So, I ended up with 2 poems today, but no poems tomorrow... guess I have most of the day to ponder what tomorrow's poem will be?

"Just another night" (P.o.t.D. 1/31/15 rev 1/31/17)

2:03 a.m. finds me awake, 'gain...
I thought I was working tonight, but noooo!
I made an effort, to show that I can...
Alas, the worker I would replace showed.

Putter around with my armies, thru my
Phone app, lost five hundred thousand, like that!
This makes me question, "What's the point, and why?"
Alas, that won't save them, as they go "Splat!"

What's the value of a poem that journals?
Sure, it can work for a prompt, but then what?
Can it sow a few dramatic kernels,
That grow images? I'm stuck in a rut...

There I go 'gain, talking in meta-words
When I ought to be "entertaining birds"...

"Errant Knight" (P.o.t.D. 1/31/15 rev 1/31/17)

"Let me be your knight in shining armor!"
'Why, when you waste your time, to armor shine?'
"I can save you from your troubles, amor!"
'My love life's just fine, I don't need your whine...'

The troubles with dating? Imperfect roles.
Movies paint these rosy pictures of love
In their chase for ratings, without real goals,
Yet they only offer us a peace dove.

I speak from my humble abode, in rhymes:
"No car, No house, - these shiny things aren't mine
To offer to you, in your troubled times."
Perhaps this poem is my attempt to sign,

"I wish I could just wave a magic wand..."
Solves no problems, because magic is gone.

"Composing Haikus" (P.o.t.D. 1/30/15 rev 1/30/17)

Black choppers whirling,
Outside my door, give me pause,
Mumbling 'bout the State.

Guitar plucking, too,
From roommate in other room -
TV's on, unseen.

Hunkered on laptop,
Pecking at keyboard and brain -
Jumbled thoughts swirl 'round...

Some times, these moments
Distract us wrangled poets
Whilst we play with rules.

"Damn it, Damn it, Damn!
Poem's not cooperating!"
Times slip through rough hands...

"Time Marches On" (P.o.t.D. 1/29/15 rev 1/29/17)

Time marches on, the second hand spinning -
Each moment gone, feels like I'm not winning...

Half-finished sentences are my symptoms
Of a disease that plagues all my rhythyms...

I'd like to write poems, play games, and relax!
Yet no cash crushes me, weight 'pon my back...

When worried where I shall find my next meal,
Retiring becomes a much smaller deal...

...I do not feel like finishing these lines,
Or sticking to meters and rhymes,
Or staying coupled in ideas and thoughts:

Playing thru poems is a hindrance, a block,
That prevents my mind's healthier unlock.

I still make feeble attempts to play within the lines,
But, it's so hard to keep at it...

Life is full of futile frustrations;
I question the help I've tapped into.
Memories of yesterday's poems,
Talking of failed expectations...

You'd think that I'm in some mid-life crisis;
I doubt I've lived even a smidgeon of living.
This feels like a Goth's dramatic whine,
"Drink deep the troubles in my blood!"

Honestly, as long as I'm not thinking
About how my life's events are linking,
Then I am fairly happy...
I do still play fun games, I do still write,
And I'm slowly, oh so slowly, trying to set my life right.

I wish that the seconds didn't tick so,
That life's candle didn't burn our wicks, lo...

...and the clock marches on, with its tickings,
and life proceeds, bringing me, my lickings.

"Expectations" (P.o.t.D. 1/28/15 rev 1/28/17)

If I could be a free spirit,
Living in the moment
From moment to moment,
With no chains linking
My past deeds to future expectations,

THEN...
Then...
then...
I live!
...without worries, in each
Moment lived so free.

Yet, Chains do bind!
The past makes promises
And people predict
"Great Things" to come,
Because I did so well
At my challenges undone.

In school, I was a scholar
Who excelled,
Who bubbled to the top.
I did quite well
In science and math.

Was this why they voted me
"Most Likely to Succeed"?

Twenty-five years later,
I'm no rocket scientist
Nor a genius programmer.

Instead, I sling beer and smokes,
Earning a paltry eight dollars per hour...

My inner voice trilly chides me:
"Such a disappointment..."

On another set of scales,
I'm coming up short:
No marriage, no kids, no house, no car,
NO...
No...
no...
"American Dream"
Perpetuated by Big Media
Over and over and over again.

...and paranoia would have me believe,
That I'm my friends' disappointment, too.

Fed by these futile frustrations,
I want to turn my back
On our measures of success.

I hear whispers in my ear,
When I lay down, troubled:
"Give it all up,
Find the Tao,
BE...
Be...
be...
One, like the monks.
A humble life is the best life."

"Enervation..?" (P.o.t.D. 1/27/15 rev 1/28/17)

I'm a depleted balloon, sucked by kids
Who wanted high pitches in their voices;
My spirit crashes without air, and skids.
My Dad's simple requests taste like poisons.

"Recollecting the Wreck" (P.o.t.D. 1/26/15 rev 1/28/17)

Do I remember the car wreck?

"Sadly, no..."
"Gladly, no!"

Shawn and I had troubles with the seatbelts,
In that old Pinto
That was his teenage car.

That morning, it was foggy out.
We were running late for school.
I was still half-asleep,
Nodding off in the passenger seat.

As he plowed thru the pea soup,
Passing on a curve,
A Cadillac came at us, head-on!
Shawn tried well to swerve
Alas, there was still a crash...

Shawn's right leg broke three times,
And would never grow longer.
He was in a cast for six months,
And he needs shoe mods, today.

My forehead hit the windshield,
So my six month ordeal was
Digging glass shards out, as they resurfaced.

Still, I don't remember the crash -
I barely remember the E.R., hours later...

The wreck has faded into the fog...

"A Countable Union" (P.o.t.D. 1/25/15 - no rev)

Given integers,
Use half to count the first set...
Then fourth, then eighth, then...

"Sandy Tears" (P.o.t.D. 1/24/17)

Challenge: In 30 words or less, write a poem about one of my dreams...
---------------------
In plain sight,
Dreams hide,
Like clouds drifting.

Why forget dewdrops
Left on nights' webs
That vanish
In morning?

Beauty unfolds, gently -
Lotus or onion - layers many.

Aware or asleep,
Pebbles snatched from my grasp.

"Mincing words" (P.o.t.D. 1/23/15 rev 1/23/17)

I find myself mincing words:

Can I get a bowl of PHO using xenophobia...?
Do your shoulders SAG when we disagree?
IF we RENT the old rules, are we still different?
Will it BE very LONG to belong?
What will be ATE, using this list of statements?

Or can we find some LIP through liposuction...?
Does this MAN have a clue on how to be romantic?
Maybe, perchance, in BED, if I'm obedient...
What HARM is ON us, if we're in perfect harmony?
Will I find MOM in the momentous?

My challenge to you, dear reader,
Is to mix all the pieces together
And add some dashing bits of your own,
To see what you might create...
I offer to you, these ingredients:

Pho, Sag, Rent, Be, Long, Ate,
Lip, Man, Bed, Harm, On, Mom...

I don't know why my mind is mulling over this, but... here goes:
Suicide, assisted suicide, and abortion could all be considered self-centered acts; because "the killer" is deciding when to end a life, usually to prevent prolonged periods of pain for "the victim"...
Instead of allowing nature to run it's course, we are (usually) denying "the victim's" associates an opportunity to be near in the declining time of "the victim's" life. Said another way, "the killer" is going forward with decisions that ultimately put them at ease (if they succeed) at the expense of others' grief cycles.
---------------
However, there is the "prolonging life artificially" argument - at what point can we decide to turn off any assistive technology (like respirators or feeding tubes or...) and allow nature to run its course? Also, are there any medical conditions severe enough, in the present and future pain and discomfort that they cause their subjects, to justify an end of life scenario?
Here, the self-centered nature changes, where the associates are acting self-centered, in a fashion, by placing their joy and happiness at keeping a "victim" alive, and yet the victim is dealing with much discomfort.
------------------
This is one reason I like the idea of living wills, even though I still need to get one. I, personally, would prefer to be kept off of life support, if the situation were to arise, partly because I don't want the high medical costs it incurs and partly because I don't want to prolong suffering, if I can avoid it.
------------------
Note: I realize that suicide is not the same as assisted suicide, and they are not the same as abortion.... but I do think they share some common arguments?
Hopefully, now, I can get some sleep...

"Selfies" (P.o.t.D. 1/22/15 no rev)

Paint our pretty pictures with pink pastels...
Shades from light to dark, showing our skins' bark -
Captured couple in cute, awkward posings -
So candy-coated - the picture's "loaded"
From film to Facebook, for future fan views.

"crumbling crayons..." (P.o.t.D. 1/21/15 rev 1/22/15)

A sketch is begun with crumbling crayons
Upon a crumpled up, old newspaper
That was fished out of the city trash cans
With a lingering odor of dead bass.


"Well, not everyone's handed the same tools -
I can't assume your life has been easy,
or that your events will mirror my own."

"I could be wrong.
This could not be my best.
Perfectionism tugs me back, saying,
'If you don't try, then rejection's not...'"


'We don't want your excuses!
Give us a grand masterpiece!
It matters not what uses
You're denied by your caprice!'


"Everything feels half finished,
half thought out in a whimsical improv.
It's passed through but once,
to be forgotten tomorrow and tossed aside.
A lot of projects started,
but not "colored in";
life is so full of distractions."


'We want poems with more drama!
Stop with all of these dead ends,
Even though your mind's in trauma
That writing's a red herring...!'


"Mine's not a life with abuse,
or with fights with authority,
or with relationship stresses and trauma..."

"Oh, but there is that 'little demon', addiction;
and there is that touch of bipolar insanity;
and maybe something can be learned from
all that impending failure dogging my heels through the years..."


'We are not pleased with your poem,
Even though you use sevens!
Be like Bill - five feet and rhyme,
So angels sing in Heaven!'


"I write this, as a conversation with you;
instead of trying to hijack your mind's pilot
by painting a vivid scene, engaging the five senses:
vivid, popping, colors in your eyes,
tones, like a waterfall, in your ears,
smooth and rough textures upon your skin...
it's hard to convey crumbles and crumples..."


And, yet, in my head: 'Meter!
Rhyme! Alliteration! Forms!
Stray too far, and no leader
Be ye, even of new poems...'


"I've given up on this poem,
the one you're reading now -
the mathematician in me
is screaming for better order and structure;
while the storyteller
is chiding me for the
excessive director's commentary."


Not sure if it's finished, or needed more,
The paper's balled up, and kicked to the curb.
Dissatisfied, he left, feeling so sore...
So many nubs of crayon now dispersed...

Perhaps, we should rub our crayons' crumbles
Along the trashy newspapers' crumples;
To try to find a modern Turin's Shroud
Of last night's fish and shrimp we had devoured.

"Drunken Sonnet" (P.o.t.D. 1/20/15 rev 1/20/17)

By the Old Gods, I do solemnly swear,
"I am a happy drunk, without a care!
Bitterness ends with the beers' hoppy tastes,
Friendships and loves are not to be my wastes!"

Which of those Nameless Ones did then take note,
Encasing my mind with a madness coat!?
I did rant and rave, claiming no harm done,
My war was lost, though my battles felt won.

Unhinged thus, I faltered and I stumbled -
Incoherently, began to mumble...
"Just one more drink will help me clearly think -
Why'd I drink, and not pour it in the sink?!"

"I can do practically anything -"
That's how my mania will try to sing...

"Falling Leaves" (P.o.t.D. 1/19/15 rev 1/19/17)

How does one convince
Falling leaves to separate?
Bonds decay, with time...

"Coffee" (P.o.t.D. 1/18/15 rev 1/18/17)

The drops drip... drip... dripped...
Brewing bold, black, blessed bliss.
Bean's nectar, savored.

"..the diodes in my left side.." (P.o.t.D. 1/17/15 rev 1/17/17 )

"This last year, I began to have sharp pains,
Shooting all through my right leg," He complains...

They shot some x-rays, and found a bone spur
Encased in his ankle - the mangy cur!

Walking on that spike, his muscles would rip -
Was this like Achilles, in his famed trip?

Cutting it out was not doctor-advised;
Instead, various stretches were prescribed.

Even so told, there's no motive to pursue...
Until the pain grew worse and yoga's due.

"The Curator Whispers" (P.o.t.D. 1/16/15 rev 1/16/17)

What a wind whispered, while winding its way
Around the graveyard's sentinel tombstones!
Yet still, a silence made it deafening -
No animals would speak in beastly tones.

Just a month ago, cold earth clods crumbled
All over her corpse, when laid to rest 'midst
Frogs' croaks, squirrels' chatter, and birds' sad chirps;
All simply asking, "Why silent, good Miss?"

Her gift was to speak in beastly whispers;
Whereby, through grunts and squeaks, she could divine
What needs animals had, prior deferred -
Making them be furry friends, oh so fine!

Her death was ghastly - happened suddenly
Through fiendish actions of her employer,
A museum caught up in gluttony,
When they learned she had become betrayer.

See, she was tasked with building collections,
Yet she balked at filling the science hall.
Her fears of silence won; she warned the beasts
Of traps and poisons that would freeze them all...

Questions linger on the whispering wind -
How'd the museum find out, how'd they win?

"Three Schools" (P.o.t.D. 1/15/15, rev 1/15/17)

Spent my youth in a small Texas town;
Finished school, then I was Austin bound...
So many things to do;
How my errant time flew!
Took fifteen years to earn cap and gown...

"Raindrops" (P.o.t.D. 1/14/15, rev 1/14/17)

Raindrops soak me through my shoes, socks, and soul...

Umbrella raised in hopeful surrender -
Though my scalp stasy dry, walking soaks my soles.

Was it an army of drops, or just one,
Through which my childhood rain play was hindered,
And joy was sucked from my innocent soul?

While walking wet, it seems despair has won;
Yet, as the water cleans, hope is rendered.

The cold, dark, and wet storm leaves a world wan.

"Deadline" (P.o.t.D. 1/14/17)

"Deadline" wooshing past -
I want to write; yet sleep, too...
Tonight's time to write?

"Writer's Remorse"(P.o.t.D. 1/13/17)

It can be so rough:
Day in, Day out, writing poems -
My brain just wants sleep...

"Wary of Triggers" (P.o.t.D. 1/11/16, rev 1/11/17)

Tiptoe 'cross the floor on eggshells,
From fear of finding shards of glass
That have stung, cut, crippled, and felled
Clumsy ogres who walked so rash.

Under each phrase, even each word,
Lies great pains - gentle souls' triggers!
Can I avoid those hidden hurts?
Perhaps... with careful word pickers...

I hope to bring peace to our Earth,
Where folks do not lash out and hurt
Those who come from different births -
Perhaps, there, all could soar like birds.

"Seven Hours Passed" (P.o.t.D. 1/10/17)

Looks like 7 hours await,
But will some coffee, before,
Serve as possible dream bait?
In 7, I wake, with more...

...

well.
3 hours...
and Awake!
As brain stumbles,
Sub-conscience mumbles,
"Your business plans call -
Away! To the computer!
Search to find a better career!

...

Now, 7 hours are almost passed.
Only half got spent in dreams.
3, I gave to computers -
Scrolling through Facebook, instead
Of an earnest career search...
Because...? I fear new careers?

OK.. I'm off to eat and meet!

...

Now, Upon my phone, I breed frogs...
Then, I spend time to write blogs,
Some inventory logs -
Scared to look for jobs...
My, how sloth robs...
My heart sobs...
Tears fall...
Stalled...

...

Since I work all through the night,
Morning jobs give me fright...
I'm addicted to caffeine
I know from the headaches mean...

"Loneliness Laments" (P.o.t.D. 1/10/14, rev 1/10/17)

Ennui on and off in waves,
Mind ponders dark paths to graves:

"Forsaken by men and God -
Foreigner I, just a fraud!"

I'm adrift upon this sea,
Empty space all before me...

As I feed the pity trips,
I lose sight of culture's scripts!

Still, I feed, pulling these words,
Pecking at keyboards, like birds...

And my soul becomes shattered,
As hope gets beat and battered.

"Malnutrition" (P.o.t.D. 1/9/17)

All we want,
Yet nothing we need:
Lives built on junk food, junk news,
Sow discord's bad seed
And we rot...

"The Addict's Toll" (P.o.t.D. 1/8/17)

Lurking in the dark corners of my soul
Lies a hunger growing out of control...
I'm afraid that it will consume me whole.

"Fifteen Weeks..?" (P.o.t.D. 1/7/09, rev 1/7/17)

Let me describe for you, a lovely rose:
Its scent so sweet - it just tickles your nose.
Vibrant reds attack your eyes as it grows;
Each petal peels away with soft breath blows...

Velvet sheets crumble 'tween rough fingertips;
Impaling thorns stick out 'long the long stem.
Bedecked with drops of August morning dew
Rained upon it with this summer's dawn drips.
Ants line its lower leaves -- breakfast for them?
Not one sound stirs this scene 'tween I and you --
Taste these words, like honey along your lips.

Reclining now, under summer's bitter heat,
Our rose, she does bend, stoop, wilt, and wither.
Summer's gone, petals fallen -- lone stem remains;
Ethereal was that bloom, now long gone.

"Stormy Sea" (P.o.t.D. 1/3/17)

Thoughts adrift upon a stormy sea
With strong winds a-pushing my racked mind
Through differing paths - none of them, me.
"Sit, in solemn silence", and peace, find...

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

"Entropic Beings" (P.o.t.D. 12/31/16)

As the years add up,
The sun and tears carve wrinkles -
Momentos to be seen in the morning mirror.

The skin grows so thin
That a simple scratch draws blood,
And the heart grows weary
From the losses it carries...

Speeches fall apart
And the disconnect is so acute.
There may be wisdom, but it hidden
Under the chaos born
Of making sense of this world forlorn.

Yesterday is quickly forgotten,
When weaved into the tapestry
Of so many poignant moments gotten
Livng in the decades
Of this rat-race Modern Age.

not a very happy poem -
the physical aches and pains
are stark reminders
I'm not young again.
"I yearn for comforts,
As I march to oblivion..."

"3 a.m. and I scratch..." (P.o.t.D. 12/30/16)

How can I convey...?

Sensory input - visual cortex sparking..
sounds noted in passing..
language but a footnote?

could i draw the world i perceive
instead of beating my fingers
into bloody pulps
pounding on the keyboard
quoting this or that quote
sharing some inspiration
or maybe another dad joke?

i walk.. a lot..
really! quite a lot..
i see things,
and they rarely trigger
memories of yesterday
or plans for tomorrow...

just another house here,
maybe the same one
i've passed a thousand times...
and a bush here,
maybe a little bushier
or bedecked in christmas lights...

images flashing through my brain
rarely causing concern or blame -
memories now, of creeks followed
as a teen
in cow pastures, alone,
at the city limits

i realize this is rambling
i realize these are words,
so foreign, so not me...
my family knows me as the silent one -
though I doubt many would think that
who see me today...

so i pound at the keyboard
and wrack my brain
while taking solace
in foreign music keeping me sane?
oops - attempting to get poetic...

see, to borrow from Blade Runner,
"I see things..."
If it's not in my sight,
Then it's likely not in mind?
A curse of Facebook
Is that I see old friends and lost loves
Who I doubt I'll ever
Share a room with again -
Maybe that stirs up pesky memory,
Maybe that sharpens solitude's pains...

I was thinking how hard it can be
To give flight to my inner voice,
To speak without relying
Upon our possibly shared cultural contexts

Maybe that's why
writing components were such a bear for me -
i just had no clue
what i had in common
with these liberal arts professors

I like to share far and wide,
Not that I've bought the quotes
Hook, line, and sinker -
but because
I'm often a perturbed thinker...
I'd love to know what
my friends and neighbors
feel, support, or distrust

science tells me
i can interact with the world,
and usually get the same results
for the same interactions...
often born out
by my own experience -
you know, 2 + 2 = 4
(most of the time)
i'm still not sure
about g and 9.81
problems with physics at RLM...

so... I walk, I see things,
I add some music, too...
partly to withdraw,
partly to entertain -
thankfully I'm blessed
that most songs
don't get stuck in repeat
in the workings of my brain...

I do not obsess... much...
in third grade,
i dreamed of a grand life
with my then-current crush -
that faded with time,
but still would flare up later...
although, as a teen,
my mind crowded with crushes,
such is raging testosterone, eh?

as the years have piled on,
love, or lust, seems to be fading -
I'm thankful for that...
much easier to talk again?

i don't think it's self-centered,
because I usually care
quite a bit about who or what's around me -
but it is very localized
as it's so rare to think
about people i've never met

back to dreams
i hear i talk in my sleep
I think I've heard my talk in my sleep
it reminds me
Of late-stage Alzheimer's...

add to that
difficulties remembering
people's names,
and who really said what...
(and Grandma's illnesses)

and hope just pops,
my brain thinks not in speech
so my curse will be
to never be understood,
to share grunts and grumbles
and then be mistook
for another crazy man's mumbles

shuttered off
to die slowly
in some dark, dank closet.

meh. trying to get dramatic?
no clue if you "get this" -
ain't that the point? -

my strength and my weakness
is that I can not predict
what it is you want me to say...

Why use others' quotes?
Well, why reinvent the wheel?
If they work, use them...

I'm so single that I'm one letter away from a shocking experience...

I'm so single that I must be The One...

I'm so single that Kraft models their cheese after me...

3 mantra words for 2017

First thoughts on my 3 mantras, to focus on, while living in 2017:

1) Dependable
2) Nutrition
3) Play

"Dwindling down" (P.o.t.D. 12/29/16)

My poor eyelids feel oh so heavy
While these love songs are gently playing -
On my headphones, all through my phone -
By a good friend's quirky suggested lady
With a jazzy, Caribbean, or rhumba beat..?

My eyes are itchy and raw,
Craving comfort of a cool bed,
After a long sweltering Texas day
Running all around to get ahead...

My brain is so tired,
From a sugar induced coma
From eating too much food...

My mind is wired,
Always craving more, more...

My words falter...

"Whirlwinds of Your Passion" (P.o.t.D. 12/28/16)

There was this frightened whisper
That turned into a loud roar...

Winds lifted the defeated
While rain slashed in a downpour.

All hoped he'd be unseated
Yet chaos ran its mad course.

Now, beaten and burned crisper,
Our voices croak, like frogs, hoarse.

Gas pumps, glowing bright
At night, waiting to be used
Like cheap prostitutes?

"Today's Poems?" (P.o.t.D. 12/27/16)

I wrote a haiku.
I felt it was in poor taste.
So, then I hid it.

Words are weapons; wield them with awareness....

"Trust the television..." (P.o.t.D. 12/26/16)

As the TV blares in the background,
With no one there to watch it,
It feels so lonely
Because it used to give us
A false sense of company...

Now, it's all puffed-up nonsense
Spreading across the news,
Because our attention -
It does not want to lose...

The box plays on as we sleep,
Because we want to tune out
Our family fights, so deep...

Because it used to protect us
From being socially awkward...?

"Why fight?" (P.o.t.D. 12/26/16)

what do you do with a bully?

you ostracize them,
cast them out of the social circle...

and yet...

what if they redouble their violence?
what if they feel
the only way to get noticed again
is to harm themselves or others?

violence is bizarre -
some would hurt or kill their spouse,
and i don't understand why?

humans are beasts
with beast instincts
to fight
as well as to flight
not all of it is self-defence?

to be ignored
because you create dischord
in another's world view -

and I recall,
"Shake the dust from your sandals
and go to the next city"

and, yet...
the illusion of permanence
has me clinging to the past...

so i can see that a bully
cares somewhat for their glories,
and doesn't see how to change
so they'll fight and fight again.

(or twweet and tweet -
pardon the politics, please...)

or is it,
"I feel hurt,
so I'm going to hurt you"
retribution driving the violence?

or,
"No one respects me;
So I'm going to
force my will upon them?"

No idea, really...
violence is not something I enjoy.

Why do I want to understand anger?
self-defense, maybe?
to know how to diffuse it,
when it becomes directed at me,
or my friends and neighbors?

"broken pieces" (P.o.t.D. 12/25/16)

Broken pieces
Cloistered away
(Like monks?)
Deep inside
A rocky stone-face...

causing wrinkles to appear with their weight
causing the eyes to scan, scan, scan the ground
as i shuffle my way, ever walking, everywhere
everywhere around this "beautiful town"

the pieces come out, these nights,
as i try to write and write -
"Here! Let me show you a bit of my frights!"

when i'm around friends and family,
i feel much less of the pieces' pains,
only to be kept awake at night,
as they surface when i'm alone again.

it's so easy to delude myself,
to get sucked in -
thinking i'm a string of failures,
or disease wins...

but i'm not really broken,
i am not simply bipolar...
i am gifted and so much more.
I hope these broken pieces will soften
and my mind will be at ease,
I think I can win this war...

The hunger devours,
Like looking upon
Hastur unmasked...

“I can believe things that are true and things that aren't true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they're true or not.

I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Beatles and Marilyn Monroe and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen - I believe that people are perfectable, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkled lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women.

I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone's ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state.

I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste.

I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we'll all be wiped out by the common cold like martians in War of the Worlds.

I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman.

I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it's aerodynamically impossible for a bumble bee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there's a cat in a box somewhere who's alive and dead at the same time (although if they don't ever open the box to feed it it'll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself.

I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn't even know that I'm alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of causal chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck.

I believe that anyone who says sex is overrated just hasn't done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what's going on will lie about the little things too.

I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman's right to choose, a baby's right to live, that while all human life is sacred there's nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system.

I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.”
― Neil Gaiman, American Gods

“To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due.”

― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 4: Season of Mists

"Weasels?" (P.o.t.D. 12/24/16)

Popping heads off of her Barbies
Like champagne corks on New Year's Eve,
She chortled softly to herself,
"Who are you trying to deceive?
We can't have thin bodies like these!"
...showing immeasurable wealth...

"scary changes" (P.o.t.D. 12/23/16)

Change is a challenge:

To give up old behaviors
And trudge forth through the unknown...

Let's walk away,
Slodging through valleys of fear,
leaving this humble hilltop
to try to climb mountains

we don't want to give up
simple, some times flawed
strategies of survival,
when the new paths
could be a stumble
as well as a soar...

I didn't stop drinking,
until it stopped working.

I couldn't stop smoking
until i got free
of its physical addiction barbs:
"I'll just have one more cigarette..."

some fear of failure, too -
"why apply to jobs,
just to get rejection letters?"

ah, yes... fear of failure -
the procrastinator's nightmare,
for i want to perfect
on the first attempt, every time...

true story - i attempted 10 writing components,
all failed or dropped -
i thought because of writer's block...
but perhaps because I was out of my depth -
"you see? because I wrote reams,
when the writing was tied to teaching
and i had been a tutor for seven years..."

this present focus on careers -
as i look at a bird's nest of jobs,
mostly entry-level clerical and retail...
because they're familiar

No baring of my breast
in forays of romance -
why rish the rejection, the possible unease?
the fear of my mind obsessing?
yet, i grow bitter
as ladies pass me by...

i write, and i write,
and some times face ridicule
because i'm being too vulnerable, too open
"yes, that could chase folks away,
thinking no secret is safe with me.."

i near the end
of this self-imposed challenge
to write every day...
A January more,
And then to sift the wheat from the chaffe,
to edit ruthlessly,
to assemble what I can

i'm tired,
yet, try as I may,
i can't sleep,
and my sane bits
scream in terror,
""No! Not that rabbit hole of chaos!"

I'm still wondering
how firm the job offer is,
that i received today...
moreover...
will i have to get a car, too?
do i want to make those changes?





what does "change" evoke in my mind, good and bad?
- three weeks gone by, unattended

So, I'm not working Christmas Eve or Christmas night. I currently have no firm plans to go anywhere formal; and yet I'd like to get out of my house.
Does anyone want to adopt me? I can bring some board and/or card games...
-------------------------------------------------
I was unable to get the time or ticket fares set aside to visit my family (in Dallas, Kansas, California, and a couple of other places around the world) for either Christmas or NYE, this year. Kind of bummed about that...

"Forget me not?" (P.o.t.D. 12/22/16)

I woke up, screaming,
"I don't want to die alone!"
Shaken, I turned
To hug my wife...

And I only saw her ashes,
Long perched there,
Upon her dressing table...

No sleep would return to me,
Upon that cold unfeeling night,
As I wondered
Why my children no longer called...

"Jar-head" (P.o.t.D. 12/21/16)

"If you let me die,
Then the stars crumble to dust..."
...so preached an ill brain...

"Puppet" (P.o.t.D. 12/20/16)

"Just play along, now,
Act as the Party tells you...
For assassins wait..."

"Ode to Wino" (P.o.t.D. 12/19/16)

Stripes, to hide in grass;
White paws that stalk human feet -
Cat's taken control?

Attempted meditation stream (P.o.t.D. 12/18/16)

searching for a beginning,
my mind drifts over
blinking icons... blinking lights...
returns to center with chants of Om.

thinking about breaking down
in Smithville
hours at the video store with Shawn
rescued by Donna and Mom
commenting all the way to Dallas
about Christmas lights guiding the sleigh
even though some were police

thinking about sundays
falling away from dharma punx
permanent illusion in my mind
that they'll still be there
"if my orbit returns me in kind"

politics again, rears up
seeing my eyes
turned away, so blind
assuming there's no oppression
to give me false peace of mind

a whole lot of fear
and unchained, galloping anxiety -

will they gather up the scientists
who try to warn them
against their doomsday energy plans?

will they decimate the protesters -
Standing Rock water cannons times a million?

will the women be corralled
into great, big breeding pens
forced to have babies
or bindings upon their feet?

Yeah, it may be overblown
and quite a bit irrational -
but, then, these new leaders are scary,
showing themselves to be quite irrational, too...

if my selfish, self-centered interests,
I think that I might survive,
So, Alfred E. Neuman,
"What? Me worry?"

but again - self-deception...
I am one of the liberals,
I am one of the protestors,
I am clinically insane...
and, for that, I may be on the first trains?

return to the Om,
chanting through my headset...
Did that clear my mind?
Can I let those thoughts drift by,
Like the clouds, hanging in the sky?

Not sure if journalling is fast enough
To capture ...

bell.

"Anxiety Reigns" (P.o.t.D.12/17/16)

The impulses have grown strong,
Blurting out strange turns of phrase
With aggressive tones
And lack of restraint...

Modern day fight or flight, I guess -
When staring at the abyss around me,
Afraid that my world will fall apart...

I laugh a frightened laugh,
Hoping the bare teeth

Scares away the mists, the beasts...

"Fearing Monday" (P.o.t.D. 12/16/16)

Stubborn electors
Gonna vote like they been told,
"Ain't 'Merica Great?!"

"Chaos stream" (P.o.t.D. 12/15/16)

can i control chaos?
capture collisions and energy loss,
just trying to...stumble...
time heating up
cracks across my eyes
mind falters
yet sleep? halted?
hell's bells! let's dart
at a dictionary
just to make random lines
but, no, my mind screams
for order, for rules, for laws!
and yet, i see trump -
not enough respect to capitalize -
sewing seeds of destruction
throughout his puppet play...
aigh! no will in me,
to call him out;
as the cloak of defeat
smothers and suffocates...
and i feel we all see
wide-grinning Death
with his scythe of Fear -
the mind-killer, remember? -
cutting large swaths across the land
and leaving me
wailing and gnashing
and bemoaning
the end of America.

but, maybe, I'm just unreasonably afraid?

Time, time, time...
So easy to lose,
So hard to recover.

"Tea" (P.o.t.D. 12/14/160

What future lies before me,
Patterns revealed by leaves of tea?

Why, now I realize, my cup is empty -
So, I must get another, you see

To drink deep of brews a plenty
And let my brain swim in ecstacy...

Caffeine, peppermint, hibiscus - all agree
That leaves are best found,
Simmering in water,
And not attached to a tree.