I had almost forgotten
the song of rain on my roof
just a few yards from my face,
the coolness of grass under foot
just a few feet outside my door,
the sense of you, the only soul within miles,
just a few inches from my side.
#175
Category: Poetry
Rhymed and unrhymed, form or free, this is where the poetry lives.
Aura Exhaust Vent
I think I need an exhaust vent on my aura,
just to bleed off the built up pressure
between my skin and my ethereal veil.
An overflow valve on my brain would be handy too,
much of the contents float off anyway so I may as well
channel it off on a regular basis and avoid messy spills.
And a governor on my heart to
make the beat a little less erratic.
A neat little syncopation might be nice.
I may need a dehumidifier on my tear ducts,
a regulator on my sleep patterns, and
an auto correct on my eating habits but mostly
I think I need an exhaust vent on my aura.
#174
Put, Pick, Pull, Pass
Put up with nothing,
Pick up your pen,
Pull up a chair,
Pass up mediocrity.
Put out the fire,
Pick out the gems,
Pull out stops,
Pass out the ammunition.
Put on your specs,
Pick on your doubts,
Pull on unravelled edges,
Pass on the spark.
Put off defeat,
Pick off the stragglers,
Pull off the impossible,
Pass off dreams as reality.
Put away fear,
Pick away at details,
Pull away from the shore,
Pull off a miracle.
#173
Across the Ages
“This is home now” middle-age tells age
“No, this is not home,” age replies, “and I will not stay.”
“Yes, you must. Give it a chance and you’ll find you like it here.”
“No, I won’t.“
“But you can’t live alone.”
“Says who?”
“You know you can’t. What if you fall?”
“What if a meteorite hit this place?”
Middle-age sighs.
“Is this because I wouldn’t let you have a pony?” Age asks.
“What?”
“We lived in town, we couldn’t have livestock in town.”
“No, it isn’t about that. I’ll help you unpack.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll be going back home tomorrow.”
“No, Mom, you won’t.”
“Stop treating me like a child.”
……………………….
“I moved grandma today,” says middle-age.
“Was that today?” says youth.
“You know damned well it was. I could have used your help.”
Youth sighs.
Middle-age knows the eyes are rolling even with her back turned.
“I bet Gramma was pissed.”
“Go do your homework.”
“Stop treating me like a child.”
…………………………….
Alone, middle age looks into her mirror.
“I wish someone would treat me like a child” she whispers.
#172
Special
Is being special
desirable after all,
or just the drawing
of a large target
on an unsuspecting brow,
easy to aim for
them, the special ones
the ones society has
singled out like goats
we tie to a stake
in a clearing to accept
our adoration,
our envy, our hate
for those different from ourselves.
We are the tigers
who consume special
so we can become special
by proximity.
#171
Default
In profound fatigue
can be found a sort of truth
disguised as despair.
Hope leads us to dream
and though dreams may become truth,
despair is fatigue’s default.
#170
The ‘tanka’ consists of a 5-7-5-7-7 syllabic pattern.
To Be Yet Not To Be
How do you remain
part of, yet remain apart
from, humanity?
How to love with no
attachment? Peace without us
and peace within us.
To see the wholeness
of each part unto itself
no matter how small.
Every thought becomes
a meditation, every
move becomes a dance
that manifests love
of all that is, will be, or
was, at the same time.
Petals grow and fall,
then re-manifest within
earth’s calm embrace.
#169
Kinda Stupid
Y’know we can be kinda stupid, just grinning and spinning in the centre of our own personal universe but what’s worse is the perverse lack of perception of the deception that keeps us separately static, erratically manic as we panic to outshout each other and shout out another mundane refrain of ‘do you like my face’ as I face my life under my imaginary spot light, it’s not right but we do it anyway and say ‘hey, have a nice day’. We’re kinda stupid that way.
Zombies Among Us
We are in danger of becoming zombies.
They lurk in wait, the ghouls that gorge
upon the suffering of others,
living dead that feast upon mountains of misfortune,
invented from mundane molehills.
Fear mongers who descry death
and conspiracy behind
kittens and butterflies.
And every time we spare them
a minute of our time to read their
wraith-like wailings we hand over
part of our soul.
No, don’t press ‘play’, it isn’t playful.
It’s hurtful, aimless, mindless brainwashing.
The zombies are trying to make you believe
that their lives are more important than your own,
It’s not news, it’s the internet zombies
trying to eat your brain.
Gain control, alt, delete.
There are zombies inside your computer!
#167
It’s okay to come to this site though. This is a zombie free zone!
Dietary Blues
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day
That is what the diet gurus and the doctors say.
It’s also where the two diverge and no one can agree
on whether 2 or 5 more meals are what is good for me.
Some say browse, some say graze, but I’m not a deer or cow
Some say six small meals beats three squares, anyhow
it’s not just the carbs that are complex in this equation
breakfast, lunch, and supper are now planned like an invasion
with several stops for healthy snacks, like yogurt, fruit, or veg
I’ve eaten enough foliage today to build a hedge.
Cut salt (which is the only thing that makes a hedge edible).
Cut fat and cholesterol. It really is incredible
how overwhelming meal planning’s suddenly become
With his and hers requirements and taboos, it’s no fun
and if perchance we happen, on something that tastes good
that both of us can eat with impunity we would
eat it so darn often that we’d tire of its charms
so back into the dietary fray, we take up arms
and forge ahead though meal planning’s getting to be a bore
Just put it in a pill, I don’t want to cook no more.
#166
Linda Studley 