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...

P.o.t.D. 10/31/15: "Halloween Nod"

Goblins, ghosts, and ghouls
Slink through the streets, seeking sweets
To gnaw on, next month.

P.o.t.D. 10/29/15: "Rumours"

Stories left untold
Gather strange twists, somewhat bold,
As the facts unfold...

P.o.t.D. 10/28/15: "Life after..."

I passed by a flower bed,
Full of thick, little, clipped stumps,
Each sporting vibrant green cacti sprouts -
Perhaps life weighing in
After the recent foot of rainfall?

I was reminded of another clipped cactus,
That I'd pass every day
On my treks up and down Jones Road -
It was twenty food round, it seemed,
Filling the scene with so many sprouts...
Recently, it has been trimmed,
Cut down even with a plane
Passing along the sidewalk's edge.

I used to check in,
As I passed that cactus,
On an app now forgotten...
Just because I was racing
To be a mayor here,
Or a point leader there...

It's probably way past time
To trim my phone
Of frivolous apps,
Gathering electrons
Yet never used...

Time to simplify,
To rearrrange, declutter,
And make time for dreams.

Yet I feel stuck,
Pricked by past lives,
In debt to experiences?

Tired refrain:
"It's hard to write poems
After a long night at work..."

P.o.t.D. 10/27/15: "Moises is Old"

It's not your birthday,
Yet I'd like to celebrate...
Still up for movies?

P.o.t.D. 10/26/15: "regrets..."

Just a note, dear Dad:
My life's gone from good to bad -
This makes me quite mad.

Ranting at midnight...

Ranting at midnight, about nothing in particular... I may think it's important while others write it off as "the rambling madman"

No focus. not even sure what's that little irritation in my brain. how i want people to call or visit more often. how i feel so horribly alone, unsupported, abandoned... of course, the advice will probably come back, "Get out and do stuff! Get engageged with your friends first!"

But... when you're depressed, it's so hard to leave the blanket fort.

trying not to get hung up about line breaks, topic breacks, punctuation, white space... all that attempts to organize what I'd rather just stream.

watching as friends disappear, i feel the hollow carved out of my soul, wondering what i might have done to help drive them away. then again, maybe they were doing stuff on their end that made them ashamed to continue our association - a drug or alcohol relapse comes to minnd

where am i finding my friends? some in recovery, with many of those based on very flimsy connections. some in gaming, which is good, because that is an interest of mine. then, my obsessive parts in my brain latch on to those activities, and try to fill my schedule with them. leaving me one-dimensional, because I'm not developing any of those other activities that I feel fulfilling. then again, it's hard to wrap my head around "doing more stuff" when so much stuff seems to cost money...

and frustrated I am that money is not mine to have. desire to find better work is out there, but obsessions leaves work search gathering dust on a back burner. so frustrated that I've pissed away great opportunities to become a better worker in many better positions.

ranting about me me me... maybe because it hurts so to follow the news. i'm one of those unfortunates who gets most of his current events via facebook - because i don't want to watch the cnn 24 hour marathons, or buy a paper, or even search the web... hell, most news is beyond my control, any way. I can rattle my saber, only to find out it's a butter knife.

I still feel alone. Cut off from the world, and written off as nobody. Writing in a vacuum, that sucks the life from my soul.

So, I trudge on. Some days, my mind is like a dungeon, beating my rationality senseless with it's depressive bludgeon.

doesn't feel like a great rant. perhaps that's how i know i'm depressed: I can't get my thoughts together.

P.o.t.D. 10/25/15: "Downpour"

Rain drops form thick sheets
Draped across the land; plant beds
Gulp up nature's sweets.

P.o.t.D. 10/24/15: "Originality..?"

Original Ideas?
I've heard those beasts do not exist...

As we wrap our brains around the bones
Of others' theories - meaty marrow sucked dry
Through their repetition, reexamination, and reanimation...

You may think, and think quite well,
That adding your peculiar twists
To the urban legend makes it taste sweet
And become easily savored, maybe even believable...

Ah! Yet truth is often stranger than fiction -
Pardon the belaboured cliche -
For those pesky little mundane facts
Often mesh far better with our own experience
Than crazy Texas hyperbole
Or the fantastical phrasings from folklore...

Yet, I've strayed -
I've plumbed down the depths of storytelling,
Which is but a fraction of all that we share -
Not thinking how the rigors of science
Forge theories that trap nuggets of ideas -
"How could general relativity condense from physics before?"
Also, what about impartial reporting of an event,
When the observer almost always sees things with their spin?

Is there an original thought left to be found?
Some breakthrough, that,
Though built on the backs of our ancestors,
Still teases out a connection
Previously unseen, in the world?

Is there storytelling that's a bit more sound
Than the tall tales and fantasies
That propogate far quicker,
Because they appeal to our mental dissections
Of right and wrong unfurled...?

Part of me thinks
We've only scratched the surface
Of what we can yet learn,
If only from truth,
We do not turn.

P.o.t.D. 10/23/15: "Conscious Feedback?"

Spend your time with "them",
Instead of wasting minutes:
"Stuff" never gives love...

P.o.t.D. 10/22/15: "Bitter Poem"

Such exquisite torture,
Wracking one's mind,
To string words together
With twists of rhyme -
And failure seems so sour
Like an old lime...

P.o.t.D. 10/21/15: "Hydra"

Let's play tag, shall we?
If the post is what I'd post,
Then add me to it...

Will I be Star Wars,
Or AA, or democrat,
...pictures of a cat?

It's so hard to say
What image Facebook conveys
Through my likes each day;

A giant hydra
Of giggles, or some tears shed,
Each new like - new head...

What, upon your screen
Do you so happen to see
Of mention of me?

P.o.t.D. 10/20/15: "Blacksmith Puzzles"

Twist and turn puzzles,
So iron ring will release
Like a magic trick.

P.o.t.D. 10/19/15: "How Old?"

When we turn away from the sun,
Then deep secrets at night are spun:

Men with the universe are one;
Kin of stardust we have become...

Since atoms were fused by billions
Whence stellar fires burst forth once;
Hence we share much from deaths so young -
Princes are the same as the dumb.

Dense in mind, scared to trust iron
Lends proof that science has now won
Pensive debates 'bout time's long run.

Bends our truth, keeping light unshown,
Mince theories, and arguments are honed...
Pins their flaws on walls, forgets bones...
Wince as one debates, wails, and moans...

Generations led down paths wrong,
Finished by science and her song.

Win battles, yet war rages on,
Thin threads of false thoughts are woven.

P.o.t.D. 10/18/15: "Unfinished Business"

To hide in the shadows
With three poisoned daggers:
One kills quick, like gallows;
Two causes such swift sleep;
And three lingers, like scotch
Aging in casks shallow -
Burning as it enters
The bloodstream, stays for years,
Victims all feel hollow.

The assassin lingers
Within the dark doorways.
With lightning quick fingers
She'll strike out from that place
As "The March" meanders
Through streets and alleyways.

Who will be blessed with strikes
Of such sudden slumber,
And who cursed by dagger
Through pain, makes one dumber?
All the guards... all ten deep..
In death, find their number...

P.o.t.D. 10/17/15: "Start Simply..."

There's nothing to say,
But simple observations -
Mind's at war...? Or peace...?

P.o.t.D. 10/16/15: "Autumn's Arriving"

Crimson berries:
Precious life locked in simple seeds
To be eaten by feathered friends
And passed on through to distant lands...

Brisk morning chills:
Subtle signs that summer is past
And plants will shed bits and pieces
While people add layers of clothes...

P.o.t.D. 10/15/15: "Gamer's Nightmare"

"Roll a d20.."
'Oh no! It's an effing one!'
"You fall on your sword..."

P.o.t.D. 10/14/15: "Today's offering?"

I lay out six ripe bananas,
A loaf of raisn bread,
Three mini pound cakes,
And a couple of Mexican chocolate concoctions.

Who's to say what will be
Snatched up by hungry roommates,
And what will be left behind?

I squirrel away some burritos
In the freezer with past hauls,
All saved for that rainy day
When the money runs out
And the hunger gnaws at my gut.

My house mates are welcome
To sandwiches in the fridge, too,
Or even the rare gem
Of a fruit cup,
Not yet fermented.

I think that I'll be
Having the pork chops, tonight,
Passed on to me by my room mate,
Who has moved on,
Hopefully to more
Fulfilling pursuits...

P.o.t.D. 10/13/15: "Mendelsohn"

On the radio,
The violin sings briskly
With umph and gusto!

P.o.t.D. 10/12/15: "Minority Opinion"

I'm afraid to write
Poems that expose what I think
When I feel I'm right.

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.