Trying to get back up that hill
But with little or no progress
The same old run of the mill
My emotioal state is a mess
But is their any such magic pill
Perhaps just thinking alot less
Again seems l am back at nill
In need of a complete recess
Have l come to a stand still
Well perhaps,maybe er yes
But at times a loss of will
You know what l diagress
Again excerts from poem a state of confusion
1997 written 2023
Want someone who’s good?
Can help your company make sale?
I could sell milk to a cow,
and for free I’d chuck in the pail.
I can make a pigeon buy scraps,
a snake part money for venom;
I am the silver-tongued cheque with a grin
who persuaded jeans to shop for denim.
So, you need some success?
Change that red line to black?
A leopard would order spots from me,
I’m not a run of the mill old hack.
Drowning was so easy aspiration had no cause.
All 'cause once it started raining then since only ever pours.
It's a spiral of destruction nearly out of control.
I'll keep getting worse willingly digging this hole
Drawn to mental illness like I'm plotting a graph.
Like the times I bawl my eyes out then maniacally laugh.
Cant say I'm concerned about the self that I'm losing.
I've always been worthless and that was of my choosing.
Another common mistake bland and run of the mill.
Cannot be called tragic when there's nothing to kill.
Don't like hurting others I'm in love with self abusing.
Comical a let downs never been so amusing.
Never really fit in even if I belong.
Least I'll be a great example of what not to do wrong.
From
my
kismet
this time, I
will ask boldly, a
different kind of life to live...
Full of adventures, romance of beguiling nature;
but not again, a mundane, normal, humdrum and a run-of-the-mill life anymore.
I’m tethered to work
And weathered by chores’
And follow a measured
Run-of-the-mill course.
I’m tethered, not feathered
And no longer fly,
I’ve ignored my wings
And do not know why.
Flying was certain
When flying was free;
When trying and flying
Were the best part of me.
I flew through the world
Or was it a dream,
Feathered and untethered
Was life what it seemed?
Or was it quite the same
Though a bit less fettered,
Was the trying, flying
Just tools to get better?
Yet maybe the knowing
Strengthens our wings,
So untether forever
To let your heart sing!
UNIFORMITY
a
romantic
wondering
in enchanted
impressions
such
remote sounding such
breath
an unmissable
sight
resisting
translation
this
curious feeling
absorbed
painstakingly
in
matching
run of the mill
fictions
with
a
startling
alternate
as
singular
abstracts
of
stillness
in a setting
of the ordinary
If my usual wasn't so ordinary
And didn't span great feats of generic
It may just be shy of extraordinary
A mediocrity so bland I'm hysteric
Enormity in normalcy's highest gear
Worked out so hard and never got abs
Without an ear my regular cannot hear
I'm the base tested against in labs
An everyday, workaday, 10 of a kind
Fantastically, head over heels habitual
Frequency, ooze from me, for oddness I pined
This middle of the road, uniform fool
An average in math I lack sum of the fun
My highest point is the peak of just typical
If my usual started with "un", not a prefix of none
This run of the mill status is biblical
I'm routinely symmetrical time and again
Burst at the seams in familiarity
A dullery so wild it verges on zen
Like a quietness without any clarity
I've searched the great depths of the known
Looked for an in but found not a trace
For my explicable or scrutable down to the bone
Destined to be dazzlingly commonplace.
I have wondered about mundane things
Would they have become spectacular,
Noteworthy, perchance, balls of strings
If given purpose, a splendid piacular?
Not everything is special and/or pristine.
Actually, most things are commonplace
Not everything is a finely-tuned machine
Like the works behind the watch’s face.
So much of life, I think, is run-of-the-mill
Which accounts for same ‘ol, same ‘ol.
I am inclined to believe boredom relates
To an impetus to achieve a desired goal
It’s not good to leave life to the fates.
Written July 17, 2022
I'll achieve the impossible
and you'll say I'm mad
reveal the improbable
as truthful fact
Blinded by horizons
dismissing my plight
forget the sun rises
and with it comes sight
I'll travel the path
you fear to attempt
you'll have a laugh
as hear of events
and I'll carry on
as I see what you can't
thoughts of "he's gone"
thinking at distance
reputation will tarnish
avoidance you'll choose
socially banished
destroyed and will lose
And you'll all be right
common opinions breed
stood tall I'll fight
a constantly believe
I'll be the joke
the mad man you poke
freedom to stoke
make fun of this bloke
no benefit of the doubt
you're better than me
as I slug it out
bettering me
and I'll achieve something you never will
when suddenly there's change to the way you feel
my madness now skill, an achieve most real
you called me insane but you're run of the mill
I'll forever inspire
you will not
my clever desire
you thought was lost plot
It'll be what you didn't
and only I could
you'll be just an isn't
and I'll be the good
Humans are a social species, the men
in white coats, whom we have been
taught to trust, persuade us. Mr. President
mills about, run-of-the-mill
if you will, running the mill of the party,
the gathering. The women, like bushels
in their bustles, bustle about, foofing
their ruffles as trivialities are exchanged,
like bites
of cake that no one wants to admit
are too small. Mrs. First Lady extinguishes
the fire with a fire extinguisher of perfume,
atomized droplets
settling on chiffon like the Pilgrims
at Plymouth Rock. The men, neatly
assembled like compact
cars fresh off the assembly line,
assemble the women, corralling them
as a herd, unleashing
the lasso when one of them makes
herself heard.
Concerto D'amor
Whenever I'm with you,
Other things are amnesia.
Every single moment with you,
Suits decades in a catatonia.
If you were Bermuda triangle,
I'd often tread on the blast of shangri-la;
A picnic in the devil's triangle,
Run-of-the-mill than millenniums in ball park.
You're the Bermuda triangle.
I, being a wanderer.
The strong storm of South-America pulling me to you,
And down towards your smile I totter.
If you were an Iceberg,
I'd pull my Titanic towards you,
Rejoicing as you break me apart
Waters drowning the consciousness I'd built.
You're the iceberg;
Sybaritic, pudgy and turbingly symmetrical.
And I lost in the lust of the traverse,
With my patois feels your viscera.
Be whatever you choose:
A stark lasso repressing the rim of the sea?
But by bid can you loose,
Letting your waves gulp my plenary?
My heart through its mouth bleeds yearning,
Of how often for you I did fall.
Christ on a horse! I'm crazy 'bout you, honey!
This is my seven lives concerto d'amor.
19:05:01:16:48
Ancestor. Ancestral Pen. Ancestral piece. Concerto D'amor.
#45
Donald Trump, an American businessman
owner of beauty pageants and high rises
a billionaire with a flamboyant personality
became 45th President of the United States.
His campaign; fraught with controversy
accusations of sexual misconduct
for which he made a public apology,
yet the left was certain Hillary could win
not realizing that Americans were tired
of the run-of-the-mill politicians
tired of the lies and broken promises
tired of not being heard.
In the end, Donald was victorious
and promised to make America Great Again.
The alarm chimes,to signal another new day
Get up,shave,shower,ready for the fray;
Low,listless,muted, a bit downcast
Dullness ahead,my mood overcast.
I see the mundane,routine,run-of-the mill
Feeling pedestrian,static, is the world's standing still;
Hours of monotony,ennui,the tedious banal
Soporific,wearisome yet seeking a rationale.
Glipmsing a future,empty,featureless and humdrum
My solid facade,is ready to succumb;
In this odyssey,each day is a surprise
Today's downturn brings,tomorrow's enterprise.
I met a deer
I met a deer a big brown deer.
We met in the dark.
Not as friends just a run of the mill meeting.
I had to stop but it was too late
The meeting was over and the deer was dead.
I guess a car at 65 would not make a good friend of a deer.
So stay out of my way. I like deer meat.
Treason Reasons
Concreted cracks, abandoned train tracks,
unaffordable housing built like shacks.
Unplanted seeds gardens of weed,
never having enough to satisfy the greed.
Unseen view, is the sky blue?
Goodwill bought unlaced white shoe.
The frontyard seat on ol' bucket street,
cool air doesn't help that kind of heat.
Battles kill, unordinary run of the mill,
another happy mailman undelivered bill.
Where is our morality? What is our deal?
living here in the now is such a reality kill...
bmdavey@
02/24/16
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