No rest for the wicked,
No rest for the broken,
Maternal, Paternal or kind.
No rest for the brave,
No rest for the aimless,
Immature or revolutionary minds.
No rest for the dreamers,
No rest in the nervous systems,
Of the critical, compliant and in line.
No rest for our hearts,
No rest for our instincts,
Survival Mode, pretending to be fine.
No rest from the challenges,
No rest from the inevitable,
Happiness in glimpses, occasionally still moments in the wind's heartbeat.
Rest from the inability to calm,
Rest from the parts that are wounded,
A person who matters lies underneath.
Rest from the speed of it,
Rest from force fed consumption,
Attachments brewing, to be laid down to breathe.
Rest from overworking,
Rest from unemployment,
Freedom possible, though the mountain steep.
Rest from lack of forgiveness,
Rest from judgement and projection,
Comprehension and kindness resting at our feet.
Time is not lineal – in fact,
often stops and starts with
the pendulum of the heart
races ahead when joy
suffering can latch on and
drag with all the sympathy
of a rabid pit-bull – or divorce
lawyer
don’t know that I want to imagine
eternity – thinking it best I leave
that burden to God....
------------------------------------------
All Refrains Are Not Poetry
We refrain from thinking of Time
as a limited commodity; but for
mortals, it may very well be. We tan
away on beaches, the Crap Tables
of Vegas – arguing with our loved
ones – tick, tick, tick. Overworking
can be negative. “Take time to be Holy” --
We imagine a blessed eternity to
compensate for questionable predilections.
Wasting of Time. Wasting of Time.
Tall steeples and stained glass pictorials
are spiritually transcending. Let’s hope,
if there is a heaven, that heaven is
yet indulgent of vintage intoxications.
I'm secretly
a genius, trouble
is, I'm the only
one who knows
about it.
I'm much too
shy to show it,
and I'm much
too mad to keep
it constant.
I'm either busy
laying in my bed,
missing out.
Or overworking
myself to the point
of exhaustion.
There's no
in-between.
And that,
my friends,
is brilliant.
I'm secretly
a genius, trouble
is, I'm the only
one who knows
about it.
I'm much too
shy to show it,
and I'm much
too mad to keep
it constant.
I'm either busy
laying in my bed,
missing out.
Or overworking
myself to the point
of exhaustion.
There's no
in-between.
And that,
my friends,
is brilliant.
Help me! I am addicted to unnecessary words
In everyday speaking I am hopelessly loquacious
And worse, in my poetry, so much for the birds,
Help me! I am addicted to unnecessary words!
Too many adjectives and unnecessary adverbs
Like “very” and “really” adding nothing of merit
And thoughts burdened with repetitive phrases,
Too many adjectives and unnecessary adverbs!
I turned on grammar assistance only to discover
The program needs to work overtime to fix me,
Like “needs to work” instead of simply “works”
I turned on grammar assistance only to discover,
I do not write nearly so well as I thought I did
Employing lots of words to express my meaning,
Overworking words that appear over and over
I do not write nearly so well as I thought I did!
Written December 6, 2022
Late nights over early mornings.
We pride ourselves in earnings,
from tirelessly overworking,
breaking ourselves entirely,
rewards keep us company,
as they set the bar higher,
for the next spread of sheets.
Like creatures of the night,
we pile up the work load,
once the sun sets for the moon,
as stars twinkle twinkle on cue.
Time will tell a tale as expected,
maybe tomorrow too soon.
Sometimes more is less –
like, overworking a painting,
blurring the eye-feast with an
excess of dabs and strokes, a
mix reminding me of too deeply
breathed tokes; or a poem, with
a vomit of words – nixing participation
for the reader, the mental pecks
he came for, like a bird at a
mystical feeder, that odd-ball
supplier, limping away on one
good leg, a strange god in
unnatural, featherless attire, yet
a bird in heart, but not quite the
airborne flier~he dreams...
I pause, at the lit-edge of clouds...
content to linger, and simply
wonder of the beaming linings,
careful not to invade; I stop,
at the visual, velveteen texture
of roses, keeping my distance,
inhaling the intoxicating wafts
while restraining my hand of
usual dissection – like the surging
of your love, freely given~allowing
me my private melt, as I, you, an
intimate journey into uncharted
bliss....
From the land of the rising Sun to Big Apple. A micro agent infuses fear as Still waters run deep.
As the weather is changing and Cruise Ships remain offshore. The venom is very strong for the hearts to grow cold.
Do not spit in the wind or call a spade a big spoon. For the plague is very real and it burns like fire.
Locking down developed Nations. We are all at war. Age is not just a number as the calamity claims vulnerable at stake.
While WHO outlines guide line of conduct to salvation, Overworking medical teams struggle for a dawn of better days.
Tick-tock,
tick-tock,
Every wasted second,
A step down from the top.
Memorize every word,
Understand every line,
Solve every question,
Be productive all the time.
"I'm not prepared"
"I need to study more"
Sleep deprived and mentally exhausted,
Burning out,laying on the floor.
Stop overworking yourself please,
Nothing is worth more than you,
You'll give a hundred exams in your life,
Don't let the pressure overwhelm you.
Panic, anxiety,
They feed on your motivation,
Take a regular break,breathe
And get rid of any frustration.
No denying that marks are essential,
And hardwork is key,
But in the rush of pleasing everyone around you,
You will never truly be stress-free.
Disappointment and hurt serving as a huge barrier
subsequent sensitivity of the mind towards affection
makes the heart worrier,
converting a spot once habitable to a no go area;
overworking feelings and emotions without any wage.
The windows of tenderness’ stores, now partially damaged
just to maintain this new borrowed image.
Opening the doors is beyond the spell of any wizard
persistence on trying, attracts its own hazard
yet, falling carelessly from the wall feeling no pain like the lizard.
No matter how one resists, the heart still insists
though broken, but having greater space to accommodate more love
Overworking instead of tear
Fighting instead of tear
Not talking instead of tear
A sleeping pill instead of tear
An alcohol instead of tear
Why do we avoid this honest tear?
So far and so near
So pure and so dear
staring vacantly at space,
caught up in a wild chase,
conjuring up vague images
for my blank, empty pages;
damn old fool out for a spin,
unconcerned with any gain,
fumbling yet, always aiming
for some hidden meaning;
sometimes mere inspiration
but more often perspiration,
even plain self-immolation,
this silly poetic pretension;
tonight is a long, long night,
a tough and drawn out fight
with a tough, cruel adversary,
the masochist inside of me;
so why write, asks this voice,
and I reply, this is my choice,
a trail that I just have to follow
by rolling along with the flow;
wish I were a poetry factory
grinding on day after day,
not overworking this brain
dripping down the drain.
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