"To Move Mountains?" (P.o.t.D. 7/8/2016)

What words can I say,
Convince them to walk away
From valleys of death?

(Unfortunately,
I feel my words hold no weight,
and so, my heart breaks...)

"Roadkill" (P.o.t.D. 6/16/16)

A twisted skeleton
Beside busy highway -
Umbrella abandoned
When fierce rains made it splay,
Upward, outward, useless?

A corpse lays in the street -
Server's black cash apron,
Tossed away in the heat
Of mad furies from work,
When she was called useless...

So much trash, scattered 'round;
Relics of our culture
That one day will be found
By descendents, for sure,
Who cast us as useless.

"Celebrating Rain" (P.o.t.D. 6/16/16)

Happy about rains,
Plants stretch sweet flowers to me
Along walks to work.

Blade Runner end scene quote

"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die." -Roy Batty, Bladerunner

"Times Unjust" (P.o.t.D. 6/12/16)

Life has lost its luster,
Dulled by bickering and fighting,
And having to choose
From a menu chock full of bad diets.

Love tries to find root,
Cracking a stone-dead heart,
Raising bile when threatened
By senseless attacks upon the cherished.

This is but an impromptu piece,
Written on the cuff,
Attempting to capture
The despair, the ennui, the lonely place..?

So, forgive, if you will,
Or revile, if you must,
This feeble spark of anger
In the face of times unjust.

I've gone 3 weeks now, without fulfilling my commitment to make coffee at 1313 for the Mondays in May.

I'm not even sure if I will make good attempts to brew the coffee over the next two Mondays.

Partly because of fear... uncertain if they will be angry or critical of me for my truancy thus far.

Partly because of a different fear - that of being late to my paid job, at 10 p.m. Even though the meeting ends at 7 p.m. and the bus system is fairly reliable.

It's not like making coffee is difficult; as I've done this commitment multiple times in the past easily and with much praise. It's not like making the meeting is a challenge, either; as I can get plenty of sleep between now and then, and I know the bus schedules and the weather is probably going to be sunny.

I see parallels between this and between my past employment truancies, which were fueled by not wanting to explain why I called in sick when I really just didn't want to do the work.

There's the rub, I guess. My heart's not in this service commitment. That, in turn, points at a deeper resentment of doing AA 12th Step work, or offering to be a sponsor, or even sharing; because I'm not getting any feedback. I don't see people acknowledging that I have anything to offer. I wonder if I'm not paying enough attention to catch the subtler signs of acceptance.

I haven't seen outright criticism, or practical jokes. That, coupled with severe course disruptions (.666 gpa), probably led to my abandoning Alpha Phi Omega; even though I was a Top Ten volunteer for the two semesters that I was active in that...

Then again, maybe people think I'm too serious, too intimidating. Yeah, I try not to make jokes, because I can see how jokes can be lightly-veiled attacks. ...or maybe I come off as untrustworthy, because I'm not trusting you enough to joke around.

Probably all just psycho-babble processing.

I need a feedback loop.

I can't sustain operating in a vacuum.

Elusive sleep,
Chased away by caffeine?

Or just delayed
By sleeping so late,
Yesterday?

"The Mind-Killer" (P.o.t.D. 5/13/16)

Fear lurks in the shadows of my brain,
Just waiting to eat me alive again.

A poem percolates, simmers, and stews
All but devoid of today's news...

Like an ostrich tasting dusky desert sand,
The ideas feel so blocked, perhaps banned.

I want to write, but I know not what to write about;
Leaving me to throw incoherant tantrums
Where I jump up and down and incoherently shout...
As it all boils down, some juicy bits I hope to trim....

"confusion" (P.o.t.D. 4/18/16)

A brain begat a babbling brook
Of weary words, and worries weird...

St. Paddy's Quote

"A good laugh and a long sleep are the best two cures for anything."
- Irish proverb

Modesty must make my mind muddled...

When Meetings Fade Away

I have yet to see
The infamous search party
Sent to rescue me...

VD Lament?

I do not want to be
That sad, single guy;
Always that nice guy
Who never finds love...

I do not want to be
A bad annoyance,
A street harasser,
Solely focused on looks...

So, what do I want to be?

I want to value and respect your mind.
I want be funny, yet still kind.
Is there a soul mate, for me to find?

I wish ladies would be forthright and open,
Expressing any love and attraction for me;
Because I would rather that they have that power...
Then again, what if I reject their advance?

I've tried dating web sites
With very little success -
I'd rather date within my friends,
Yet, I know not who I impress...

Trust me on this:
You have to be open and direct,
Because I'm an introvert
And so apt to miss
Subtle and coy clues
While I'm wrapped up in my own head.

There's a beast in me,
That animal drive
That wants physical affection and more -
Yet it is at war
With my ego and super-ego
Who want peace in the community,
Who fear getting tangled up with a friend:
"What if their feelings end?"

I am thankful for the tokens of love,
Scattered in front of me -
Rides home with friends, holiday invites,
Tidbits shared from our pasts...

I just feel like I get lost in the crowd,
Because I do not drop one-liners?
Because silence is easy to dismiss?

"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.