Posts for June 15, 2024 (page 6)

change blows in and I question
why, in regards to the timing
does it mean anything or mere coincidence
this could alter my course
indefinitely
it’s that big although it could be only slight
time will tell
my mind though, goes to all the places
have I lingered too long or is this my forever
opposite poles, differing viewpoints
is this a sign or an obvious fork in the road
again, time will tell
the only way through is through
so unglamorous and unsanctimonious
give it all a few days and the answer will be revealed
or it will be eventually
interesting it all came about
suddenly
although I suppose, it’s been happening all along

When you are exhausted you cannot feel at all,
and this is just one virtue of your constant pacing.
The other is that if you keep your heart in motion
the blood will never settle, you will never be
placated by stillness, or complacent with yourself
and all of your many shortcomings. You will try
to do better, be better, be perfect. You will try.
You cannot exculpate yourself from the innate
guilt of being human. You will try, but you will not
admit you are addicted to empty. You scrape apart 
your severed heart, gut it with your own hands. 
Your skull is the only thing left you cannot clear. 
But believe me, you have tried. You always try. Pass 
out in the sun, pretend to sleep. Racing in the night,
you reach near panic about the cards and the hand 
you were dealt. It could’ve been good enough
if you wanted less, if you cared less about control.
You hold onto so much, you can hold onto nothing.
The world slips around you, the gracious nightfall 
carves each day to its bones. The moon, a gaunt
face, a glittering reflection of everything beautiful 
that you will never be. It’s okay, you have accepted this
nearly. You have walked in place for six hours straight
like you do every day. The sun slowly archs and falls
as the world’s wheel turns. You are still mostly sane
by the time you finally voided a day’s worth of work.
Even if the directionless walking gets you nowhere
at least you can say you fought relentlessly for it,
that you had the stamina to kill yourself over it.
And at least you can say that you tried and tried
and tried and tried and tried and tried and tried.
You are tried. You are guilty. You are not enough.

smells like cobwebs
a dusty old like faded felt
who alive now from the 80s
didn’t have a den?
the playroom of the past
hardwood, paneling, fireplace,
leather sofa, guns on walls,
and odd deer head, or two
mix and match your own design
even if you didn’t have one
you visited a friend’s to
click Atari cartridges in place
or grab Nintendo controllers
in fact, I just might go back
walk in, rummage through
its nest of cardboard now
find the right flaps to uncover
the fun I thought we had
again

I was not looking for you today in my digital mess,
old photos, homeless and scattered, no label except
months and years which are blurry now, no
warning to prevent me from accidentally slowing down to
look in your eyes, watch you mouth words of love,
read your wishful promises I would not
recognize as lies you told both of us for
far too long, listen to your voice sing of the
passion that kept me high while the ground
below me was unhinging its jaws, ready to
swallow me into the sinkhole I am still
crawling to escape.

Tears cooled my hot cheeks while
I deleted every trace.

There’s a tiny shiver of the lake 
in the breeze
even on this leafy cloister of a street.
And when it rains, 
land and water are part of the same fogged mirror. 

Game of patience,
of curious collisions
between skill and luck,
of mostly winnable games
won only a tenth of the time
based on decisions made early.

Due to the astronomical number of card layouts
combined with unpredictable human choice, theoreticians
cannot precisely calculate the probability of victory.

You get so frustratingly,
furiously close
before the card you need
is blocked by another.
Give up. Shuffle. Redeal.
I can play this game for hours.

Solitaire has been proven to have therapeutic benefits
by offering dopamine microdoses through attainable victories
that help relax the mind and ease stress.

I have not been able
to think of write straight
since her thunder and lightning
and rain started falling.
I want to turn off my brain;
time out for a little while.

The earliest references to the origin of solitaire
mention another game, or possibly an alternative name,
Patience, the virtue necessary to win the game.

I’m hoping that she’ll text
I’m hoping that she’s real
that I haven’t misread signs
haven’t misplayed my hand
and I can’t do anything else
except turn over the next three
hoping it’s the card I need
but no it’s again blocked
by yet another card
and #!&%! Damn!
Oh well…

Give up. Shuffle. Redeal.
Breathe.
We’ll win the next one.

humans have done it,
subconsciously,
across culture and history,
probably since we lived
in the caves

for the ability to survive
is always in doubt,
not matter how many
pretty panels
we build between us

we duck, we scream,
we run, our eyes widen
(to gather as much light 
[information] as possible)

but sometimes the danger
rolls slowly toward us–
it sees us, and we
cannot escape

we feel our options
wash away like
soap down the drain

and that is when
the ancient instinct
kicks in–we fear
action means death, so we
wring our hands

excusing our cowardice
by pressing our flesh together
to announce to
That Which Approaches
that we are out of the fight

no raised fist, no bared teeth,
no battle cry,
we press our hands together
and wait for others
to act

Daddy let me pick that purple dress with umbrellas and rhinestones,
splashed on the twirly skirt. He never looked at the price tag as mama would.
He grinned with his eyes smiling as I walked out of the dressing room, dancing on my toes.
Best  birthday ever.

princess
feels left me
a glow with his love.

Sweetie Pie was a good cat.
Dropped off as a kitten, he 
blended easly into the family.

He would catch mice, moles,
and an occasional bird, 
take a bit or two, then leave my share
on the door mat, as cats do.

A month ago I found him
dead, on the road.

I got the shovel, 
but the ground was hard and
I was two weeks post
hip surgery and couldn’t dig.
(excuses)

So…..I gathered up his stiff body, 
loaded it in the wagon,
covered him with flowers

and processed down deep in 
the woods, past the range of
his stench.

I said goodbye 
then placed his body
under a tree where
vultures roost.

I haven’t been back,
but I am sure the Committee
did its job.

Birds eat cat.

I always loathe time of year when the farm next door 
akes the calves from their mothers to be sent to new
homes on other farms. The bawling heifers break my
heart into a million pieces, they cry day and night for
their missing babies. Even our dogs can’t stand it, they
bay along with the cries, as though it breaks their little
hearts too. A mother’s love is not defined by species, no,
it is merely defined by caring and understanding. There
are no boundaries to it, it is not merely a human trait.
I feel for them so much, even though I know it must be
done. That is life on a farm, after all, but for those few
days I feel my heart break anyway. For those poor girls,
those mama’s, screaming their loss into the abyss.