I’m prepping for school
the unglamorous labour
that builds a future
I like to read people's ‘back to college’ lists - where I can sample what students are buying this year. I find these lists on college-ish websites like ‘Her Campus.’ The number one desire this year is for Apple Air Pods (I certainly love MY AirPod 4s).
We read in silence,
both contented this counted
as togetherness
Beside lists there are surveys on trends.
“Good news,” I announced to Peter, who was sitting next to me, “hot, weird guys are in,” I said it with the satisfaction of someone whose personal choice has been validated by GenZ.
“I still don’t want one,” he says blandly.
Looking at a list of 'questions for your boyfriend,' I asked,
“If you had to change one thing about me, what would it be?”
“Well, you could lose the clothes,” he suggested, helpfully.
No one cares
but I like his hairs
not one more than another
but his left ear
is superior to the other
you heard it here
.
.
A song for this:
Young Folks by Peter Bjorn and John
Flying back from the moon
was the Artemis crew.
Even with a broken toilet,
they were able to make do (do).
But in a scene that was out
of a Star Wars movie,
they took a phone call
from the POTUS: Obese-Wan Kenobi.
It was a training exercise
that broke all the norms:
prepping astronauts if they meet
less intelligent life-forms.
Kudos to the Artemis crew.
They sure knew how to impress,
and handled themselves well
while chatting with His A-Holiness!
Choices are made to fill the space,
Embrace the still small voice,
Rejoice in what it has to bring,
Cling to all that comes through,
The things you hear are true,
It truly does love you,
The best part of you,
Is hidden from view,
Smothered by all you do,
Becoming an anchor to hold onto,
Through dark and stormy seas,
Energy is creating reality,
Entities translate whats to be,
Waiting patiently to see,
The masterpiece unveiled,
Sailing an ocean of choices,
Curtailed by an inner voice,
Hoisting up the anchor,
Releasing the anger,
A stranger I must face,
Chasing away the danger,
Exchanging places,
Re arranging the space,
I choose to erase mistakes,
Retracing my steps,
Prepping for whats to come,
Welcoming something new,
A choice can change the view,
A small voice will guide you,
Before everything you do,
Chasing space through,
The choices you choose.
“Mind Fist”
by Positive Mark
Protection from a demon or protection from the chaos?
You’re smudging for a cleansing or you prepping for a seance?
We don’t purchase insurance after we done wrecked our car,
so why wait for calamity to unmask who we are?
I always harp on shadow work, ‘cause that’s what gets me through it.
No progress will be made unless I buckle down and do it.
Traversing through the underworld, to sort through buried trauma.
Relationships,
The times I quit,
My issues with my Momma.
What waits for me in shadows that I need to understand
before my spirit finds the light to be a better man?
And when the magic spells work, and I find that brighter day,
should I dip my quill and lead the way,
or bag my goods and go away?
Mind Fist
We're going on vacation
Words innocent and pure
Visions of sun and beaches
Are conjured up for sure
The marketers are genius
At portraying family bliss
A carefree family skipping
Through waves not to be missed
But just below the surface
Lurk undertones of woe
The preparations necessary
Belay the surface glow
The focus turns to prepping
The job, the house the yard
The feeding of the pets
The domicile to guard
And then there is the packing
The lists, and lists of lists
And luggage bulging at the seams
I think you get the gist
And finally departure
On crowded roads no less
Who turned off the oven
We fret and try to guess
Perpetual construction
And hours of sitting still
Are we there yet yell the children
It's pure parental hell
So if you didn't need one
When planning this vacay
You certainly do now
I hope it goes your way!
A poem should
explain itself --
define what it
is – at the poem’s
prepping, by the poet
done all the required
kneading
whether healing or
bleeding, a poem
should be its own
hunger or feeding --
should stand alone
clear-day, or cloud
seeding --
In conclusion – poems
should require only
a reader reading….
On many a workday morning,
I sit at my kitchen table and
watch the BIRDS lite on electric
lines, or listen to their sweet
chirps from the treetops.
I watch the SUN rising over the
horizon, and in early Fall, I observe
the green FIELDS of harvest slowly
yielding their bounty. Left behind after
a few weeks of sweat and toil is a sea
of brown SOIL prepping for the Spring.
I will often feel the earth rumbling
beneath my feet from a passing TRAIN
rushing her huge and heavy cargo
to markets both North and South.
It won't be long before I'll witness
with joy the MIGRATING BIRDS flying
South to survive the cold of Old Man Winter.
In my own mind, I am overwhelmed by the sheer
commonality of all the above. Indeed, they are all
so very faithful in executing their God-given task.
Moreover, presently, I am most impressed and find
myself musing over the faithfulness of a person behind
the wheels of a big yellow bus with bright and flashing
lights. She's a SCHOOL BUS DRIVER who with great
dedication, passes my home every school-day morning
at 7 AM. I tell you; her punctuality inspires me.
And her employer should be proud of her.
The rhythms of the night
Sounds of a dark symphony
A mysterious cacophony
Sends chill up and down the spine
Shadows chase the light of a full moon
Across meadow and forest green
No stranger to nocturnal life
Where life plays it’s game of opportune
The voices of the night
Many and strange they may be
As the majestic screech owl in flight
And the fox howls beneath the pines
Night creatures scrambling in search of food
For themselves and their kind in nest and den
Ever willing to take a blind chance
To survive Mother Nature’s food chain
The noises of the night
The yelps, screams, the flapping wings
Sound so vicious ‘til the break of light
When the sun chases the dark away
And the dawn brings a freshness of calm
Welcomed as a consoling balm
And finds some respite from all the fright
That’s found in the noises of the night
The choruses of the night
An eclectic choir of ancient song
As from winged angels in hasty flight
Prepping swamp and forest again
Continuing the cycle of life
That most never fully understand
For it’s not easy to hear in daylight
The insistent rhythms of the night
In the still of the night,
I become intoxicated with the moon's soft light,
the view of Roxy Anne, City Lights.
Whispers of the wind caress my lampogen,
I let her back into my skin.
as I let my thoughts unravel, within I am drunk in;
each breath
Petraglyphs a dance, each sigh a song prepping for romance.
In this moment, I truly belong
where Time stands still, in this tranquil space,
my cup I fill-
as I lose myself in her gentle embrace,
distilled amoress.
Life draws me onto her milky page
as the night slowly slips away,
I carry this feeling into the light of day.
For in the fill of the night,
I find my soul laying upon her canvas spotlight,
may she never dry up or fade,
or cease being my muse-ment park and
sight seeing eighties and nineties Valley Girl babe. Perhaps she can romantically teleport us back to lovers/memory lane.
Ever-changing Autumn, its shapes and shades.
Fanning breath stirs the heavily laden;
transforms and redraws like playful charades,
prepping, and grooming, all the misshapen.
A pastor's mural paints pure from trespass,
ever-changing Autumn, its shapes and shades.
Prismatic design grounds tell-tale stained glass
and forest steeples are Redwood's crusades.
Kids taking the plunge, multihued cascades,
succumb to trampling and crushing horseplay.
Ever-changing Autumn, its shapes and shades,
the bejeweled waits: Sunday's white bouquet.
Awe striking vista blessing amble eyes,
bounteous nostalgia praising persuades.
Peace thine harmonious artwork baptize,
ever-changing Autumn, its shapes and shades.
Shortness of breath, the struggle with stairs
The paranoid thoughts, of judgemental stares
Tomorrow I'll start, next week I will too.
The person you're fooling can be only you.
You carry on, each day just the same.
Every week again and again
No planning, no prepping, just take and away.
Spiralling down, delay underway
Hoping and dreaming, I'll do this one day!
One month later, a burger, a pie
Feeling low, as life passes by
Outstretched clothes, low confidence too
It's now your decide to do this for you!
You take to the web, to find nearest group
Hoping and praying "Please not only soup"!
The hardest part? First step through the door. Always remember, who you're doing this for.
You meet all the members and go through the plan.
At this point you realise, "Oh yes I can".
Now weighing and measuring, healthy A & B
The change is incredible for all to see.
The feeling of pride, the spring in your step.
It's now you can't wait for what life brings next.
I'm falling too far behind,
Out of breath and flying blind.
Heavy fog, it's hard to see,
But know the flock's in front of me.
Just striving to do my best,
Gotta catch up with the rest
So surprised I've flown this far,
Now up ahead, there they are!
Landing on a Chrystal lake,
Feel my mind and body ache.
Safe ashore and now we're prepping,
For waddling and goose-stepping.
On the rooftop I hear a peck peck peck
from a black bird tapping at a hard steel roof
on the lawn a little rabbit is grazing the grass
all this, before the sun even has a chance to blare
The keys on my board go click click click
from a distance I view the waking trees
and type away, by a newborn light
all this, while I drink my morning coffee
The flush of a toilet he is up and about
from my room I can hear him shaving and prepping
we are leaving for the beach soon
all this and then more, when I get to the shore,
there will be shells to pick and water to adore
we have our sun hats on and we are off
together we are ready to explore
the naturous beauty that God has so lovingly bestowed.
In prepping for a funeral
The family gathered in the hall
They sat there all mourning
Even though it was nightfall
He had eaten lots of vegetables
Yet, he passed on in his suite
Must have still had too much sugar
And not enough heart beets
A farmer by trade, he grew
Not just beets but onions too
When he passed, they cut his crops
And cried all the way through
They made his favorite cheese as well
A batch to honor him that day
His athlete niece, age nineteen, fell
Now there’s pro teen in the whey
Onions served at the will reading
One son got more than his share
“Yes, I see”, said the executor
I can smell it in the heir
“Woof” exclaimed his trusty dog
“This situation is certainly tough.
Although I’m sad about my human
These jokes were pretty ruff…..”
He blunders around grocery stores.
Impulse buying - compelling.
Back home
he looks at the bagged,
wonders why,
wonders
if he will also charge around
tomorrow.
The larder, the pantry
the stacked cans
of all kinds of Spam
gleam untouched
but one day -
you never know.
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