I’m just twirling in the center of my room.
I’ve got way too much to do.
Has that ever happened to you?
I’m assailed, derailed and impaled by indecision.
I can’t find my lucky pencil and I have a final in 90 minutes
I have lab results to qualify and I’ve a term paper to finish.
I have two problem-sets due and I must arrange movers.
Despite my burn-out, I should start packing for move-out.
In order to get our reservations and tickets in hand,
we’ve got to finalize our summer plans.
On my theoretical schedule - I’m behind -
oh, and there’s a mountain of laundry to climb.
In finals week everything is ratcheted up.
and there’s the weighty and unavoidable demands of sleep.
I’m just a girl about to pass out in her room, over-caffeineed,
from chugging a large, iced coffee after 3 hours of sleep.
I’ve read that stress can affect valuations.
I think it’s true.
I twirl.
.
.
Give Paris One More Chance by Jonathan Richman (Youtube ZMF7Jq8xNGI)
I Want You Back by Trijntje Oosterhuis
Make a Rainbow by Benny Sings
Let Her Go Into The Darkness by Johnathan Richman
Categories:
ratcheted, humor, school, student,
Form: Free verse
I have figured out my arachnophobia,
it’s not the multiple eyes
or the seen or imagined hairiness of the body,
or that torso-less squishy bag.
Apart from we bipedal life-forms
four legs, one on each corner,
seems about right.
Eight is a nightmare.
I try to imagine a Koala Bear with eight legs,
or a Rhinoceros
or, heaven forbid, a crocodile.
Somehow nature got drunk on its own ripe berries,
somehow, 8 became its own demented trick
played upon we giants.
We instinctively leap away from that ancient stillness,
a crouching threat that at any moment
could burst into that fast stiff shuffle.
We watch dismayed as it
carries its own vulnerable package of horror
on all those ratcheted hoists and cranes
itself fearful even to be seen.
Categories:
ratcheted, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I have figured out my arachnophobia,
it’s not the multiple eyes
or the seen or imagined hairiness of the body,
or that torso-less squishy bag.
Apart from we bipedal life-forms
four legs, one on each corner,
seems about right.
Eight is a nightmare.
I try to imagine a Koala Bear with eight legs,
or a Rhinoceros
or, heaven forbid, a crocodile.
Somehow nature got drunk on its own ripe berries,
somehow, 8 became its own demented trick
played upon we giants.
We instinctively leap away from that ancient stillness,
a crouching threat that at any moment
could burst into that fast stiff shuffle.
We watch dismayed as it
carries its own vulnerable package of horror
on all those ratcheted hoists and cranes
itself fearful even to be seen.
Categories:
ratcheted, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I did not know her music,
But I’ve read of her travails.
It seemed that all her problems
Only ratcheted her sales.
Her concerts made the news because
She barely could perform;
For her, intoxication
And/or drug use was the norm.
Like Kurt Cobain before her,
And like Jimi, Janis, Jim*,
Her talent seemed authentic,
Her survival chances slim.
It really is a shame to hear
That someone is found dead
At the age of twenty-seven,
With a lifetime still ahead.
But tortured souls have got to do
Whatever they are drawn to,
And we can only wonder ‘bout
The places they have gone to.
It’s sad to be so talented
But plainly, quite tormented.
I’d rather have less talent
But be somewhat more contented.
*Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison
Categories:
ratcheted, death, people
Form: Rhyme