A soft boiled egg perched in a cup
with a jaunty, hand knit cap on top
and buttered toast cut into strips
to dunk so you didn’t miss a bit
of the bright yellow yolk
so smooth and delicious
who knew that eggs
could be so malicious
as to hide the fiend cholesterol
that would lead to a dietary fall
from grace. All I can say is “Crap,
now what’ll I do with the jaunty cap?”
#246
Why write about life
When it’s waiting to be lived
Shut down, go outside.
#245
My head feels like it’s spinning
but it’s really just a procession of
turning points, back to back, spiralling
just out of reach.
Opportunity knocking at my brain
then running away.
So many opportunities that
by the time I’ve mourned the fact
that I can’t take advantage of them all,
yet another set has slipped away.
I could grab one and stuff it in my pocket
but it would probably fade,
like a bus transfer that you roll and fold
until it resembles flannelette.
No, I think I’d better catch it with my teeth,
like a jungle cat, and drag it away,
up into a tree and devour it.
Yes, opportunities should be devoured.
Turning points should be stalked, pounced upon,
and devoured.
#244
I’m a merry-go-round girl
in roller coaster world
and I wonder as I swirl
through a wrong turn in mid air.
I’m a Sunday Driver waking
at a Nascar starting gate and
I’m pretty sure I’ve taken
another wrong turn somewhere.
I’m a bunny hill kinda gal at the top of Everest
I’m dog paddling in the middle of the sea
I don’t know what went wrong but I’m gonna make a guess
I took a wrong turn at Albuquerque.
Me and Bugs
We took a wrong turn at Albuquerque.
#243
Foolishness accepts
only the facts that support
its myopic lens.
Realists believe
their version of what is real
is the only truth.
Dreamers just ignore
anything that doesn’t fit
their beautiful dream.
Wise ones know that they
will never have all the facts.
Wisdom always doubts.
#242
As we fall up we
take turns catching each other
sometimes I catch you
sometimes you catch me.
the trick is to never let
our feet touch the ground.
#241
I think I lost my ticket.
Or perhaps I bent, spindled,
mutilated or folded it illegible.
It happens that way sometimes
when you hold it in your hand too long,
twiddling it, fiddling with it,
absent mindedly clenching and
unclenching your hands around it
as though the destination could
be absorbed through the skin,
a sweat stained dermal transference.
So perhaps it was just a transfer I lost,
not the ticket.
Wait, here is the ticket in my pocket.
I take it out but cannot bring myself to read
the destination.
#240
Tea in a chipped cup.
Love lives in the little things
Every day now.
Every day now
I understand that to see
I must close my eyes.
I must close my eyes
To feel the love that lives in
tea in a chipped cup.
239
I knew it wouldn’t have mattered
how many apples I had
you wouldn’t want any.
You didn’t like apples.
No one ever brought you apples.
And how could I have known
how long it would take to reach that other town?
I couldn’t drive back then,
I could barely ride my bike.
I’ve never paid attention to how long it takes
to drive anywhere, even now.
But if, one day, while driving to town
at sixty miles an hour, I should meet you
coming from the other direction
driving at forty five miles an hour,
I’ll wave.
#238
When I’m confused or tired,
sick, or sad, or hurting,
I look for something mindless,
familiar, and diverting.
A book I’ve read a dozen times
a movie memorized
to the point where I can quote
everybody’s lines.
A puzzle with big pieces,
songs I know by heart,
things where I am confident
that I can do my part.
Yes, I like to do the mindless
every now and then
and give my mind a rest
before diving in again
to wrestle with conundrums
life litters ‘long the way.
Yes, I think I’ll take a break
and ‘Do the Mindless’ today.
#237
Linda Studley 