Just a kid
hardly knew him
Seemed friendly enough
nice smile, he wore
When I last saw him?
Oh, I dunno. Few days ago
He was walkin’ toward the river
come to think of it
Friends. Yeah, one girlfriend
though haven’t seen her lately…
Not much for sports, I don’t think
Kept pretty much to himself, you know
That’s about all I can think of
I’ll be gettin’ along now…
am i alive?
what classifies something as alive?
respiration
i am breathing
but just barely
trying to capture any air i can between sobs
growth
i am growing
it becomes increasingly difficult
recognizing myself in the mirror every day
and believing the next age i'm turning
excretion
i am excreting
i sweat when i do pretty much anything
even though i'm always cold
is there something wrong with me?
or am i just overthinking again?
reproduction
i am not reproducing
i can
but i'm not sure i want to
i wouldn't be a good mom
i'm worried i'd be too much like my own
metabolism
i am metabolizing
i always claimed it to be fast but maybe
it's since it doesn't have much to work with
movement
i am moving
my body does it without me knowing
or being conscious
it just moves
response to stimuli
i am responding
i respond too much
too dramatically
too sensitively
i fit all the criteria
so i guess i am alive
i'm just not living
Its dark its quiet
And I am pretty much a poet
When wihout drinking i get drunk
And honest feelings comes in bunk
What is life I dont know
Even in a decade would not go
Is it a remission or was it there within
I guess its both in heart that thin
What is the purpose
To be happy
What is the fact yes i am happy
Is there a void i never know
But certainly truth wins in a battle of tow
I dont know I dont know
And yes i dont know
Driving down the winding road.
Stopping for a toad.
Some sand is wet and heavy.
The beach is pretty much free.
Unless you want to get a snack.
From that pretzel shack.
Or maybe an ice cream cone.
Then you can toss a stone.
Which sinks to the bottom instantly.
For the fish to see.
Maybe a crab will pinch your toe.
But it’s still better than snow.
Driving back to the highway.
You’ll need a vacuum cleaner later today.
To clean up all the sand.
You might have gotten a little tanned.
Tomorrow, you have to go back to the office.
You’re just glad relaxing on the beach is your only vice.
Except maybe pretzels and ice cream.
Which revisited you in a dream.
Driving down the winding road.
You don’t miss the crab, but you did like that toad!
Nyla has a coffee mug glued to her hand
Spends all her time in the coffee bar, Latte Land
Must have fresh ground roast; nothing common or canned
Complains if she tastes one teensy bit of coffee sand
Nyla has some kind of weird coffee bean-loving gland.
Around this mug, her right hand is usually fanned.
Puts on airs, acts like she is ever so grand.
Trips to Latte Land are pretty much daily planned.
I am pretty much unqualified
To judge poetry contests
To draw cartoons
To paint canvases
To use a chainsaw
To write a book
Yet I do all of these things
Without certification, license or diploma
Because no one has demanded my qualifications
Am I a better man today
Than yesterday? Who knows
Outwardly nobody can say
Inwardly there I was..
I was, this pretty much describes
Me in the present tense
I’m living in the past that dies
Within a plot I sense
It saves a better life for us
That’s where I belong
Isn't in something you may trust
Apart of life that's gone
Those days with darling love I keep
In files of memory
I never thought it goes that deep
Deeper than we can see.
I was sitting on the dock of the bay listening to a song
when Otis Redding happened to come walking along.
He said, "You watching the ships roll in?"
I said, "Yeah, and then watching ‘em roll away again."
He said, "That stuff's really dug by some,
but I think it’s all pretty much ho-hum."
"What's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
William Shakespeare (Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2)
Shakespeare said a rose is still a rose by any other name.
I think what he was saying was, it's pretty much the same;
but wouldn't it be confusing to describe your flower bed,
if you called your beautiful roses something else instead?
If you were planting roses, in late Fall or early Spring,
and you chose to call them Frankie Boy, or if you called them Bing,
or if you called them Jackson, Jiminy or Joan of Arc,
then they would still be roses, our Shakespeare would remark.
I've always wished to be insane,
to cash in my brain,
and plunge me into the sea
of unhinged lunacy.
I'd roll around the drain,
block out the sun.
and fall from clouds like rain,
before my day was done.
That's my kind of fun.
I'd forget earthly concerns,
eat a Diet of Worms,
play peek-a-boo with Moses.
I'd declare war on Cleopatra
in a War of Roses.
I'd outswim fishes, I sure would -
and be celebrated in Hollywood.
I'd collect one million stamps
and place them on the head of gramps -
If I only could;
but I'm sane and steady,
responsible and ready.
You see,
that's pretty much the story
of my brain's inventory.
Poor me.
In our youth we wandered
Pretty much without a care
If it would all go right
Somehow knowing it always would
Even when it didn’t
Now old and worn
Is it really any different
As we head out on smaller adventures
Confident that it’s all good
Even if it’s the last thing we do
Once in our innocence we looked at life
Through a window and then found the door
That actually took us there
Each on our own paths, around and back again
To that world we first saw
(12/21/24)
This house has ghost cats.
Visitors twitch
as invisible whiskers brush their cheeks.
I talk faster; try to distract them,
or look out the window
as if seeing something really interesting.
Guests don't come around much anymore.
Maybe they think I have cat-bugs?
At night I imagine letting the cats out,
sense disdainfully stiff tails
tickling bare ankles in house slippers.
All the dead cats are allergic to me,
but they favor this house,
it reminds them of the old cat-lady
who used to live here,
she was well known to be
allergic
to pretty much everyone also.
It's ok to give yourself some time
Would you like to hear me rhyme
Hating yourself doesn't cost a dime
But it should pretty much be a crime.
It's ok to give yourself some time
Are you afraid you are going to lose your prime
Don't be, as practice can make your work sublime
You are a gem hidden inside all that grime.
//
wings,
wings,
wings,
An ongoing black screen,
A blandest morning, ,
,abundunt ///////////blunt & burnt
DAMP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
inadequate
, looping And/////////////ripping , In a room, twenty floors up, thriving,
_ to let me in, in a
doll _incorrect mannequins insolvent
remainders
I am a boom, a bloom Buddha, a
simpleton you know , frantic and pretty much done
our manners_____________________
, onto into upto will do somehoww
of too why to anyhoww hey, hey, hey
Clarity, clear of blemishes,
mannequins !!!!!
yes please
the numbness of seasons ,
a blues like you, half , half , a job, Near to sea, is scary
as it can b
wings,
wings,
wings,
Born dumb, as it grows, love finds a voice
A gentle smile, a tender touch.
Lips move and fragile hearts rejoice
Love speaks so clearly, pretty much.
It starts with a long glance
Across a table in a bar or restaurant
Grows into an exchange of smiles, a soft dance
With no words uttered, but hearts understand.
Sweet notes of love in messages texted
Each word bearing a kiss, each line a friend.
Suddenly, a close touch is sought
Continuous visits, gifts bought.
Love speaks but a language
Only lovers understand.
Even when words are not uttered
The other's emotions are buttered.
Related Poems