(“I of the Beholder”, 2014, original pen and ink)
My Mind
My mind is a labyrinth
Organic with its tendrils
Flowing like a stream
Following every which-way gravity takes
Clearly without a mind of its own!
It leads me through dark places
And into the light
Yet it never lingers
As any rise in my emotion
Just causes it drop off a cliff
And then I am soaring again
Or plunging as the case may be
It matters not if it is day or night
Above or below ground, in fact
I’m not sure anything matters on its twisted way
But I can’t fault this fickle friend
It doesn’t really mean me harm
As it pushes my buttons and pulls my chain
I know, like an exuberant child or pup,
It just wants to show me what it sees with love.
(9/6/25)
I walked past the cherry trees today,
Their petals, falling every which way.
As if it were pink snow: soft, light, and rose.
Taking in the breeze before being cast down to the shadows.
I stopped and stared, simply standing alone,
The world around me seemed to turn to stone.
It was as if someone had hit pause there,
With blossoms dancing through the air.
It made me think of all we lose,
Of precious moments gone that we didn't choose.
Like friends who fade from memory, their smiles coming to an end,
Or when you fight and can't pretend.
But even though they don't last long,
The blossoms still feel brave and strong.
They bloom, they shine, they let things go,
But they also signal the start of a new tomorrow.
A time when cold subsides and warmth arrives,
A small window where the blossom thrives.
If only its beauty could stay,
But maybe it's simply meant to show the way.
I wish I could plug
A flash drive in your ear.
I would wipe clean the worries
Hidden deep inside there.
I know they've been hiding
In camouflaged space.
Your very own virus
firmly in place.
Spreading infection
Every which way.
Squeezing the happy
Right out of the way.
It's time to recover,
Diminish your pain.
Pick up your tools.
Reclaim your domain.
Before long, I promise,
With daily scans,
You'll reboot and function
With plenty of ram.
How many kisses
have I yet received?
Each one building up my soul
to an eruption of happiness
The flowers yield their position from the sun
to follow her spirit
I watch them sway and turn
and look her way
She’s a God send
in every which way
healing brokenness
as it passes through her angel bones
I feel that I have now lived
getting to know her divine life
and I only pray
that she stays with me forever
state of affairs
entombed in pieces;
crumbs of it scatter
every which way...
at the mercy
of erratic winds,
and its next-to-impossible
to gather
in a heaping pile.
nothing can be done;
it's beyond my control.
i can't change it,
so, i adapt to it,
i accept it
as is.
My garden plots my demise
Haunts me like a living soul
The care I give is appreciated, yet expected
Each time I weed takes a toll
When it's time to prune
All hell breaks loose
The clods grow stones to throw and wound
The ears of corn hear all that I say
They stalk me, following every which way
The sly potatoes sprout eyes to spy
And the others sharpen their spears to slay.
As I sweat with tools through the rows and rows
I hear the whispered names they call
I know the slang they use , ( crying, "hoe!")
Meaning a loose woman and I'm appalled !
A drop of summer, pleasing--over there
I thought it wanted me, no want of ground
but want of me, instead a pleasant sound
of birds merging and darting thoroughfare
seemingly clueless of their doing-dare
o'er crowds busy about, looking spellbound
course to escape amiss ahead turned round
to freedom with the banners released to air.
In the opened venues queues roundabout
every which way as the buying frenzy
curtailed from end to pass the noontime lunch
crowd slowing and going but caterers doubt
that the dinner crowd will be as lengthy
till gathering increased, gave them a hunch.
I finished writing in my head
And dashed to typing, but alas
I dropped the text, it fell unsaid
Crashed down in bits, just like a vase
Words on the floor in random order
Glint in the sunny summer day
They melt like ice, and so get broader
Spread out every which way
Some quickly rot, but some are fresh
Like fruits in autumnal decline
Big nouns shine with burning flesh
Verbs, ill-begotten, spill like wine
Visceral fear ties with hope
The purpose of this bond is missing
Hopes hang themselves on silken rope
And fears flopped in bits and pieces
Words on the floor, goodbye, my dears
I have to clean the room today
Swipe off that pile of hopes and fears -
They weren’t needed anyway.
Bubbly verbose bee had so much to say.
Ideas spilled out every which way
He was a motormouth back in the day
Fifty years later, he still has his say
Drooling along,
Every day.
No matter,
What people say!
My mother says," Shut your mouth! Your spewing drool all about!"
My father says, "I'm going to bed! No more drool on my head!"
My mouth is shut tight,
But the drool takes flight!
Over my lips,
Down my chin,
On my shirt,
Where it all soaks in!
I have a lavish style of dress,
Only the very best!
And if anyone is to check,
They know my clothes,
Due to the spatter of drool,
Across my shirt and under my nose!
I'm the only one with drool splattered clothes.
As everyone knows,
The boy who drools,
Wears the best clothes!
Once I went to work,
For a company that makes pullover shirts.
They had to test,
Which material was best!
To absorb the least sweat.
So, my drool has paid off,
Now I wear a new shirt every day,
With drool dropping every which way!
In the meantime,
I used my brain,
Started a company with shirts that don't stain.
They were dynamic, their harmony was fine!
They had pared down to four, from the original nine.
The five who could not sing had pneumonia that day.
We applauded these Corgis in every which way.
They sang Joy to the World and Jingle Bells too.
Adding a bit of jazz, and then Christmas Wee Woo.
They were amazing, and we could not stop clapping.
At the end these Corgis did a bit of back slapping.
Tendrils twist and dance, guiltless, unblamed,
getaway vehicle, of the flame-
uncharged of previous transpyre, that's your game.
Like a serpent you shed your skin of the shame
of the red-handed fire.
You greasy sleaze, you leave yourself lingering,
advertising yourself on the byways,
but coy- like a transmitted disease.
Perhaps Prometheus will give you a place to lay low
till things cool down.
Maybe Haefestus knows what to do with your sort.
I think you should go to Hades,
for swaying every which way the wind blows,
you two faced liar.
But wouldn't it also be fitting if you went back to Aphrodite's Temple and returned to those
choking on the burnt offerings-
of their lust-
choking out true desire.
"We are cute spring chicks with fluffy feathers that keep
us warm; real small, like to run, and we are adorable ! "
Quote by _Constance
On a bright morn spring chicks hatched,
as the first flowers of the season bloomed;
oddly, not a single chick matched,
their fluffy feathers delightful plumbs.
Each was silly, playful and gay,
they would run every which way;
often, they wandered the barn yard going astray.
Those sweet chicks had no fear,
sometimes, suddenly they would just appear;
and to their mother would adhere.
So whimsical and frivolous to watch,
and almost impossible to catch;
I love each fluffy chick's feathery splotch,
and have a favorite that I call Butterscotch.
Seriousness leads to statehood
Eventually it does
Fun maintains anarchic mood
A peaceful little buzz
It helps the plants to grow
It colours up the day
It makes me want to go
Just every which way
I’m living on the fun side
In hiding from aggressiveness
Through time and space I gently glide
Away from seriousness
I know it stalks me anyway
To occupy my time
With suffering about what may
Occur like senseless crime
I can be judged, despised and banned
But fun’s the only thing
That never fails me in this land
Of which no bird would sing
All the calamities I’ve known
All troubles deadly heap
Can’t shatter love, which I had sown
And fun is what I reap.
mother mouse had her hands and tubs full on wash day
her children were jumping and diving and playing every which way
Pinning on the line took even more effort, but worth the trouble.
Interlopers kept coming back for more; she thought she was seeing double.
Related Poems