Why would domestic violence still be a large part of today's society?"

but back to fanning the coals,
hoping to stoke a fire

there's probably lots wrapped up in sex
that could feed a few poems

i imagine math and science and especially ecology
could get me going on a lot of tangents

i might have an opinion on politics
although i feel woefully unprepared

there's the whole debates
revolving around theologies and science
and possibly pop psychology and sociology too

sure, there are topics to be delved
but, like politics, i feel woefully under-read in them,
and, god forbid! I would not want to be
easy meat for the trolls!

who am i kidding?
no one's going to read these
random midnight scrawls,
next year or the year after -
for there is no content,
no fire

just coals blinking out
like the Terminator's eye
in the final scene...

P.o.t.D. 9/23/15: "Minimum wage blues"

feeling so hopeless,
stuck in a employment rut,
"paycheck to paycheck"

P.o.t.D. 9/22/15: "Procrastination's Curse"

Let's shatter some dreams
With bad choices, distractions -
Avoiding failure?

P.o.t.D. 9/21/15: " http://www.boneville.com/ "

Looking for inspiration for today's ditty,
I thought, "Why not google a random web site?"

Alas, my google does not let me
"Feel lucky", and take whatever
The electrons deem to be a tasty view,
Delivered to me by some one of you,
With unknown perils and pleasures thus found.

Google will let me sift through a host
Of random bits and pieces, catering
My lucks of the draws
With strange search heuristics
And other such hidden laws...
Thus I found myself visiting
"random website dot com",
Which appears to work on
Much smaller subsets of the web.

Much to my surprise,
Upon my first click,
I'm transported to Boneville,
A comic drawn by Jeff Smith -
Fondly remembered from 20 years ago,
With that burned-in panel memory:
"Stupid, Stupid Rat Creatures!"

I must say that comics
Are quite a foundation
For humor both light and twisted,
And I am quite pleased
That Bloom County has resurfaced
This year, with all of its guys
Bringing tears of joy to my eyes...

Ah! Animation!
Allowing us to bend reality,
Or to delve deep into its secrets -
I just want to shout out for
Calvin and Hobbes,
Hepcats, Cerebus,
Cyanide and Happiness,
And so many more
That have left little marks
Upon my soul...

Still, today,
I was reminded of "Bone",
And I hope you can visit them,
To enjoy bits of humor that may hit home...

P.o.t.D. 9/20/15: "Silence at Sunrise"

Awakened early in the morning,
Without clock's alarm warning,
There's silence and solitude all 'round
Instead of a blaring TV sound.
Focus without effort seems to arrive,
Helping creative mind to thrive.

P.o.t.D. 9/19/15: "Argh, Me Mateys!"

All things considered,
I do not need to sprinkle
"Arghs, Mateys, and Scurvy Dogs"
Throughout my speech today;
For I am a Wylie Pirate,
By token of my secondary school attendance,
And, as such,
I talk like a pirate,
Whether I like it or not!

Now, do I act like a pirate?
Am I talking with parrots,
And demanding your cargo,
And sending you down the plank?
Or, am I one of many
Dread Pirate Roberts
Training my name's heir
When I become loaded down with good fortune?

Alas, no, no, no, and no...
Men do not fear me,
Nor do they revere me -
For I am humble to the core,
And, usually,
Satisfied to live among the poor.

P.o.t.D. 9/18/15: "Procrastination"

Minutes became years -
Lost in idle tasks and chat,
Nervous to finish.

P.o.t.D. 9/16/15: "Expiration Dates"

Poem's been forgetten -
As digestion is rotten
From meals ill-gotten.

P.o.t.D. 9/15/15: "Early Meditation State"

Words are like crazed birds,
Flying around, way up high;
Clouds, noted, move by.

P.o.t.D. 9/14/15: "When to draw?"

Spent Mondays in bed,
Avoiding my drawings due -
Squeeze them in, 'round worK?

P.o.t.D. 9/13/15: "Typical Sunday"

My Sunday routine:
Meditate, then some board games -
Peaceful times with friends.

P.o.t.D. 9/12/15: "Troubled Thoughts"

Demons torment me
Through addiction's cruel cravings,
Will my mind know peace?

P.o.t.D. 9/11/15: "Another Addiction?"

Iced tea, hot coffee,
Hot tea, iced coffee -
A bit of sugar
And carbonation,
And we have sodas?

Ah, caffeine, my precious,
How you stir up cravings
That just make me wonder:
"Do I need to quit you?"

Keep going, at this rate,
Down to fruits and water
Upon my dinner plate -
Am I consigned to life
Stupid, boring, and glum?

P.o.t.D. 9/10/15: "Time is Relative"

So, I wonder, "Why is it,
That when I try to meditate,
Twenty minutes seems so long?
Yet when I go about my day,
Just bouncing hither and yon,
Twenty minutes get swept away
Like the fragile grains of sand
Caught up by the fierce ocean waves?"

P.o.t.D. 9/9/15: "Whistling, But Not in the Dark"

To face my life's trials,
Both grand and tiny,
With a bit of humor,
Grace, and dignity -
Trusting in Gods above,
Unattached simply -
Helps get me out of self
To love life's beauty.

P.o.t.D. 9/8/15: "Demon in a Pack"

The time had finally come
To leave the smoke puffs alone,
To brave the road with my Dad
And not bother him hourly
To feed a foul addiction
Whose claws were in me so bad...

So, on September the Sixth
In the year of Twenty-Twelve
At 10:23 a.m.,
I choked down my last cheap square
In Dad's front yard, in Garland,
Praying I'd not smoke again.

We took the trip to Kansas,
Stopping for meals on the way,
And I ate snack after snack
To curb the devil's cravings -
How I had to talk myself
Out of getting one more pack!

The worst was watching my Mom
Chain smoking her Pall Mall pack,
And hearing my demons scream,
"Ask her for a cigarette,
You can handle it, just fine!"
She's quit now, from what I gleam...

Using food to curb cravings
Tapered off after some months,
Although I still like the sweets.
I'm so glad to be smoke-free,
It's saved me health and money -
May all smokers try this feat.

P.o.t.D. 9/7/15: "Falling Apart"

Sporting grey hairs in my beard
And strange skin spots have appeared...
Then there's aches in foot and knee;
I age and my eyes won't see
Signs of dying that I've feared.

P.o.t.D. 9/6/15: "F***ed in my Head"

What is it we seek?
Money and comfort?
Fame and glory?
Peace and serenity?

...time, precious time,
Spent living each moment
Savoring the bitter sweet taste of it all,
Without insatiable desires
Demanding to be met...

I can't piece together the words,
Or fit phrases to funny rules.
I can't write a poem, it seems.
I can't find my voice,
And speak my truths,
As my mind is so shattered, it seems...

Flitting from one idea to the next,
Like some bee working the field of flowers,
Gathering pollen all over his body,
To be picked clean by his hive...

Perhaps the perfectionist,
Thinking I can write once, and be done,
Without any revisions.

I have nothing to share, it seems -
So beat down by poverty,
Specialized in my education,
Lacking work experiences
To prove that I'm capable
To my next boss.

Lost in a crowd,
Lost without connections,
Lost in an unquiet mind.

So frustrated
By the impending doom.

alt P.o.t.D. 9/5/15: "starting to rant"

"Unleash the Kraken!"

Thus begins this little rant.
I'm sitting in the sober house,
where I think I'm still behind on rent,
pecking away at the common computer's keyboard...

because the wireless service has gotten all screwed up,
and no one's attempts to fix it have made headway...

I'm worried about my slivers of time
getting decimated by trying to go to school,
and work, and play board games, and go to meetings, and do my chores

i feel overwhelmed
Hell. I'm exhausted from pulling yet another 12 hour workday,
vy design and not by accident -
I really do not like these shifts,
at least not shouldering them all by myself.

fuck it. i'm tired.
i'm going to sleep now.
i hope to attend a potluck tonight,
meditate with friends tomorrow morning,
and then play games in the afternoon.

i hope that actual rest and recuperation comes with the sleep
now and tonight, and perhaps many more nights to come -
that i can feel refreshed enough
to catch up on my drawing class assignments...

I just don't like being plagued by body aches.

good night all!

P.o.t.D. 9/5/15: "Green Berries"

As summer drags on,
Green berries sit there, stunted
Since rains are long past.

P.o.t.D. 9/4/15: "Soldier Forgot!"

Sticking a weathered, ragged quill pen
Within the confines of his scraggly grey beard,
The once great, now forgotten soldier
Scratched at his balding, scabbed crown,
Hoping for a touch of genius to alight there upon.

His feeble blue green marble of a planet
Had made quite a number
Of spins round about the sun,
Since last he saw that fateful comet
That motivated him to desert, and hide in foreign lands.

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

Poem pieced together from 8 randomly generated words:
pen, planet, beard, comet,
genius, soldier, crown, number

P.o.t.D. 9/3/15: "Sights and Sounds"

I wander around,
Plugged into my phone's headphones,
To blot out the sounds...

Whether it's outside
Traffic on streets, or silence
That spawns busy mind

Churning up voices
Planning and plotting my way
Through today's choices.

I'd like to tune out,
To be entertained, immersed
In music about

Human conditions
Like men of constant sorrow,
Or epic visions

Conjured by movies
Recalled, who used tunes with scenes
To evoke beauty.

P.o.t.D. 9/2/15: "Working the Graveyard"

While the sun shines,
All seems so fine,
But on the flip side of the Earth..?

Drunks and addicts abound,
Who feel their antics sound
So funny - annoying at ten years sober.

Transients come by in drifts,
Practicing a thousand grifts,
For food picked from the trash, or coins from strangers.

Then there's just plain crazies,
Lost in their mind's mazes,
Thrown up to parry reality's harsh, sharp blows.

Vampires walk the streets,
Symbols of disease,
Sucking the life from their fellows' marrows.

Socially awkward,
Or sociopaths?
These solitary crows congeal into a murder,

Making another night
Facing the Graveyard's frights
Pass into a peaceful day, even though slept away.

P.o.t.D. 9/1/15: "Thirty Hours"

Start of a long day
With some games, some work, some chores
And art as book ends.

P.o.t.D. 8/31/15: "Pebble's Erosion"

Anchored in the stream of life?
Or, easily carried by currents
Like a pebble battered
By a downpour's raging runoffs?
To end up far from a solid home,
Weathered down to a tiny core
That might one day
Be that irritation
In someone's shoe...

P.o.t.D. 8/30/15, second attempt: "Eulogy for a snowflake"

Ah! Such a delicate little snowflake,
Dissolves swiftly away upon our brutal touch
Of inner fire, human desire, and grasping hopes to acquire!
As the glaciers recede, the mountain tops are laid bare,
And Poles sink into the ocean waters -
We become such ugly tyrants, evil masters,
Sealing our doom,
Like that poor minuscule crystal
Became fated to lose all finessed detailed
When it drifted into our hula hoop's room.

P.o.t.D. 8/30/15, first attempt: "chaos"

Delicate snowflake
Dissolves swiftly upon touch -
Ugly tyrants, we.

P.o.t.D. 8/29/15: "birthday haiku?"

Another year passed
With its failures and success,
Wisdom gained, joys learned.

P.o.t.D. 8/28/15: "Blind Contour"

Without looking,
I trace upon the paper
The line that my eyes pick out
From along my subject's surface -
One continuous path followed
Falteringly, with flaws galore -
And yet, some shapes and surprises
Are teased out of the process,
Easily overlooked and dismissed
By what I thought was there.

P.o.t.D. 8/27/15: "First Day of School"

Butterflies in my gut, perhaps?
Or worms of worry, eating serenity?

First class starts in two hours,
And I feel just a bit unprepared.

Not sure how strict they'll be
About the drawings I'm to produce,
Or the time to devote outside of class...

Worried that computer problems at home
May tangle up my time,
Send me to a lab as yet unknown.

Not sure if work will interfere,
With its long hours, late at night
Making it hard to produce during daylight.

Some frustration around finances, too...
Waiting for money to appear
That was promised last weekend -
Even then, it may not be quite enough.

Why am I taking this class?
...Honestly?
To try to better my skills,
To become a computer worker,
To back out of the dead end
I seem to have found myself in:
Retail workers are a dime a dozen,
And the tutors have no students.

I do want to go to this class,
Yet I feel that I'm rushing in.

P.o.t.D. 8/26/15: "Listening..."

Tin can for a drum,
With a new friend playing bass
On upright washtub...

Making music any way we know how,
To beat out the angels and demons
Hiding behind our crinkled brows...

What horrible torture became me,
That I now sing off-key -
An octave and a third
Below what used to be.
It seems that now I mimic
Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen, and Lou Reed -
Mind you, not that bad of a company.

I tried to play recorder as a child,
And gave my early years at college
To walking and playing riffs on harmonica
Until I bent it forever, by sitting upon it.
Yet, no instrument do I claim finesse upon.

So, I guess I must be a fickle critic...
Forever discriminating what I hear
With what I hold oh so dear.

I claim no song written today,
Or even good metric talents,
To line up words to funky beats...
Some times I like to throw out some rhymes -
Influence, perhaps, of Pink Floyd and all their lines.
Still, no forced rules today,
No attempt to rhyming play.

I wonder aloud,
How music lifts my dark clouds,
When I just listen.

P.o.t.D. 8/25/15: "too much stuff"

Lost in this town's crowd,
With simple lives out of reach -
Options beget fears.

Does that even make sense?
Can people see the portents?
Probably not, being so busy
That it's tough to sit and breathe...

P.o.t.D. 8/24/15: "Where Is the Art?"

a mumble and a stumble,
i then take a brief tumble.

unable to digest some truth,
i feel like a broken tooth -
pain zapping through me, forsooth!

in desperation to get the deed done,
i write haikus,
or maybe i'll just rhyme some?
then, noted, archie writing style?
...but there's still shifted punctuation, hmm?

feels like some sort of surreal act -
this is not a poem, yet it tries.
who can tell that what i write
might still separate truths from lies?
under every line, a scene I do draw
that seems like fluffy stuff which money buys -
"trying too hard!" he will sing
and i shan't reply, like the humble mice.

This week begins another journey,
A second foray into visual arts..?
A class on visual illustration,
In preparation for a degree in game design...

Unlearn what mind sees,
Teach hands to follow eyes, to
Trace reality.

P.o.t.D. 8/23/15: "On the Death of Romance?"

Many years of my life have been spent
Living solitary and single.
I suspect love's inspiration went
South, when no ladies asked to mingle...

P.o.t.D. 8/22/15: "Minutiae"

Pebbles in my shoe
Aggravate me, like the small
Mosquitoes in tents.

P.o.t.D. 8/21/15: "Why, God?"

Men created Gods,
Hoping to explain
Powers that they could not fathom.

That's my first theory,
But I think it has some flaws -
Like anything created
By imperfect, incomplete men.

I believe, that we want safe shelter,
Sanctuary from the chaos
Of the massively independent universe.

We want so much
Just to belong,
To feel a part of,
To feel we have a great purpose,
To feel connected to it all.

I depend on God(s),
On Powers greater than I,
To trust in causes and effects
That guide my actions
To help the greater good.

There are still times,
When I react out of fear,
Trying to snatch and grab
All that I can from the show.
Let that greed leave me, now.

Also, I can not predict
My fellows' actions,
As they may not play
By the rulebook that I use.
May that hate..?
Dissipate?

Is yearning for polite society -
And also carnal passions -
Are those desires to be with others
Fueled by Suffering,
In the Buddhist sense of the word?

What do I need,
To find quiet peace?
Right actions,
Some times self-sacrificing...
Interactions,
Some times quite unexpected...
A sense of direction,
Some times hidden by minutiae...

I rarely try to bludgeon you
With details of the God(s) I use -
Yet there they are,
Lurking in the background of my superego:
Scientific models and explanations;
Mythos Greek, Norse, Indian, and more;
My Catholic upbringing,
My current Zen Buddhist and Taoist leanings,
Modern mythos like Gaiman's Endless
And urban legends and society's group ethics;
And just my plain past experiences
Of things done right and things done wrong.

Why are there God(s)?
To bring order to the chaos,
To give sanctuary for the wounded,
To guide the group consciousness,
To make our time on this blue pebble
Just a little bit more bearable.

P.o.t.D. 8/20/15: "42..?"

Wandering confused,
Wondering, "Why am I here?"
Squandering my time.

P.o.t.D. 8/19/15: "sun spots"

a solitary drop
upon my scalp
where once a bump annoyed.

unsure if i'm blessed
by birds above,
or rain struggling to arrive
in the sweltering summer heat.

is this a Chinese Water Torture
concocted by Mother Nature?
"Just give hime one drop,
and fuel the possible paranoias..."

after many nights of pressure pains,
the bump was skillfully cut away
by my family physician;
yet now I am troubled by
"Other Spots"
appearing around my skin.

too many long walks;
in heat, cold, sun, rain;
through the heart of Texas
without great protection -
almost mocking the weather
and all the havoc it can bring.

so, now I carry an umbrella,
and a tube of Neosporin,
but no sunscreen yet,
and very rarely, a hat.

I suspect, in my foolish Lone Star heart,
that I am a worshipper
of this weather that comes down so, so hot.

P.o.t.D. 8/18/15: "Here's Johnny!"

My spark lies dormant,
Flat-lined by bipolar meds:
"All work and no play..."

"Before the Fall" (P.o.t.D. 8/17/15)

Classes start real soon;
Unsure how they'll be paid for...
"It will all work out?"

"Combo Dinner" (P.o.t.D. 8/15/15)

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!"

"Game of War Fumble" (P.o.t.D. 8/14/15)

Thousands lost today,
Because I forgot my shield...
Time to rebuild troops.

"Listen..." (P.o.t.D. 8/4/15)

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

"To Be..." (P.o.t.D. 8/3/15)

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.

"Is not..." (P.o.t.D. 8/1/15)

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?"