At the table of resistance.
On which fragile plates rest.
It's like an endless stream of tasty Kaitenzushi.
Hissing and fizzing life way.
Should you over indulge, on one too many plates.
You will end up bloated and stuck in space.
For what you resist, persists.
Thus resisting floating with a medium.
Given the temple of your body.
Adjust the right amount of calibrated meals.
Adding only what you need to the never emptying plates.
That could be processed in one seeing and seating.
If you find yourself in lost Vegas.
You could just enjoy the unique smells.
Or You could chew chew chew through every meal.
Or You could just drop your entire tray.
Too much resistance will make you a dull bulb.
So lessen the load by learning lessons in all seasons.
Yet at table of resistance one might not kneed light.
To say Itadakimasu.
In the war against herself, she’s outnumbered
She’s hoping she passes away in her slumber
She curses the sun for shining loud and bright
But hopes to grow wings and finally take flight
Hollow, chaotic yet empty expressions
Emotions that constantly fight for attention
Her eyes are filled with tears, her vision hazy
Her spark is fizzing out, and people call her lazy
Betrayal, loneliness, detachment, and confusion
After trials, these are her emotional conclusions
Slowly but surely, pieces of her will fade away
She’ll escape her cage, and you’ll beg her to stay
Hefty lefty lever trademark arc
Bazball achiever didn't embark
Whooping hooping looping shark
Hark that howling hallmark bark
Whizzing tizzing fizzing spark
Disembark batters off the park
Stoking smoking poking lark
Scary lairy fairy benchmark
Another sarky snark remark
In-jagger ragger dagger stark
Mighty Blighty's lights gone dark
Stagger..swagger malarkey of STARC!
Let’s fix a champagne socialism
I raise my fizzing glass
Cheering your most emotional
Love speech about poor us
Regardless that it’s just
A past time reverie
I drink to photographs
Where you smile at me
And smiling in return
I freeze in our time
But freezing comes like burn
Cheers, love! We’re doing fine
We were proceedingly polite
Remember this, do you?
Now we are angels in the night
With our champagne for two..
I don’t fidget anymore.
I used to play with my ponytail holder on my wrist.
Things dissolve.
A harsh, acidic dissolving.
I used to like playing guitar.
But music makes my ears burn up.
My fingers start to burn up too.
Like things that fly away from earth.
I don’t fidget anymore.
Ever since they took my ponytail holder away.
I never wanted anything back.
I feel things.
A harsh, acidic feeling.
Fizzing and creating mini realities.
My hands never came back from that.
It’s like I don’t have skin on my skin.
I can’t fidget anymore.
They took them away.
Even though my guitar is still alive.
It’s just buried with me.
I used to like things.
In this reality which seems sliced up.
I don’t fidget anymore.
I feel things like vibrations.
Vibrations like-
A factory which destroys stuff.
And that factory exists.
Where I used to hang out sometimes.
TO BEING IN LOVE’S LOVE
Being in love is an episodic emotion
Ballooned in exotic expectation
Tested by inflated orgasmic delirium
Often fizzing in diabolical diffusion:-
On the other hand,
Loving and being loved,
Is an eternal comic reality
That God spiritually bonds
To be eternal throughout life:-
How beautiful and exciting it is
To love spiritually, and eternally;
Being in the cosmic reality of
Blessed God sent true love
Ballooning beyond all
Limits and expectations:-
Being forever in love with you
Remains exciting and loving
And being loved by you is limitless,
And beyond all expectations: Praise God!
Each day I give Him thanks for the gift of you:-
dawn-born bubbles rise
lifting in glass to the sky
an exultant choir—
ringing a sacred mantra
to summon the faithful throng
the soft incense clings,
invisible yet binding,
threading through the mist—
binding spirits together
all sharing a common breath
wind shakes the blossoms
perfume drifts out as a lure
for lone foragers—
coming back with a new dance
a waggle step hymn pathway
one for one and all
though small they rise together
heart tuned to one pulse—
a common proud heritage
ancient unbroken alive
when threats bang the gate
when summer's furnace bears down
wings thunder like drums—
rallying to guard the home
defending their holy ground
let us circle close
songs and breath woven in thread
of effervescence
gracious in our common cause—
fizzing in chalice of light
SUNDAY MORNING DRIVE*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunday morning drive~
no maps, no rush,
just the open road,
Dad at the wheel, our compass.
The ribbon of road unwinding,
under blue skies, past green fields
scent of hay and honeysuckle
wafting through open windows.
Flicker of neon,
screen door's creaky welcome,
a filling station oasis,
time suspended in dusty glass.
31 cents a gallon,
a number from another time,
we choose icy delights,
sodas fizzing on our tongues.
Barns lean into the afternoon,
narrow, one lane roads
slow-motion slide show,
bygone era, simpler time.
Sunday morning
mile by unchartered mile,
nowhere together,
a destination in itself (picture below)
*Note: I published this poem as a response to Haiku Shack’s weekly prompt (Sunday mornings) on April 14, 2025. This is my original poem. haikushackprompts.substack.com/p/weekly-prompt-on-sunday-mornings
I take my pain to where ragers rage and writhe
in their self-absorbed gluttony on all-winter days
their tea cups are only for them
interspersed with silence and solitude
the streets are buildings without them
who are the signposts talking too?
I could have been one of them
I was one of them
and still am if hills facing the sun are cloud covered
and I don’t look out of the window to notice
then, in those un-costumed days, I am
but, and it has taken rotations of earth
backpacking through antonyms, through tropics
I have conquered tinnitus, now a comfort blanket
aiding sleep as a heart monitor line crossing a screen
I have conquered deep wells, now jews harps
jaw harps if you prefer, gewgaws, yes I have conquered
the cave of crawling space days
goblins are only a light switch and their rising finger away
but my rising finger plucks at overtones and distances
between neurons, between stars, between mees
its sound soothing, rubbing balm on a restive chest
the vibrations are fizzing and feeding me
I take my white noise and float away
sound, my therapy
They twitch along nerves
still wired to those fever
induced rooms, memories
of faces pressed against
windows, peering in through
curtains with their red eyes,
screams stuck in throats
suffocating to a groan
in gaping mouths.
There were places to hide
when day came around,
a dark cave inside
an iron shed with pale
constellations of old nail holes
feigning starlight overhead.
The world was kept
on the other side
of a peep hole
in the wall of the shed.
And yet there were lovely
flowers blooming
under a bright sun,
the day would carry on
with the ordinary things
that had to be done.
Terror would wear off
and morph into something
else instead, normalized
by the trick
of becoming numb,
or be little more than
a slight disturbance
fizzing in the wiring
of the head.
Besides,
who would understand
when what was there
has now moved
way beyond the vocabulary
of a word weary tongue.
Merrily, my soda hopped, skipped
…rolled merrily along,
jumping hurdles of falling leaves,
sloping t’wards steep driveway.
The bottle, fizzing, shaken up -
merrily, as I watched
it’s descent, hoping it would stop,
not hop the boundary.
My neighbor, not the sort to laugh.
Congregation of leaves
held it back, so no disaster.
Merrily I retrieved.
I sometimes worry that a daydream…
Can become something sinister.
Even a simple, quiet laugh…
At some thought in my head is scary to me.
Because here I am, alone in this room,
And I’m laughing to myself, like a crazy person.
The daydream dissolves.
Fizzing, and hissing, and corroding in my brain.
But the damage is done.
A new connection is made between two unrelated events.
And it scares me that-
No one will believe in this connection.
No one will laugh,
They will all be glaring-
And I will stutter and fumble for the rest of my life.
Never being able to think logically again.
And that’s not funny at all.
Some way from the Firth of Forth
A shoal of glittering mackerel
Swirls and sways
Swells with the sea from silver to black
Flashes white and back to silver and grey
A humpback whale
Juddering its leathery jaws together
With a throatful of panicked fish
For a moment it bobs in place
Then sinks down slowly again
To await its next prey
But some fish get away
Dash, dash, dash
Gannets with wingtips a-black
In fizzing copper-green dive bomb
Pinning their wings back
Weaving, spiral bubbles rising
They spear the blank-eyed fish
And paddle away
In the tidal pools by the beach
Where the tiny sea herds crawl
Hermit crabs pick at morsels
Washed up by the tide
Snipping with their pincers
To nibble mackerel tails
They ward off competitors with their giant claws
Crabby-crawl tiny sea herds
Squabble in the pools of the micro-sea
But steal when you can the more beautiful shell
Of a crab that is greater than thee.
The lightly fizzing mood
I've felt all day
and fenced within a grin
is at odds
with the stoppered
solemnity of this pompous
ceremony I've had to attend
and is becoming harder
to hold, slowly pressurizing
to a giggle and then a laugh,
the pending pop held back
only by a quarter turn
of my thinning top.
Another word
or two will see me break
into laughter, impossible
to contain behind
the pretense of a dour
demeanor and a veneered
look of pain.
O Crap ! - I'm now past hope,
the silly man with a funny hat
is getting up to speak again
and I can't hold it any tighter,
I always have the same problem,
be it with a clown, a politician
or a bishop with a mitre.
In the low pasture
cowbirds are picking over humming cow pats.
In the high sheepfold
lambs are dropping small round blueberries
that are really not blueberries
and the whirring beetles know it.
Black fly are in the barn swarming
over the hissing horse hay.
A field mouse said to a stiff-necked tortoise:
"Reminds me of my vacation in the dry Tortugas,"
which all gathered there knew was bull crap
but it did raise a sort of fizzing laughter
from the ever feeding insects.
Over the busy farm
an arid painted rainbow buzzed on.
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