Biggots see maggots in humans resting, and yet more land to survey.

This is an ordinary day
starting with a hopeful 
attitude of anticipation.

I am delving into
the cupboards of my mind 
and daring to open cans
or boxes filled with 
shredded golden wheats
of happiness or tribulations
in hopes of aiding
my awakened hunger
and help nourish
my thoughts into maturity.

The effort to improve
only increases
my appetite for greater portions
and I find myself pulling 
ever larger quantities of foodstuff
from my brain until I am covered
with the Jell-O and sugar substitute,
both satisfyingly sweet
but, alas, my reward for the day.

I surrender to the sweetness.
I.e. it’s just an ordinary day.

It’s been a good month.
Lots of good poetry. Good
bye, friends. Til next time.

Blindfolded with a tube of blood. 
I tried to glue the seemingly broken pieces back together. 
It made me sick to my stomach. 

Pale as the moon in the night sky, 
with my heart burned by the afternoon sun. 
Dehydrated and slowly dying,  
thinking things would never change for the better. 

22 months  
95 weeks 
669 days 
Time teaches you valuable lessons. 

I stopped waiting for you. 

The funny thing about damaged people, 
is that you love them even more knowing they’re not perfect.
My beautiful China doll never broke,
he was only picking up some glue to repair himself. 

I recovered, and so did he.

Science says it takes about 200 hours
Being together with someone
To become a true friend

Some books are hard to let go
Friends left on a shelf
For so many years

Old shoes have served so well
Walking companions weathered through time
Yet their tongues cannot talk

Reach out to another
At any store
In line at the P.O.

In a minute or two
One common theme
Makes an instant 200 hour friend

Many thanks to all my new and yet to be new friends on Lexpomo. This is such a great place to be… and craft our written work. Keep the candle lit and take care all!

Strong   

as a full-grown bull
no flaccid flesh only bulge
through loose fitting pants & t-shirts

spoons and fork handles bend
when he touches them even tines bow
like I do to keep things smooth

he bends over in the garden
pulls weeds yet never bends
to pick up a mess on an indoor floor

unyielding to wishful begs
to quit maligning utensils
I hide a few for me to use

but if I forget he’ll make sure
I know he used my fork and spoon
by bending them too

Thick, low
lines of
cumulus clouds
migrate north,
each billow
at a
steady pace.
Thicker white
above remains
still, calm— 
like our
June days,
varying forecasts
across our
bluegrass state.
We now
continue on
into hopeful
goldenrod tomorrows,
to join
together again
next time.
Til then,
we bid
one another
a fond
adieu.

I think I was made
created only to take
care of all others

I meant to play

With words each day

Organizing them with rhyme and line

I meant to enter

A poem each day

Carefully typing and spacing

Instead I played

Riding horses in Wyoming

Driving there and back between the lines

Instead I connected

With family and friends

Who live in different places and spaces

Instead my life

Became the poem

That reflects my time and my rhythm