I think a poem/day will be all I can muster.
Ghosts, slipping
treelike through forests
populated by people
looking just like they
once did. Slowly
dissolving, windborne
gossamer, 'til people
look through them.
Haunting not others,
but themselves with
each mirror-ward glance.
Remembering when
they treated ghosts
similarly, in
youthful vibrancy.
14/100
Angry
Drunk
Driving my pickup,
Six-pack beside me.
Timing my throws to
Hit empties into the
Truck bed. Blind, thinking
Endless thought loops.
Years later.
Angry drunk.
Driving miles while still
Sitting in my chair.
Still timing my throws
Of empty thoughts to
Capture blind thinking:
Endless thought loops.
More years
Still angry.
Still drunk.
Tired of driving
Mental miles worn
Deeply in my mind.
Emptied soul tiring
Of postured thinking:
Break my thought loops.
13/100
I’m just not going to make a poem today. My brain feels so scattered, I think the only thing holding it together is my skull. Heat? Maybe. More likely the increasing difficulty with being older and watching the world change into something we envisioned only not like this. (non sequitur? no.) Life now resembles a city’s marathon, only you’re not in the race anymore, in fact, you’re not even on the sidewalk watching. You’re up in your apartment looking down and saying, “I wonder what they’re doing down there?”
In lieu of posting nothing, I took a walk around the yard.
There you have it. Perhaps my melancholy intro will produce a poem later tonight. Time to get down to the pub.
A meditation on what makes a couple
Oyster
sits and spits.
Mollusk-as-grass,
rooted, muted,
colored in
good enough,
in sedentary.
Snail
glides by:
mollusk-movement.
Purposefulness
imbues her,
stubbornness, her
going-ness.
Can these opposites
attract? Or,...
What if Crab
tiptoes past
them both?
What then?
Who pines for
legs? Who clings
stubbornly to
Life As It Is?
12/100
Every day
I want 24 hours between today and tomorrow:
Breathe
I want to quit feeling this tightness across my chest:
Breathe
I want my stomach to desire food as much as my mouth
Breathe
I want to enjoy beer as food not medicine
Breathe
I want to feel as if I know what I'm doing
Breathe
I want to feel less as if we're doing something wrong
Breathe
I want to get out of here
Breathe
Full of breath
I ran screaming; mere hellish jobs looked great
Compared to my hell-hole.
11/100
Squirming thought-worms writhe
Licking cranial insides:
Outwardly normal.
10/100
I didn’t post yesterday’s poem for which I feel profoundly guilty since my intent had been to post two poems. The day intruded and at 5 p.m. I decided a beer with my wife took precedence over composing the final two lines…and then dinner…and the Home Run Derby… Still trying to catch up to the date: maybe #30 on the 30th? With a two-week vacation coming up, I fear I’ll fall behind again.
Whatever shall I wear today?
I've far too many clothes to play
This game on ev'ry waking morn.
Perhaps something already worn
On days just past; but then again,
I'll think that they'll remember when,
(Though I've no thought for theirs).
This 'problem' stems from when I pay
To 'fix' some fashion gone astray.
Perhaps more neutrals? Then I'd mourn
Outfits bold which would adorn
My daily jeans I've donned since when
They came bell-bottomed—way back then—
And I still had my hairs...
9/100
Every day a poem:
Dawn's introductory stanza
Sets me up—better, worse, or
In-between. By Breakfast's lines
Attitude starts setting, casting
Today's foundation. Theme, style,
music, tone, harmony, dissonance,
all proscribed by this early start.
Takes composer's interference to
Change this line, this development.
Afternoon either resolves all notes,
or abandons them to dissipate into
"well there's always tomorrow."
8/100
"I used my best project
management skills! I had
sub-projects, dependent
tasks, timelines, mileposts! And
deliverables? My God!
I had 'em comin' out
My ass! But scope creep
blew it up. Mileposts changed.
Life wanted new measures,
new deliverables. I
couldn't make sense of it.
I adapted, changed, tried
to be successful, but
when my project finished
I'd delivered someone
else's project entirely.
Now I'm just confused:
Am I a success or did
I fail miserably?"
6/100
Mostly to show a friend. My grandfather took these at what I presume is the annual Seafair Parade in Seattle. I snagged all of his slides when they landed at my parents’ house, and I’ve digitized about 25% of them. And when I went looking for a photo from the parade, I find I’ve posted one once before. Better go find it…
all the voices in my head 