"What can I do?" (P.o.t.D. 2/13/16)

What can I do?

When the world seems to be splitting apart at the seams,
and poison runs freely through its streams...

Then there's a current in the culture,
dragging the poor people under,
as sthey become brainwashed by the media and selfish rich...

maybe not so extreme,
but that's how it seems...

Two decades ago, my interest waned
While society thought it was entertained,
By the next horrific news item, the next big thing -
Still, CNN gets the ratings
From the huddled masses
Glued to their TV sets.

What I really want is a good bedtime story -
Just a tale that can ease me into dreamland
And block out the nightmares around me.

I'm drawn in by instrumental music,
And Visual Effects Spectaculars...
Maybe, it's a yearning for magic,
Instead of the mundane,
And I recall reading
My Mom's Library of King and Xanth in the 80's -
Enjoying the word play,
The crafting of mysteries...

These days, I look forward to games galore,
And the crazy tales in store,
When rolling dice,
Not always playing nice.

I doubt that I will revise or edit this piece;
Although I might consider slapping a low-filters warning upon it?

What can I do?

I can read books or watch movies from the library,
Or even upon my computer or my phone.
I can call my friends and family,
Or take time the sift their emails
Out of the detritus that fills my accounts -
So much junk worn down to one-page wonders
From companies and web sites through which I wandered.

It's so easy to peck away at the keyboard,
Or even just copy and paste,
Or maybe even just like and share,
And, with one click, send it everywhere...

That was my original idea, tonight -
To dust off the laptop, and clean out the mailboxes;
Getting some chuckles from so many minutiae.
I'm glad that I reached my Dad instead,
And talked out some of my fears and hopes and more.
He only slipped into lectures, a couple of times in the hour call.

What can I do?

I can write a long rant,
Or maybe this half-poem,
Expressing my health concerns,
And my lack of romance,
And the career dance...

Yes, there are times I wish upon a star,
For a better life, in which I can go far...
Yet, I can sleep quite well at night;
Because I disavow myself
From watching the media fright?
Or, because of the drugs prescribed
For leveling out my bipolar flight?

I prefer not to be whipped into a frenzy,
Yet I worry such blissful ignorance
Can land me as a stranger in a strange land -
Unable to comprehend or understand
How the coddled masses
Dealt us such a spiteful, hateful hand.

What can I do?
What do I do?

I've tried to curtail my Facebook shares,
Recognizing that they're so much gossip,
And their background research is so rare.

It is rare, too, that I spend money on movies;
But that's more likely
Because I have so little money to spend.
I do give up eleven dollars a month,
To cut out the ads from Spotify,
And customize my play lists...
It pleases me greatly that many customers
Compliment me upon my ambient airs.

After that phone call with my father, this evening,
I took some time to publicize my playlists -
If you have Spotify, and are intrigued,
Try searching for the four lists
Whose names start with "JB's"...
Maybe that's a bit of my pride playing out.

I claim to be an introvert,
But I still want to be immersed,
and feel the pulse of culture...
So, despite little to no TV,
And the very rare trip to see a movie,
I keep the radio going,
And I volunteer,
And play my games...

It just seems like small moves
To keep away the boredom, the loneliness,
The hermit's life that I court.

What can I do?

...to feel love,
instead of hate?

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

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.

"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...

"isolated in AA" (P.o.t.D. 2/5/16)

just string the words together,
and wonder if any thoughts appear...

isolated at an AA meeting,
despite a couple of warm greetings -
always wanting to be in the spotlight,
the center of attention:
the guy who makes everyone laugh,
or who says something so profound.

hooey on that...
just trying to pump the chest out,
without speaking from the heart...
without vulnerability and weakness,
although it could be weakness
to cloak one's self in pretty words,
devoid of real meaning, real experience.

great chasm, great gulf, great void
between them and me -
Lack of sincerity.

i feel a little charred,
because I asked for help,
and i got no response.
"For God's sake,
It was only a chili cookoff!"

...or, floundering, flopping in the deep,
wishing for some relief,
but the steps sit unworked,
the phone sits silent,
and the never-ending quest for more
packs my schedule full of games and work -
no room left to breathe,
to sort out the medicine madness,
the deceptively cheap insurance
that does not provide any takers -
damn those doctors and their high fees!

i looked at the white board,
and i saw that i hadn't been to a meeting,
all this week, despite rules that I attend three.
so i went to the late-night tonight,
and i plan on an early one tomorrow,
capped by a speaker in the evening...
part of me wonders if i'll follow through.
I used to go religiously to 1313,
but, lately...?
it seems that fears of missing work
have been keeping me away,
or, so I claim.
it could also be...
that I don't feel a part of, any more -
ever since I quit smoking cigarettes,
or started sporting grey hair,
or just watching my mind fall apart...

why do i hide in this cave?
why do i settle
for so little,
when great things could be me?

the thoughts are out there, now...
mostly my low-lying anger at AA -
How I feel so separate, almost betrayed...
wondering if that's, for me, a valid place.

On a bright note,
I really do enjoy my gaming nights -
So much more interaction...

I'm not so fond of work nights,
slinging beer and cigarettes
to people who don't realize,
"The party's over, 'lest you never grow old..."
I suspect, one day,
I'll see some of these customers
In future AA meetings...
If I'm still going, that is....

So, I don't feel alone, or lonely,
as i do have happy places to go to;
but i do feel isolated and unaccepted -
like my boat has drifted to uncharted waters,
away from the fleet

maybe i'm just hungry,
as I fast tonight,
for the doctor's tests, tomorrow.
I've noticed how twisted off I become,
when i've not had food for a bit.

"Birch Tree" (P.o.t.D. 2/4/16)

Is it a birch tree
That sports a white trunk?
Looking at it,
I suspect the bark
Is a delectable treat
For some insatiable insect,
Stripping the tree bare -
Leaving it to shiver and creak
In the winter cold,
Befeft of leaves and bark more.

Then I wonder,
"When it creaks,
Does it, like a treant, speak,
Begging to follow me home
To find some shelter
From this harsh world?"

Should we be glad
That trees stay rooted?
Else, what chaos could they create
With branches swinging and scratching
At all these animals?

Losing steam...
I still ponder
On white trunks...

"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.

"Cooling the Fire"

As love's brief embers become cold, grey ash,
The heart labors long to stop anger's match.

Four fingers and a thumb - is it a redundant system?
I ask, "How many fingers do we really need?"

Ah, yes... That moment when Delight became the (twin?) sisters Despair and Delirium...
(Thank you, Neil Gaiman, for this great image!)

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

Tiptoe through a field of eggshells,
For fear of finding shards of glass
That sting and cripple and fell
The clumsy giants who walk so rash...

Behind every corner, every word,
Lies some hurt soul's triggers -
Would that I could fly like a bird
To avoid these social taboo rigors...

Would that I lived on an Earth
Where folks did not lash out and hurt
Those who came from a different birth -
Perhaps, there, we'd all soar like birds.

Lurking in the dark recesses of my soul is a dissatisfaction growing out of control...
I fear it's on its way to devouring me whole.

"Do you take....?" (Yadda yadda yadda)
"Sure!"
...and then the family and audience also said "Sure!"
(It was a fun wedding, y'all!)

================================================================================================================ Year Separator ==============================================================================================================

My wishes for me and y'all both to carry us through 2016:
- for good health, and enjoying the lives we have been given,
- for creative inspiration, that our works will undeniably be a product of our love
- for less waste, either in time, or in materials, or through careless mistakes
- for good fortune, that we may celebrate in each others' accomplishments and share freely all the blessings we have been given
- for much laughter, showing that we know how to learn from our mistakes, and still not take life too seriously
- and for quiet contemplation, aware that this life is impermanent, yet we remember and honor others as we recount the past "brief lives"
----
Part of this is inspired by Gaiman's wishes for the New Years...

So, 2015, I thought I'd write a poem a day. That fizzled out in December, due to chronic writer's blocks.
I'm thinking that 2016 will be the year of meditations. At least 10 minutes per day - some guided and some silent...
I'm only worried that my poor time management may cause issues...

As I fumble once more for words,
I often do wonder,
"Was I meant to chatter like birds?"
Or, am I to be a stealthy hunter,
Like a cat low in the grass,
Observing prey for a blunder?
...and the bus rolls on,
without power for the phones.
So, sitting in silence,
I watch the plains roll by;
And I try not to notice
The love birds cuddling beside me...

The bowl hung low
Above the Western horizon,
Filled to the brim
With ghost memories of the Sun...

Dancing around in my underpants,
Hoping that everyone understands -
I want more than a sideways glance...

Get to work Christmas Eve and Christmas... Extra money will help, but kind of bummed about it.

Then again, I didn't have any other plans, so good to be out of bed.

P.o.t.D. 12/13/15: "Dawn's Palette"

As the sun crept above the wharf,
Treasures left there by the night tide
Were seen, strewn along the sea shore.
With the advancing morning light,
Colors returned - first red and orange,
Then rainbows struck my labored sight.
Pink, purple, blue, and so much more -
Even pine greens sprang from the night.

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

Bedevilled by gnats...
Walking with my head in the cloud,
A buzzing in my ears,
A tickle in my nose -
I want to be at peace
With the annoying minutiae.

Take a deep breath,
Or two...
Or twenty...
Collect my scattered bugs
Flying all around my head space,
Triggered by the critics
Cutting me down to size -
Some justifiably,
Some just telling it like it was.

Breathe in,
And cough out the sickness,
Like in "The Green Mile" -
Just let it all go,
Even though some words
Haunt me for years,
With their stinging truths.

P.o.t.D. 12/8/15: "A long rest?"

The words stuck in my gut,
Blocked by deep dark depression
Choking back tears and outrage
And causing the poems' cessation...

But, all you saw,
Was an absence from the page...
If you were even looking.

P.o.t.D. 12/4/15: "moving on..."

To describe the present moment:
Sitting at the kitchen table,
Searching on the laptop for jobs
In hopes my life becomes stable.

P.o.t.D. 12/3/15: "Marching Seconds"

The clock is ticking,
Marking off moments in life,
That slowly add up.

P.o.t.D. 12/2/15: "My Voice?"

People want to hear my voice -
Not shares and likes without comment,
Or stuff that's just pretty pictures
Usually paired with "Quotes"
Of vague repute or half-truths...

People want to hear my voice?
Let me retreat into my shell,
Like a tortoise stung by a bee,
Reeling from the sudden pain
That all these memes are not me.

Do you want to hear my voice?
When words collide in my brain,
Coming out sideways in my pain -
First drafts with very rough edges,
And lots of "uh's" and hedges...

So shy, and yet, I shall speak my voice,
To declutter my friends' feeds
From the fluff and fandom
Spawned by all the shares and likes,
Such as the AT-AT cake I've seen thrice.

Would I blame the games?
I think of first-person shooters, and live action assassins gone awry, and how my competitive streak has taken some of those to unhealthy levels - I mean, my first hospitalizing manic episode came only one week after the heightened paranoia that surrounded assassins...
Or do we point fingers at the movies and media, where violence is glorified?
Crime, zombies, action flicks - with all their associated gun fire, and so little grief seen after words...
Then there's that whole American ideal: "the right to defend one's home" or "the right to bear arms"... which, to me, seems to say that we can justify violence as a quick and easy means of righting personal wrongs. Yet, in reality, that's just an escalating cycle of violence which quickly leads to physical harm or death of somebody involved. We cheer when it's the initial wrongdoer, and we regret when it's the victim...
What makes people choose to pull the trigger? Is it really insanity, or do they believe it's accepted by society?
I claim no answers, only some hazy theories. I'd like your (civilized) inputs...

P.o.t.D. 11/30/15: "Time Marches On"

Overslept again.
Life doesn't care - it moves on,
Leaves me scrambling...

P.o.t.D. 11/29/15: streaming on deficiencies.

streaming thoughts:

poverty sucks,
it really sucks...

to not have the power to buy a meal,
and subsist on old sandwiches

to worry about past-due rent
or credit card debt
spinning out of control
or not being able to see a doctor or dentist
because the copays too high

even though health seems to be getting worse
worries about cancer in the mouth or the colon
probably just an over-active imagination

and yet...
sharp twinge of pain down my right leg
as i get out of bed this evening
recalls horrible memories of sciatica
and reminds me how poorly
i do not maintain good physical health

back to poverty sucks -
it's not all finances
there's this emptiness
this lack of connection
with friends and family
so that when I suddenly need help
i'm afraid to write emails
or make phone calls
because i don't want to be
some random stranger making an imposition

i'm an introvert,
a hermit,
a solitary man
and that could very well be my undoing
because i need to be reminded

that sharing life
does not divide life -
it multiplies it
through the many perspectives

sure,
i might be pigeon-holed
as a star wars fan to that guy,
or a math nerd to another circle,
or a game player or merry jokester or monologue reveler or ....

i am not just my
collection of interests
or my common habits...

and yet, I feel uncomfortable
talking politics,
and behind the curve in the sciences
nothing "serious" seems to be my strength,
because I do not want to read and research

it takes so much strength
just to get out of bed these days,
and shower,
and brush my teeth,
and wear myself down
working
in jobs i do not relish

there's a poverty of energy?
or a poverty of hope?
I can't see why I should struggle
when i feel that I'm destined
to die alone, penniless, forgotten.

or there's that fear
that struggle as i may,
the rest of the world
is still caught up in an avalanche
of a great disaster
that we're all watching in slow motion

i feel bleak, disheartened...

some times, I just want to run away
to the mountains of Tibet,
to drop all possessions
except a bowl to eat rice out of
and meditate with monks
and live simply.
probably a rash decision,
but I could at least meditate each day,
to try to get centered,
to sort the wheat from the chaffe
in this barren field
that is our capitalistic society...

so i feel myself
getting weathered down
by poor finances,
lack of romances,
worries over health,
fears of the stupidity of others,
and i have to wonder,
"Will I come out of it all
As some well-worn river rock
hiding a beautiful geode inside?"

or will i just fade away...?

and "Comfortably Numb" just started playing on my radio.

Wondering about communication methods?

"the Facebook couch": yep, one of my weaknesses, at this moment, is an over-reliance on Facebook for communication. I whine about people not visiting, calling, or writing; and yet - what have I done in order to try to fuel those other channels? Nothing. No contacts initiated

I wanted to share some of the ideas in this post in the AA meeting that happened an hour before this post... but I never got called on to share, even when they opened up the sharing to volunteers at the end.

Why broadcast to the general public? Probably some hope that somebody, somewhere will pick up when I feel extremely limited on people I can emote with... It seems I've lost touch with most of my family, except my Dad for a variety of reasons. I miss the days of having best friends or neighbors that I did things with on an almost daily basis. I'm craving companionship...

Should I seek professional help? More than likely, yes. Yet my insurance does not have psychiatric services based in Austin. The therapist that was provided thru DARS dropped me about two years ago, because I was not following thru on our action plans. I don't think a general practitioner would do much, aside from prescribing medications. I could always call a suicide hotline, but I'm not pondering suicide, so part of me would feel like I'd be abusing that resource.

So... yet another time thru the bipolar cycle, and another holiday clouded by doubts, and a hope that somebody out there, somewhere will listen...

P.o.t.D. 11/28/15: "Poverty Blues"

To live without cash
Is tough, a marathon dash:
Running on empty...

There's this....
general feeling of ennui...
this sense that I've been betrayed...
abandoned...
written off as worthless or fake...
It could be some weird paranoia, with no basis in reality; or it could be quite true, like that gut feeling when you're in a bad relationship.
I'm not good at distance relationships, I think. Stuff that involves letters or phone calls, or trying to communicate past other barriers. I don't think I'm very good at casual chit-chat, either - just trying to connect with others. I don't think I behave like normal people do; it's even been pointed out to me how I remind a lady of her son with Asperger's Syndrome.
It hurts, that I want to be included and accepted, and instead I feel ignored by the majority.
Yet, my experiences do not always integrate well with yours. My stories do not always make sense, or end with a good point or moral. My needs are not always clearly expressed, due to communication barriers. My actions are not always noble, and some times quite destructive.
So, I suffer, even though you see me joking. That makes me wonder if "I need to change my tact", as pointed out by a friend earlier this week. What do I expose to the elements? What do I share?
Could probably write more, but I'm NOT very good at monologues.

grumbling about being alone

There's this....
general feeling of ennui...

this sense that I've been betrayed...
abandoned...
written off as worthless or fake...

It could be some weird paranoia, with no basis in reality; or it could be quite true, like that gut feeling when you're in a bad relationship.

I'm not good at distance relationships, I think. Stuff that involves letters or phone calls, or trying to communicate past other barriers. I don't think I'm very good at casual chit-chat, either - just trying to connect with others. I don't think I behave like normal people do; it's even been pointed out to me how I remind a lady of her son with Asperger's Syndrome.

It hurts, that I want to be included and accepted, and instead I feel ignored by the majority.

Yet, my experiences do not always integrate well with yours. My stories do not always make sense, or end with a good point or moral. My needs are not always clearly expressed, due to communication barriers. My actions are not always noble, and some times quite destructive.

So, I suffer, even though you see me joking. That makes me wonder if "I need to change my tact", as pointed out by a friend earlier this week. What do I expose to the elements? What do I share?

P.o.t.D. 11/27/15: "Feast or Famine?"

No poems made on Turkey Day;
It was spent with friends and feasts.
Many fun games were than played
After we snacked on roast beasts.

Got home, then got on Facebook;
Flooded with thanks from more friends...
Tough to read, to even look,
When I feel crushed, at wit's ends.

Cheers for crumbs, like petting cats,
That can become hearty loaves
When faced with pesky poor facts
That feed this depression's lows.

Ah, but I'm grateful
For friends and family 'round
Sharing lots of love...

General low-level malaise.
Don't want to do holidays...
Hopefully, just a passing phase.
Maybe just need some love and sun rays?

P.o.t.D. 11/25/15: "Ambience"

Scanning the air waves,
Hoping to find great music
That will drive my nights...

P.o.t.D. 11/24/15: "Dawn: Herald of Vivid Colour"

As the light scattered
Across the sunrise sky,
Some clouds were painted violet
And others faded to a bright pink.

While I walked
Towards a fiery orange horizon,
I marvelled at how
Pitch became baby blue.

What spectra would be revealed,
If we let the machine
Try to make sense of it all?

What spectres would be dispelled,
As night is chased away
By what looks to be a sunny day?

P.o.t.D. 11/23/15: "patterns?"

Looking for patterns
In Earth's complex patchwork quilt
From simple lives built.

P.o.t.D. 11/22/15: "At night, I wonder"

Oh, quiet nights!
My solace, my refuge, my recharge!

To work in silence,
Cloaked under cover of darkness,
Under that slight chill
Of a grinning Chesire crescent -
That fingernail of God
Pointing out a day done,
Or a dawn to come...

Keeping my solitary company
With the planets and stars,
Not concerned with this blink of man -
Shining brightly like beacons
Of aeons long past,
When we were but stardust.

To marvel in "God's glory",
In the great Whole
And a Path
That leads to the One -
Trying to get all spiritual, now...
But I embrace the sky and the Earth,
And woefully shake my head,
At those who deny it all,
Not caring beyond their death or birth.

We are nothing,
Such insignificant nada,
When mapped against the stars -
It feels so surreal,
Like the movement Dada...

So, let me move in wonder,
Gazing on glorious fires,
Burning way out yonder!

P.o.t.D. 11/21/15: "Jekyll and Hyde"

Go ahead, drink up!
Gave yourself a drunken rage,
You'll regret today...

P.o.t.D. 11/20/15: "Deadline Approaching..."

With audible clicks,
Each second ticks;
Feels like razor nicks
From a pendulum
Swinging over my corpse,
As I'm weighed down
By cold hard bricks...

P.o.t.D. 11/19/15: "Career Search"

Looking for fun work,
Using fancy Math degree -
Figure, "It's my love..."

P.o.t.D. 11/18/15: "Stretches..."

Twinges of muscle pain
Trickle along the lower back...
Another old age sign,
Maybe pointing at workout lack.

Years of foregoing bends
And stretches just to stay limber...
Catch up in an amends
Needed for one to remember:

"It's best to balance mind
With body, to live complete lives;
'Lest rusty muscles find
Us confined in bed, while pain thrives."

P.o.t.D. 11/17/15: "Breaking News!"

The brain's blocks are strong,
But it's battered by news, non-stop;
What staves this onslaught?

P.o.t.D. 11/16/15: "Lacking Inspiration"

My mind is rotting in my skull,
Like the Halloween pumpkins
Left out until Thanksgiving,
Getting all soft and mushy
In the late Autumn Texas heat.

There's a curmudgeon in me that refuses to stripe my profile pic...
My heart goes out to those in Paris and Beirut; just as it hurts when I hear of another "shooter on campus"...
...but I want to show my support of the victims with some more substantial act than wearing a ribbon, or changing a profile pic, or other acts of iconography.
Where are the posts pointing out the charities we can donate our time, money and/or service to?

P.o.t.D. 11/15/15: "Celebrating Creativity!"

I would love to snorkel
In a sea of sights and sounds...

Immersed in the arts,
Celebrating creativity -
Not just man-made, mind you...
But a dash of nature
To spice up my days...

Bah! no flow in that!
...self-criticism is the worst!

Meditating to music I adore,
So that, in my dreams, I may swim, may soar.

Eating up images I find online -
Some text, some art, some crude, some so sublime.

Craving to be in the spectacle's crowd,
Succors sharing souls, in silence's shrouds.

Put people aside, to ponder pure plants,
Simple, yet elegant, in noble stance.

P.o.t.D. 11/14/15: "Some Times, My Mind..."

A bag of cuties, upon the kitchen table,
Beckoned to me, with easy peeling,
Sweet juices and no seeds to gag on -
Each one more decadent than the last,
As my little addiction monster kicked in...

Looking at the plate now,
I see just the skins, the remains of ten.

...plus a pineapple container,
And two plastic shells that
Held cheese, nuts, and wrinkled raisins...

Is it me, or could this poem be,
In a pornographic way, taken?

None the less, I feel a bit more healthy,
From an orgasmic frenzy of vitamin C.

P.o.t.D. 11/13/15: "Looking for Nothing"

"A world possesses an abstract item."

After six refreshes,
This seemed like
A random sentence
That I could work with...

Although, the third one...

"A heterosexual spreads himself."

Had definite possibilities, too -
Probably not fit for children, though!

So, how could we describe
This abstract item,
Within our grasp?

That is, assuming a world
Might be a conclave of souls,
Huddled against deadly cold
Of unused, pitch Outer Space.
It could be that blue marble
That we dig our feet into,
Even as green phases to brown.

Do we have any true love,
When we trash others and our land,
Without thought of damage caused?
Prove me wrong, yet I doubt man
Will learn the restraint of self
To gain such a devotion...

Is there a society,
With grace and calm dignity,
When lives revolve 'round TV
Or phones, or technologies -
Tools to battle apathy...?

What does our world possess,
In the midst of our distress,
Claiming we're not like our guests?

Alas, I feel like I am
Just pulling at frayed, loose threads,
Stringing ideas together
To form a derived fabric,
From which my world has been cut...
Not knowing if it connects
With your life's rich tapestry
Like some knitter's patchwork quilts.

What makes the item abstract,
Sentence random, like a crash
Making the world less intact,
Hiding meaning with words brash?

I put up my quill,
Dissatisfied still -
Perhaps today will,
With effort, unveil
A story to tell...

P.o.t.D. 11/12/15: "help.."

"...help....me,"
he whispered,
with his passing breath,
as the empty bottle
tumbled to the ground...

"HELP ME!!!!"
She screamed
To the heavens,
Not knowing
If he was there...

"Help us...,"
They chanted,
Years later,
In their widening
Circles of survivors...

P.o.t.D. 11/11/15: "Long-Distance Amnesia"

Forgot how to chat
When many miles came between
Us, in other states.

P.o.t.D. 11/10/15: "Local maximum, but not global"

Fighting inertia,
Peace on my local mountain;
Scared to cross valleys...

P.o.t.D. 11/9/15: "A Spectre's Spectrum"

Red for passion's glowing embers,
Fading now to dull grey ashes...

Orange for the "Once white-hot" school pride,
Waning as he walked life alone...

Yellow for the aging bleached bones,
Left to decay in Texas sun...

Green brought new sprouts pushing the Earth,
Alas, they withered in brutal heat...

Blue, the color of eyes weary,
From crying over hopes now lost...

Indigo stains cloth so royal,
Hiding sweat spilled on distant fields...

Violet fades into pitch black,
As light's waning spectrum is palled.

P.o.t.D. 11/8/15: "Vague Memes"

To find brilliant thoughts,
One must muddle through darkness,
Wary of false shots...

Cranking noisily away
On my little music box,
Like a lost, manic monkey
Enamored by evil thoughts...

------

Pulling fiery passions
Out with milky Pensieve,
Cooling, congealing black ice
Splattered across your snowed screens...

P.o.t.D. 11/07/15: "Procrastination...? Or worse..?"

Yesterday?

I spent twenty-one hours
In my bed,
Listening to classical music
From the radio across the room.

Why I did not
Get up to eat,
Or to shower,
Or to visit with friends -
I do not know....

Maybe this is
Depression,
Twisting its knife
Across my soul.

Such a jagged knife
That rips and tears my life
Into tattered shreds,
All while I stay huddled,
Under covers on the bed.

P.o.t.D. 11/5/15: "Winter is coming"

Staring at the white space before me,
Trying to paint it black with bloody words.

My mind's lost in some twisted blizzard
Of noise and disjointed ideas -
I feel so unaware, out of the loop,
Lost in the frozen wastelands.

Is this depression,
Twisting it's knife in my skull,
Rendering me impotent,
Like some poor cattle
Led to the slaughter?

Each stanza begets a sentence.

Fighting my preoccupation with haiku,
Bandying words about loosely, like improv,
I still try to slap a structure on it,
Like Bob's "Put a bird on it"?

Back to the chilling realization
That I can't think of what to say...

Nothing develops.
It's all snow,
Blotting out the sunlight.
The stains of my pain
Left on the still, pristine banks
That are but a quiet memory
Of the flurries and flakes
That chipped off
The cloudiness of my brain, beset
By Obstinance and Obstruction...

I feel I should be screaming
Into winter's dying wasteland.
I want to emote,
I want to be heard!
Yet, when pressed for a sharp word,
I find myself stung numb
By thoughts mundane and dumb.

Writing is such a chore,
And I'm trying to get out the door,
Thinking a first draft is enough,
Not willing to invest in
Revising it to something more.

The thought crops up,
Like a new sprout in spring soil,
That, next year,
I can revisit all this churning
And tighten it up into
Something fruitful for my toil.

Most of all these words
Are scratchings at the surface -
First draft nonsense,
Tossed out, offhand,
Attempts to save some sort of face.

I don't want to be spending so many hours,
Hunched over the computer,
Mulling over thoughts somewhat sour,
Yearning for those days when I tutored -
Feeling myself mired in deep drifts,
Out of my depth, just scrawling...

No conclusion to be made,
Just a howl in my own way...
Because I still know not,
What I have left to say.

P.o.t.D. 11/4/15: "Disabled?"

What's it like to be Deaf or Blind?
Is there a total abscence of sense,
Or a confused muddle
Of which the brain
Simply can not make sense?

I looked at his cane,
And Coke bottle bottom glasses,
And I thought of extreme focus
That only made the eye's strange blurs
Just a fraction more sure...

If the brain has so much garbage
Fed into it by distorted
Eyes and ears -
What a challenge, then,
To try to create
The external world
Inside the mind.

Who's to say, though,
That there's any sensory input -
After all, there could be
Horrible damage to the nerves
Leading to silence or darkness
Or nothing left
Where once there was plenty.

Would it be better to
Never sense at all,
Or to have tasted
The sights and sounds so sweet,
And now be left
With...?

P.o.t.D. 11/3/15: "Cancer Concerns?"

Scalp scabs are scary -
Signs the sun is singing skin...
Hope hats help head health...

P.o.t.D. 11/2/15: "Bending Rules"

"Alphabet's
Beginning
Current lines,"
Decided I,
Even with smirks...

For in this foray
Grows simple patterns
Hiding in other
Intellectual plays
Juggled about with quirks...

Keeping patterns going
Leaves no room for the words
Making a good story,
Now that I'm locked in these strange
Ordeals where the poem's a jerk...

"Quit now! Shred it all! Begin again..."

Reticent, the Rat retreated,
Sensing shame, shunning the game
Traced thru tortured, twisted
Undulations of one's uvula
With the words wrapped 'round rules.

Yo! You notice now, the shattered patterns?
Zip through the lines again, zeroing in on the missing three...

"How would you fit them in, then?"

P.o.t.D. 11/1/15: "Fuzz"

November arrives
With floods, and furry faces
Blossom like flowers...