Count your fingers and toes!
It's five that drives betides!
For our minds can't juggle
More than five at once.
Can't grip, grasp sense - six.
How we sense and perceive,
Also comes in five flavors.
Touch, sight, smell, taste, hearing,
Which constrains, contorts our thoughts,
Into believing we know what's
Right, true, all so insightful!
But, why or why five?
Has ego, fear, doubt, desire
Succumbed to fingers and toes?
So we can't go further
Than a high fivefold dive?
All those movie characters
Crying in the shower
Definitely staged
But guess not
Short fits of panic
Fizzing in the steam
My lifelike dreams
Scare me
Waking up
Between dreams
To realize
You were never there to begin with
Never there for me,
When I needed you most
Yet the warmth, the smell
Felt so
Seemed so real
It’s a shame
Your words were somewhat of comfort
And there were bejeweled moments
That I treasured
But they’re all gone now
Can’t go back to what it was before
Those who break my heart
Thrice,
Fivefold,
They are done for
The fantasical school life
The fall festivals
All of my own concoction of
My subconscious
My past
Haunts me
This Halloween
My thoughts
Petrify me
Nostalgia mixed with
Bubbles of
What coulda, shoulda, woulda happened
I pause in my own thoughts
Falling
Are the role models
I’ve looked up to
Where are they now
There are no heroes
Everyone is human
And somehow that is
The most frightening
Somehow hope is lost
My anxiety
Creeping on me
And I am losing it
I am probably losing it
And I just wish to god
Things would
Get better
Fruitful faeries flying freshly frightenly faraway
Flashing flea-bitten furry fireflies fantasy fey,
Faux flash-dancing flowery figs flowing flippantly free,
Ferocious fierce foursome fruit-flies flying fantasy’s flea.
Fast-fingered flicker formidably frugally fit flexible.
Frosting frilly flounder’s fluorescent fetish fully fixable.
Fanciful freckled fathomably frosted filly fibs flitting,
Fashionable forcefully fanatical farmhand fuzzily fretting.
Fun-loving, flippant foolhardy fivefold finger’s foghorn.
Fooled fellow’s fervent fleecy foppish fire fuzzily forlorn.
Fantastical fanged frolicking fishy fuzzy fickle frills.
Fixes froggy’s fanciful fanned fox figs from freezing Frankfort.
I am walking in silence,
listen to water and wind,
notice
the frost on the leaves in the shade,
the fivefold symmetry of the columbines,
the pica scurrying across the scree.
My feet follow
the rhythm of my breath
which, in turn, is molded
on the contour of the mountain.
My thoughts are
of breathing and walking,
breathing and walking
until I reach the summit
and realize
I spent the morning
in meditation,
every step
a prayer.
July 2, 2018
I must build a shelter, to fight off the cold.
A rugged fortress lest poachers return –
My bloody blazer, now, filthy fivefold!
I am shivering cold; fire won’t burn.
I stealthily creep seeking higher ground.
With every fear a worn mind can churn,
I crawl beneath some trees; more wood is found.
Two bundles, brushwood: birch twigs, logs, to burn.
I build a warm blaze upon the bare earth.
Then, cook up some vittles: vermin and fern.
While feeding my hunger, I loosen my girth.
Then, see a mineshaft; my hope starts to yearn.
Distantly hidden, completely unmanned.
Through the north woods I come, my bow in hand.