I heard a small sneeze from my closet
knew it was the gremlin who hides in there
he is usually more cautious, silent but deadly
another sneeze; he must be sick
I got out my Vicks and my Therma flu
grabbed him by the ears and dragged him out
he was horrified, thinking he had been a secret
think again buddy, I was a mother once
he was kicking, biting and scratching me
I barely felt it, due to his small size and tiny teeth
cut it out, I told him I am trying to save your life
he does not speak English, a whisper said
I looked up and saw yellow eyes
It was a vampire bat
Just another monster living in my closet
I did not even know about this one
I pushed the gremlin and Vicks back in and slammed the door
what about that Therma Flu asked the bat?
Crap. An intelligent vampire bat.
There really are monsters in my closet!
Cut the budget
Cut the fraud
Cut the bullcrap
Cut the lies
Cut, cut, cut it out!
Finding ways to reduce spending while spending is diabolical. Spending millions on a military parade is waste management at its finest.
What in the Big Beautiful Baffling Bill is going on?
When I was young we use to say, “Robbing Peter to pay Paul.” The “rich” are probably clueless to this saying, but the struggling people lived, know and understand the meaning of this statement.
“Robbing Peter to pay Paul” meant, taking from one to give to another. More like, taking from one end to make ends meet on another end. For example, taking some of the money from the light bill to put that money on the water bill.
Ssh, the way I see it, when it comes to this administration, it’s robbing Peter and Paul.
I didn’t plant that garden tree
But thinking, I just let it be
I knew I should have cut it out
But felt within to let it sprout
And so, as seasons came and went
I pruned this tree, its bole I bent
Around the gable of my shed
But left the limbs above my head
The years passed by and I grew old
I hated heat and shunned the cold
My garden work became a chore
As summer days my patience wore
But resting underneath that tree
Allowed me time to watch and see
The beauty of my garden wrought
And all the neighbored friends it brought
A bunny comes to taste my beets
While shaded so, I rest my feet
A bumble-bee’s contralto thrum;
A promise of much more to come
Badgers, robins, the house finch red
All come with hopes of being fed
And I, too tired to wield my hoe,
Am glad I let that elm tree grow.
Love Really Is Everywhere
I Like Puzzles
In The Making.
I Like Puzzles
When They're Done.
-Gray Squirrel
05-18-2025
Save this for later.
Put It On Repeat
If You Want...
Backwards,
I Don't Care...
Yes You Do!
***
I'll Shut-up.
Oops. Isn't That Just
Like-Like-Like-Like?
Words Are Stupid.
Once The Novelty Wears Off,
Then The Dreams All Dissipate...
What Recognition Do You Require?
Even There. More Tricks.
And Now, And Here.
And Later.
And NOT Later Too!
I Don't Wanna Be Responsible For This.
-Gray Squirrel
05-18-2025
Oh, I Get It...
Love Really Is Everywhere
But Words Are Stupid!
AND Words Are Stupid.
Underneath.
*******
Maybe Deleted:
I Have To Wait A Whole Day To
Post This?
Be Patient...
It Needs Aging...
Let The Novelty Wear Off...
Cut It Out!
This is Ending Up Just
Being Self-Promoting Again, Isn't It?
Probably.
I Hope Not.
You Need To Meet More People,
Make More Friends.
No Thanks.
Don't Be Jealous,
Don't Be Mad.
Why Not?
Don't Tell Me What To Do.
I Couldn't Wait.
I’d take a knife and cut it out
like some deep-down infected gout
if only it were there under my skin.
I’d prick a vein and let it bleed,
free flowing, nothing to impede
if I thought it were streaming deep within.
I’d amputate it bit by bit
til there was nothing left of it,
then throw it piece by piece into the grind.
I’d heat a rod to glowing red,
then press and cauterize instead
of letting it live on, but I can’t find
just where it is inside in me.
I’ve stared into my eyes to see,
but all the mirror shows are signs of age.
I’ve knelt and prayed and tried to hold.
I’ve walked the line while growing old
but somehow, I can never turn the page.
And so I guess all I can do:
keep going. I suppose it’s true,
you cannot just give up and let it win.
So, I will hide the way I feel
and try to find a way to deal…
with the hidden pain that dwells within.
Sometimes I spit fire so hot Hell would be jealous. Most days my words burn people who Ignite my lonely flame, when they trigger an emotion and somehow cause me pain. Oftentimes it stings them to their core, they become riddled with doubt of the things they once thought to be true before. A glossectomy is something I am thinking of more and more.
Our love is like a tumor;
It grows and grows and grows,
And that can be so wonderful,
unless it’s on your nose.
Our love is like a tumor;
It makes me want to shout,
But after six months, baby,
It’s time to cut it out.
Our love is like a tumor;
It started out with ease,
But now it feels a lot more like
A terminal disease.
Our love is like a tumor:
A surging love, so great.
But it’s become disfiguring;
It’s time to radiate.
I write in slabs.
Grey. Square. Stone.
They work so well.
Work as they’re meant to
Side by side. Line them up in rows.
Two by two. Four by Four. Eight by eight.
My words multiply and bloom, and something spills within them.
Tumbling from fingers, cascading out towards shining azure sky.
A saffron flower curling verdant through the cracks.
An accident of sunlight and rain.
And they see it. I see it.
I hate it. Cut it out. No good.
Pull up the weed.
Nice try weed. But not now.
No more of that.
More slabs.
Black silhouette
One of the reminders that her child had existed
He cut it out himself after his friend drew it
She admired the imperfections of the cut.
Loved remembering how quickly Jackson had to do everything
Not caring if it was perfect, as long as it was done
So he could move on to something new
Graffiti on my heart
The threads pulled apart
A battered thing
It can no longer sing
So vital but so fragile
When pain is agile
It splatters to the floor
Covering it in gore
I cut it out myself
And it will sit on my shelf
Because I don't need it
And these periodic fits
I just want to feel whole
That's my biggest goal
But how I fail and fail
And happiness sets sail
So sorry to say
That I lost my way
My mask is breaking
My hands are shaking
I'm divorced of feeling
No chance for healing
My heart is on a shelf
I cut it out myself
Covered in gore
It's no longer on the floor
When pain is so agile
It leaves a heart fragile
It can no longer sing
That battered thing
The threads pulled apart
With graffiti on my heart
Solemn
As I walk alone,
the path before me,
long and full of pain,
my thoughts are only on you.
You went forward,
when others ran or fell beside.
You went into the fray,
not afraid to pray,
for your fellow man,
even for your enemy.
I want that,
I want to be reborn.
I want to want serving,
more than living.
I want to know that the King,
knows my name,
assuredly,
I am lost without Him.
I have tried to repair my own heart.
I have cut it out, placed it before God...
and both cried and screamed equally.
He simply waited until I was done.
At the end, not the beginning,
of my rant, I came to realize,
that we are all children.
A tantrum, yet to be had,
a whim yet to be met,
in a life, full of promise,
and sometimes...
regret.
Let me dance for you Lord,
Let me sing out your name.
I want to be separate from the crowd.
I want to fly with angels,
walk with saints,
and do all things in Your Honor,
for your Glory,
that you...
would want me,
to do.
Amen.
I'm looking for another heart, a new one, por favor,
See, mine is cold and broken - I don't want it anymore ...
It served me well for quite a while, and beat with rhythm, sure,
But its seams are torn and ragged since I heard "goodbye" from her.
I only want a meager one - I don't plan to use it much,
Not for joy or hope or loving, just pumping blood and such.
I won't need help exchanging it, of that, I have no doubt ...
There's no surgery required ... she already cut it out.
I'm looking for a human heart,
A brand-new one, por favor,
Mine's quite cold and broken,
I don't want it anymore.
It served a purpose for a while,
And it beat with rhythm, sure ...
But its seams are old and ragged,
Since I heard "goodbye" from her.
I'll only need a modest one,
I don't plan to use it much,
It won't be tasked with loving,
Just pumping blood and such.
I won't need help exchanging
The old one, that's no doubt,
There's no surgery required -
As she already ... cut it out.
could be dying tomorrow
Death would be a heart piecing arrow
Fading away from the very core including the bone marrow
I should be dying tomorrow
My smile shines every hour
But its the heart that needs power
Breaking into pieces by agony
I laugh
I laugh so loud
Until the only voice heard is mine
Mine,pain
it has been so intreached in me
As though I am the reason it exists
Mine,anger
I am so angry
I am angry I did not have a normal childhood
I am angry am not having a normal womanhood
Mine,love
Its intense to me
Yet blocked to them
Mine,pain again
I cut it out of me
Now and then
Mine pain again
Its in my bloodstream
I should end the circulation
Blue skin,no breathe
Dreams do come true
Mine,no breath
In tears they are
Its tomorrow morning,
Gasping
Twiching
Suffocating
Am dying
Dying from Mine
Mine pain
Mine anger
Mine love
Mine pain again
Mine pain again
Am dead.......
Its late tomorrow
Pulse...
I re-born.
“Hey, Guitar, you’re such a prima donna,
Always out the front of the stage,
Thinking you’re the biggest in the band,
With some drugged, delusional rage.”
“What’s that Drums? I can’t hear what you say,
Walk up here and tell me your woe.
Just walk over here, like other instruments do,
Anytime, during the show.”
“Yeah, whatever, I’m too important to move,
I’m better than a little fretted thing,
I am the beat, the tempo, leading the entire band,
And I own what the singer can sing.”
“You two, cut it out, neither of you are the real big thing,
You aren’t what the crowd wants to see,
We all know they come to hear my blues,
Hear me, the harmonica, play blues in key”.
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