Best Routines Poems
some bright sequins of fun shined amidst dull threads of routines... art time none
We all establish our routines
Which differ man to man
And stick to them (we women, too!)
Both when and if we can.
The time we wake, our washing up,
The toothpaste that we use,
The breakfast that we eat or not,
The paper we peruse…
The games we play, the friends we call,
The places we hang out,
The TV shows we watch or don’t
Define what we’re about.
Some people like to shake things up
And vary their routines
But mine are as embedded
As my blood type or my genes!
I used to be excited on Fridays.
I used to have interesting plans.
My weekends were non-stop hectic,
my time was in high demand.
Now I live in repeated patterns,
I’m a servant to boring routines.
A fleshy teenage automaton,
waiting for science to intervene.
Oh, I'm readier than a girl-scout,
I’m more prepared than a marine,
I’ll be out the door like a cartoon coyote,
the second I’m shot with vaccine.
Breaking up the day into coffee and cabernet,
energy and relaxation, sunrise and sunset routines.
—by poet
Sunrise coffee, percolating,
poured into four seasons.
As soon as the mug’s drained,
brush pearly teeth, slide frothy floss,
Touch the sky where the sun should be;
the reach of xanthous rays.
Leftover steam from coffee-up -
blow on the sky; blue hue.
Cabernet in late afternoon;
cerise-cheers at sunset.
Dress down in seasonal pjs.
Brush pearls ‘til they sparkle.
Touch the sky where the moon should be -
the soothe of milky-white.
Remains a drop, dark berry -
the twilight sky infused.
Dark and ordinary mornings start,
with haptic taps from my Apple watch,
and a yawning stretch, way before dawn.
I glance out my window, to check,
the weather because that’s the spec,
that decides whether, we’re outside,
or we’re down to the gym inside.
“Alexa, brew,” I compel my AI
thank God, she understands,
and my Keurig gurgles to life.
I brush the ‘ol tusks and wash my face,
before wiggling into spandex and taking a place
on the bench by the door where our shoes are stored.
When Lisa comes out, stout coffee in hand,
she slumps on the bench, with a sleepy pout.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she confides with a yawn,
“I barely closed my eyes - then it was dawn!”
Checking my watch, I haven’t the heart,
to say ‘dawn’s a half hour after we start.’
Every morning we rise and jog a five K,
we decided, last year, that it’s the best way,
to jump-start our brains and start our day.
Poets write about love, pure and chaste,
and less about morning alarms and toothpaste
but in these moments, the ways we start our day,
can influence our lives in interesting ways.
The alarm interrupted my sleep with the urgency of lust
or sudden inheritance - only to end up being neither.
“Alexa, good morning,” I say, as I stretch. My room lights illuminate - in red mode - like a submarine lit for night routine and my Keurig springs to life.
How could someone living my dull, slow, academic life be so walking-dead tired in the morning? After all I got - trying to focus on my tiny Apple watch - 4 hours sleep. I rubbed my dry eyes and auroras traveled across my lids.
When I pull open my drapes, all I see is a waning moon suggesting light to a dark world. I step around abandoned clothes, lying where they fell like soldiers.
Aggk! I recoil when I see a three-day-old corpse in the mirror.
Ugh, gross, I fell asleep wearing my facial detox mask.
My clock reads 5:40am. I whisper to my AI, “Alexa, what’s today’s forecast?” “Currently, It’s 21°, today will be sunny with a high of 27°” she whispers back.
In a moment of non assignment related forethought, while tooth brushing, I strip my pillowcase, tossing it on a pile of dirty clothes next to the full hamper of equally dirty clothes.
MattyBRaps begins throbbing “Little Bit” in the room next door. That means Leong’s awake - she’s obsessed with a 15 year old boy-singer on YouTube.
I wiggle into my spandex, grab my iPad and water bottle, then head down to the basement gym. I can replay my chemistry class while walking on the treadmill.
Good morning.
What do theologians call a life without events?
The lights of my prison-like room dawn before sun's first blush.
I open sand-papery eyes as my AI announces the morning.
I begin the puppetry of morning routines:
I study my pale inmate face as I polish the porcelain.
I look less of a drowsy-angel than a zombie as I splash cold water
on the face with an almost determined lack of expression.
I’m absorbed in an ocean of predawn cold
as I 5-mile-walk away my sleepiness - this small freedom
- keeps me fit and acceptably sane.
Later, bathed in hot indifference,
and clothed in exhausting obligations,
I dine, at my reserved table, with my gang of irritations.
Soon I’m ready for another taxing day
of waiting for the disease to run its course.
he sat there in his room
gently shaking his head as
he chalked ducks on the floor
which then he carefully fed
over in the corner
watching him with glee
the asylum keeper counted
from one to ninety three
ceaselessly repetetive
each number chanted out
sometimes in a whisper
sometimes in a shout
the warden made his rounds
with his little boxes of pills
each chosen for efficacy
on a multitude of mental ills
they washed them down with water
on sundays gin and rum in lieu
carefully rationing the alcohol
to never more than a tot or two
and there were watchers watching
the watchers as they watched the rest
each watching watcher watched
in that observed observation test
it all made perfect sense of course
he thought as he shook his head
ensuring that each chalked duck
received its proper share of bread
and every single morning
when their clock struck ten
the asylum keeper blew a whistle
and the routine started off again
It’s funny the different people you meet in life who follow a similar routine…walk with me a moment and I’ll tell you what I mean.
Besides the first birds of the morning and the rabbits and other animals I greet along the way…there’s Bob who walks his dog at the same time every day.
There’s the old people sitting on the deck of their assisted living home…I usually count three…old people who are also up early…old people just like me.
There’s Stella, the homeless lady..who, I imagine, has lost her way…there’s the old man in a blue car who waves as he passes me each day.
And then there’s Oscar and Olivia another older couple who always pass me by…who love to do their walking under the moon…or a starlit sky.
I hadn’t seen Oscar and Olivia in a while…until just the other day when I noticed up ahead of me…Oscar walking my way.
“Hey, Oscar!” I asked innocently, “Where is Olivia this fine day?”
Oscar’s head bowed ever so slightly as he told me Olivia had passed away.
“I’m so sorry, Oscar.” I said as my own emotions I couldn’t hide.
“Let me tell you what I told Olivia,” Oscar said, “as I held her hand…the day she died.”
“I told her I’d loved her all my life…II told her never ever to forget…how my love for her was waiting in my heart long before the day we met.”
I told her I hope my love for her has matched all the love for me she’s shown…
I told her how I loved our walks together…and because I have our memories…I will never walk alone…
And I told her not to worry about me…though I’m not sure where…or when…
I have so much love for her that will be waiting…until we meet again…
I still follow my same routine each morning…I say hi to the animals, to Bob and his dog, to Stella, to the old folks…and before I’ve traveled vary far…as if our clocks are synchronized…I wave to the the man in the blue car
And when I see Oscar coming toward me…as always…out of his way I politely slide…
giving him all the room he needs to pass…with Olivia by his side.
Caregiver's Whispers
I know enough that age edged
and this ailment agent ridged
you onto this bed.
A bus that never travel places
But loops with different faces
In the morning, afternoon, and night.
While whose owners recite
pay you with their backs and brains.
Even though sometimes
the physiology of your body
and the chemistry of their day
shear a slight fate to swear,
it is totally blameless on any!
Perhaps the yoke of the routines
which bang us amid scenes
because it is priceless
to trade brain in for bread.
So, when you close your eyes,
wink at me with opened heart prize
Today I’m thankful for routines
Because if part of my routine is doing something
healthy…
for me…
that I adore…
Then I’ll be doing something today…
my future self will thank me for
In the morning
We say goodbye to each other,
At night we return --
This routine is comfortable,
One day it will be different.
I
Wet sky, I
Must greet morning
Rewards my eye
Flying beings swarming
II
Birds, bats, locusts?
Suddenly swarms sundered -
Sundered by Comorants
Usual places wet
None for drying
Winged variety morning
Commuting to feed
As employees do
Routines go on
Beautiful -- wet, too
go to bed •think bemusingly of you
loop (cond) { tomorrow }
I rise in the morning,
jog an 8K •thinking of you, wash up
drink some flavored, black coffee
watch the morning sun balloon
eat toast while reading a set amount
write my unique and uninteresting analysis
work on half a dozen, odd assignments
walk .8 miles to campus •thinking of you
team up, with some older, uninteresting guys
interview a focus group, present dataset interpretations
walk .8 miles back to my flat •thinking of you
eat while reading a set amount
go to bed •think bemusingly of you
loop (cond) { tomorrow }
I rise in the morning…
.
.
Songs for this:
Falling Down a Wellby Jack J
Overtime (pt 1) by Mk.gee [E]
I am a creature of habit…which fundamentally means…
I find comfort in the way my life follows certain customs and routines.
At the same time I am not averse to change…which fundamentally means…
I also find comfort when my life follows new routines.
I loved the daily routines when or children were growing up…I thought it was so cool
from diapers and bedtime stories…to driving them to school.
When they grew up…were on their own…and our house moved at a slower pace…
we discovered a new routine…that took the old one’s place.
Waking up together every morning…walking together at first light
laughing…sharing meals…TV…reading in bed each night.
Grandchildren changed our routine again…there was soccer every Saturday.
Our family began scheduling get togethers…dinners, birthdays…holidays.
Our Christmas routine has changed…but it’s one of the best changes we could see…
helping our children and grandchildren understand the magic of Christmas…
starts and ends with family.
To some…routines may not seem sexy or romantic at first glance…
but I think they are magical…if we give them half a chance.
What if, instead of viewing them as mundane, we were able to see
the routine in any day of our life is another page in our biography?
Then turning back to any page we would see the magic of routines…
is where life and living coincide….
and we would come to understand…
that’s where our happiness resides.