Then suddenly it stops –
The mind of much –
But not enough –
It stops to pause in thought.
And blinking by a lifetime,
The thought pause never stops –
I'm refusing to lose hope
there's rising evil in this idyllic world
~ let me catch my breath
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Wakey, wakey!
The buzz from my advanced THRITY THREE TEN seem to yell
Opened windows slapped aging mango leaves on my face
Monday already? Morning already?
Granny’s creaking chair again!
Savoring with folks of mine the bland toast with juicy old gossip, mom’s warm smile
Welcomed into my everyday worn out NIKE with pain
Unending miles, but starts with a mile.
The bus took forever to come
Even when it came two minutes, fifty-seven seconds earlier,
Latest gossip rent the air, formally strangers banded like long lost brothers
Monday already? Morning already?
Of course, the day went by quietly as usual
The honking of tired vehicles continually pierced my ears
It seems like the beggars made a fortune again
Afternoon ended, the sun is setting.
Inspiration Mode: LOADING
Obviously, this early dinner has become part of us
Worth it though, because I was stolen by a dreamless sleep…
Wakey, wakey!
Morning already?
It's all in your head.
It's all in your mind.
One day, you'll be dead.
One day, you'll be hard to find.
We say, "we wish we could fly."
We say, "Give us some time."
They'll work you till you die,
They'll work you till you commit a crime.
Freedom is only in your head.
Freedom is only in your mind
i am a house with the doors left open
for too long.
too many footsteps have walked in
dragging their storms with them.
i do not know how to tell them
i have no space left
to shelter their rain.
i try to listen, to nod, to stay—
but the ceiling is cracking.
i can’t hold up another storm.
so maybe this time,
i will lock the door.
i will sit in the quiet
and hold my own hand first.
My bedroom is such a mess
The room of a hoarder
It makes me feel depressed
I am exhausted when I open the door to it
I can barely climb over the stuff and flop on the bed.
I would clean it but I am too tired to get started.
Start with one box, my friends say.
I did that a few years ago.
It did not help much.
Mess creates depression
Depression inspires exhaustion
Exhaustion spells nap.
It ends with a crash.
Exhaustion.
It’s a wobbly feeling in my feet.
When I’m walking, on the sidewalk.
Three days ago, I slept.
But that notion is far away now.
I had so many opportunities to sleep.
With a blanket, and bed.
And comfort.
This feeling of my feet collapsing under me.
It feels cold, and spreading.
The crowd mutters.
The crowd wonders.
The crowd makes me a spectacle.
My heartbeat.
My blood pressure.
When did I last sleep?
I don’t.
what you won't hear
what you will never hear from me:
pieces of words that fit together
unheard
like a mantis prayer
but still i bother
like a bite that's stronger than it's size
a little thing that breaks the sky
like a box jellyfish
a crack in a sheet of stratus clouds
a golf ball at the speed of light
one unit
fulfills its purpose in it's own way
but right now
it needs to rest.
fallen leaves gathered
plastic sacks for discarding
my tired, aching back
not again is my refrain
boy next door has autumn job
written September 1, 2021
Have you ever come to the end of the day,
and can run the clock back play by play,
and can add it up that supposedly
it was the day it was suppose to be,
but somehow it seems that no time has gone
like a broken record playing on and on,
and you think back through all the things you’ve done -
every day every deed bleeding into one,
and you can’t help but feel just a little fear
and hopelessness, cause it isn’t clear
what it’s all about, why you rise each day
fight the fights you fight, play the games you play,
do the things you do, “Just what the hell for”
for you’ve done it all a thousand times before,
and could keep on going til the bitter end,
and perhaps you will but what purpose then
does it serve, and so your left with not
but to sigh and deal with what you’ve got,
and just keep moving for you know what they say…
tomorrow will be a bran new day.
I am so drained,
a tired mind,
melted into goo
upon a platter.
Limp butter-soaked
biscuit,
no longer warm.
This Time Poison Air
has scarred the GREEN Walk
Drab BLUE Skies
painted by GREY Promises
We made For the earth
Rich Soil BROWN is Dead BLACK exhausted with ruin
PINK CORAL blushes in poor health
like a decayed tooth crumbling Bone WHITE
Pasty liquidated MOSS GREEN Sea of Life
splayed permanence.....................
no sun to revive the sparkle of GOLDEN Light
September 17, 2019
Life Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Ironic Zinc
The early morning hours dripped with the heaviness of the atmosphere,
the pseudo breeze simply stirred the stagnant oppression of the air.
On the rose-colored patio blocks just within the edge of overhanging shadows
the furry gray squirrel sprawled out basking with all fours and tail stretched
to the limits of his tiny body panting in the anxious desire of relief.
Though I tapped the glass door he contemplated me reluctantly
yet did not move his position and then he stood up, ruffled his plump feathery tail and slowly tiptoed toward the garden. He slipped in and out the greenery until he found the spot, a small patch of dirt untouched by growth. He scratched and scratched again, then it appeared he had collapsed yet remained alert and awake, He rolled left then right, bringing his hind legs up as if in a fetal position and he kicked and rolled and rolled again until the dirt rose in cloudy puffs.
Then it last he stilled, relaxed and cooled, he lay calm and refreshed for a moment then two then three, ready to take on the day.
Recreating the same
Eventful episode
Going through my head,
Reopening the main source to my
Exhaustion only
To feel a shiver going to down my
Spine
Wishing on a star,
I wanted a car;
But a horse walked by;
Winked its’ big brown eye;
And I had a ride.
The night is late
My horse just ate;
This poem’s sure,
Full of manure.
Still I write
In the night;
Though I’ve not
One thing
To say;
NON.
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