#856 the crybaby

she thinks her bruise is big
like a kid who thinks they're dying at the sight of their own blood
and we let her think it's a big deal
that we think she's tough
with her Ziplock baggie of ice and her Band-Aid

#855 Y

the ratio is wrong

to many mean nice words

beautiful phony smiles

no elegant behaviour to impress the other half

each word has hidden meanings

and feelings are something to stab before yours get stabbed

#854 upon cleaning the closet

no more clutter
no more floor-covering crumpled jeans
no more dust bunnies
no more mismatched socks
no more scraps of paper with scrawled to-do lists
no more
i cleaned the closet today
and promised myself to keep it tidy this time
again

#853 853

readers are impressed i have 853
that i wrote them all myself
writers are impressed i write one a day
that i share the ones that aren't ready
which impresses you more?

#852 dry clean only

two men, friends
not best friends, but good friends

the first, dressed sharp
expensive leather shoes
expensive watch
clothes pressed, no wrinkles

the second, dressed haphazard
faded t-shirt
jeans that don't see the washer until they show stains
mismatched socks worn threadbare

the clothes make the man the first man said
trying to be helpful
to offer advice he'd learned

the second man smiled
glancing at the juxtaposing attires
i think
the man makes the clothes
 






 

#851 overprotecting

boys
in push-up positions
drinking from the brook
the same brook where horses crap and algae grows
cold clear quenching water
they finish and sit by the brook
talking of whatever boys of that age
before girls dominate conversation
then they go back to the yard and find baseball gloves and a once orange hockeyball
they arrive in the kitchen for supper
hungry, home
and they grow up
healthy, happy

#850 self-injure or self-endure?

universes swell while jesus plays toilet tag in the alley
kids use mower blades as weapons
while Christians sit content in proper pews
toddlers ecstatic over someone else's trash
while towns and cities self-hypnotize in half hour segments
and i type a poem about the problems
like a helpless teen gently cuts her wrists
letting enough pain and pressure out to get through another day
but not enough to fix even one problem

#849 "rocking horse of time"

we all want release
some, like me, achieve it through tv
the ones have stories that can make a sax talk
do it through drugs
but we all seek release
from the feeling we don't belong
and maybe we're all right

#848 exterior

peel away your layers of paint
each added to hide something you didn't like
pressure wash
strip your walls to nothing
scrape if need be
then choose your colour
and apply

#847 objects and objections

waiting in the passenger seat
in a parking lot
i daydream, staring at the side mirror

i remember my first grey hair
but when did the salt first outnumber the pepper
i stare at my age
at my future

thinking of the life left in front of me
of my mortality
adds weight to the words on the mirror

my hand finds the handle
my should leans in to open the door
i stand up on the asphalt
stretch
walk around the front of the car
and get in the driver seat

#846 staying busy

the buzz of doing pushes me ahead of the dog of grief
biting at my heels
stopping is dangerous
but inevitable
and when stopping happens
i will be ripped to shreds

#845 canadian summer

sunscreen and sandal tan
pasta salad and lemonade
green grass and blue sky
barbecue and smoke from campfire
icing bright drinks and playing yard games
hot steering wheels and hands out car windows
scorching outdoor asphalt and cool indoor concrete
sand between toes and summer on your feet

#844 check

sweat and dirt mix on my skin
and feel great
a clean garage
a visible tangible result
each thing in its place
above a fresh-swept floor
my soul needed that

#843 relaxing before bed

eyes closed
i pinch the bridge of my nose
with thumb and index
trying to squeeze away all the to-do list items
i failed to accomplish today
like yesterday and the day before
but for my last few birthdays
a fact has been growing in front of me
tomorrows are a limited resource

#842 miner covered in coal dust

he is a ghost
the weight of colour tricks my eyes
the whites of his eyes glow and seem to float
not belonging to his black face
his black body
his black clothes

his eyes remind me of one of pac-man's retreating ghosts
traveling without body
the illusion causes a fear in me
a fear i stifle
a fear not unlike that of a toddler
seeing a parent dressed as a halloween vampire
he showers, removing the costume
no longer a ghost

#841 pausing

familiar chords massage my mind
lost in the lyrics i've been listening to on repeat
my attempt
at slowing down this world while i catch up with myself
the same lyrics speak to something different each time
the music has never met the clock
an hour passes without my awareness or permission
now i must press pause
and give myself to this world

#840 launching the collection

there comes a moment
when i must dissociate myself
and push with my beak
launch my small creation

watch my baby fall
but it is not my baby
just some collection of bones and feathers
for if i admitted it was my baby
i couldn't push it out of this tiny safe bowl of grass
unknown to the world

soar or splat
i will, with detachment
feel for the pile of feathers

and soar or splat, in time
i will admit and i will second guess
i will rejoice and i will grieve

#839 concentration

the shelf and its books invite me

tempting me away from the keys and the screen and the day’s poem

but i'm here to work

...

the titles, the authors’ names, dangling straight on the spine

lined up, like carcasses at an old butchershop

waiting to be devoured

tempting me away from the keys and the screen and the

#838 in defense of the office space arson

it was his stapler
he had warned them
the world coralled him
and he drew a meager line
the issue was more than a stapler
the issue was the world disrespecting the tiny space allotted one individual
and he responded in flames
he was not a violent man
unassuming and gentle
but they took his stapler, again
i applaud him

#837 highways and low days (1 G Em/ 2 Em G/ 3 CCCD)

swamp's full of words
sky's full with birds

heart filled with hurt
in an Earth filled with dirt

mind full of pain
a puddle full of rain

mouth empty of smiles
my highway out of miles

my Singer's out of songs
a voice hoarse from so many wrongs

my rainbow has turned black
my Forgiver turned his back

#836 waiting for things to pick-up

spinning tires and time on his hometown main street
waiting for his future to improve
or for the right girl to notice
burning rubber and burning thoughts past the same tired falsefronts
hoping for trouble

or for distraction
changing gears but nothing else
same old radio station
same old albums

#835 me vs. evil

i stomp an ant and feel accomplishment
but the colony does not enough laugh at my effort
does not even notice
and the march continues

#834 in common

communism
common, communal, community
democracy
"by the people for the people"
yes, communism ignores human greed
while democracy thrives on it
and we circle the world
enforcing democracy
hypocracy
my democracy must be lived before it can be spread
and even then
my democracy can be only be planted, not enforced

#833 if only

i squeeze my eyes until they spot and spiral bright
alone in my adolescent bed
and aspire to being a cool kid
and fixing my world
on the news and in the cafeteria
the world is full
of things out of my control
and so

i squeeze my eyes until they spot and spiral bright
alone in my adolescent bed

#832 "sing to the mountains"

i walk this aisle that leads to the focal point of the cathedral
this is where god lives
in the traisl of a mountains
mountains formed from a multi-billion year creative dance by Earth herself
rising up for longer than humans have existed

a perfect balance of masculine and feminine
pride and humility
a life-giving blend of light and colour
power and surrender
each leaf, each footstep, each old rock
miracles

i'll raise my voice
i'll lift my heart
i'll dress my best merrel apparel
and worship nature seven days a week

#831 i return home and he's not there anymore

my fridge died
a simple, solid, standard fridge
left-handed
the new one is good
i like it enough
it's brighter, but still, i like it
it's right-handed
it's been weeks now and still
i reach for the right side

#830 so from where does misery come

massaging your partner, relaxes you
volunteering, attracts employment
teaching material, is the best way to learn it
spending time with youth, nurtures youthfulness

#829 advancing laundry and language

words thrown in a hamper
rinsed and soaked and cycled
hung to dry
snap-flapped and folded
now donned for showing

#828 trades dreams

grass grows tall 'round the rusty sedan
where children play mechanic
dreaming of a future within the Nascar infield
but dreams and reality have not collided yet
the wreck is still around the corner

#827self-fulfillment

our checklist is done
miracle of flight, check
instant global communication
technological advancement
weapons of mass destruction
check
check
check
each item is scratched
but one