Paper clips,
those mild-mannered office folk,
pretend they’re tools of order~
but really, they’re in it for the joke.
Leave them in a drawer
for more than half a day,
and they’ll twist themselves together
like they’re headed to a cabaret.
One clip whispers,
“Psst… let’s form a chain,”
and suddenly they’re linking
like a tiny metal train.
Another clip giggles,
“Let’s make a modern sculpture,”
and before you know it
they’ve built a chrome-plated vulture.
Scientists blame physics,
but I suspect a different cause:
paper clips just get lonely
and like to hold each other’s jaws.
So next time you find them tangled
in a shimmering silver heap,
remember~
they’re not misbehaving…
they’re just friends
who like to sleep
in a pile.
If I could rewrite the sentences of my past. The
Adversities, Challenges, Exhaustion. My Past is not Me
I often questioned myself, Why these mental games?
Emotional, Confusion, Manipulation from familiar.
People aI thought to be trusted bMy Past is not Me
She wasn't fed from a golden spoon yet Persistence,
Resilience are now her friends
Strategic wars hovered over her mind let's dive in.
Self awareness, Denial? Comparisons little did she know deep within it was someone known with games of
Power for control.
She gave the keys to her heart only for her past to
used against her to make to feel like a puppet on
strings. My Past is not Me
Is she's in the driver's seat? She no longer retaliates
She's detached from calculated manipulation.
Bread crumbs she doesn't chase, She no longer falls
for the bait. Will familiar faces ever let her get to the
Finish line?
Constantly spinning webs on her next move only to be reminded of her past for sport. My Psst is not Me
dog gives me an all-knowing look
like I should feel guilty
how does he know?
Psst
come closer
dogs always know
When the light flickered a shadow whispered,
Psst my bubbles,
For whom have you mustered,
This bear courage to face the fears.
Oh! her eyes knew,
Each ounce, the word of truth.
Yet silent was the air in morning dew
Layered in mist, through and through.
The life that made her eyes, crumbled
Long before the smile that built her.
Today, the shadow pondered,
Oh bubbles,
How long before was it that you actually twinkled?
And so
The words lay idle
Mumbling
“Not me! Not me!”
For we could be
The catalyst for
Verse,
Or worse.
Let us be
But words
Un-gathered logs
Afraid of fire
Soundless stones
Rolling
In sunrise surf
A wind
Without purpose
A rooster
Tapping the farmer
On the shoulder
Whispering “psst”
A muted moon
Fading silently
Into a day
Without
Poetry
Somewhere within the misty shroud of heaven
A finger, traces angels, in the air
Wondering if they are truly present
Why they whisper dreams no one can hear
Soft tingle of a touch, a gentle “psst”
As testy as a lone mosquito’s buzz
Torturing the calm of dreamless sleep
When asked “why me” the answer is “because”
So, sleep in fitful murmurings, and dream
Of mists, of heaven’s shroud, of feathered wings
Etch lazily your dream upon the night
And ponder why it is you fear such things
As fingers trace their angels in the air
Lulled to sleep by voices they can’t hear
William Wordsworth 'AFTERTHOUGHT'
psst
ppp
s s
p s
s
p
ss
s
s
s
s
ss
"Greetings from an IWD Kitchen"
The soup is not burnt
nor is the toast
The eggs look edible
forgive me, I boast
International Woman's Day
I take on the kitchen
Give my wife the day off
'Tis my blind ambition...
Psst. I call her name
Maybe she'll pitch in
Alas, her husband is ~
neither cook nor magician
What will it be?
The day you fly away
The day you're set free
What will be said?
When a date is set on the right side of the dash
When dreams can no longer be fed
Psst! Do you remember?
That time back in that cold December
Oh! What about that hot July?
That summer they stayed high
How could anyone forget that cool September night?
That time they lied and got into that big fight
I wonder if they were gay or straight.
Well, you know they said they didn't discriminate
Now, I know you can't forget the epic fail
That time they spent 730 days in jail
What about way back in '96?
That time when they played and turned tricks
(pause)
Wait! Wait! Wait! Let's cut all the chatter!
Because none of this stuff matters
But if we can be real?
It's truly about how they made us feel
And if there is nothing or something bad that we can feel
Then the least we should do is allow our lips to remain still
what’s the price of a poem
in cash, blood, sweat and tears
what experience suffered
how many months and years
what’s it worth to you
and will you be touched, pleased
will it explain, elucidate
will all your fears be eased
and did you see it coming
and appreciate it’s being
I think I wrote it for you
you are seeing what you’re seeing
if everything I ever
wrote, thought, memorised
came flooding back to haunt
I would be traumatised
and the pain that brings
the poem, screaming
tricks me into thinking
I was only ever dreaming
so, what’s the price of a poem
a collection of words skewed
up, down, all over the place
studied, read, discarded, viewed
it’s not the sentiment you leave
when you close the book
that moment came, happened, went
and you had to look
poems? ten a penny
a sad f*cker scribbling
giving his best, his darkest
and left dribbling
psst, want to buy a poem?
it’s price is negotiable
it won’t change your world
and is not guaranteed reliable.
18.1.2020 11:13am
(Thanksgiving 2005, as advertised)
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------------- (Psst. Pass the gravy, please.)
You say, "Why don't you smile?"
Don't you know it is vile?
Ugh! you are forty-five
Your words should fortify
My work like a rabbi.
On our first official
zoom, you cry at facial
gloom. Psst! Now sadness looms.
I know, never a womb
Has seen this vested room.
Your grand client lineup
Makes your word a decree
So see, when you treat me
Like Clinton in lineup
You see wavering eyes
Signalling for time up
Can you not feel the tension in the air
The strained smiles and the creaking of the chair.
I'm new, this is my debut in this venue
My face confesses the confusion in lieu
Of confronting my tenure in your crew
You could have eschewed my blue hue
Or lightened it with a quip or two
But no, now we have to continue
Like mildew until my adieu
silently,
first, a sudden peep,
before psst ...
Later
The fright,
chill spine ...
Play hearts?
No smarts
Blackjack?
Lack knack
Go fish?
You wish
Try bridge?
Ask Midge
Old Maid?
Afraid
Cribbage?
Priv'lege
Euchre?
Nuke her
Hold 'em?
Fold 'em
Psst:
Poker?
Mediocre
God was not allowed this year,
in the state of California.
And, then, we wonder under
warm, sunny skies.
Why is the world so nuts~because
He did warn you.!
This is a state, where any two can
mate.
Can I get engaged to my cat or
my goldfish, Kate?
Through my front glass door, we
will, our vows take,
Or maybe at Social Distancing Lake?
Times have changed because we
let morons take over.
Heard Fauci, even plans to wed,
His old Labrador, Rover!
12/30/2020
3;30am PsST
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