I fall into pits very often; you would think I’d be an expert by now.
I managed to make it halfway up until my foot slipped. Tumbling down into the earth once again, hitting my head on a shovel that was carelessly left in the corner. I picked up the shovel, thinking maybe I can dig my way to freedom, so I begin to dig. But I ended up digging the pit deeper. What if a shovel isn’t an object? What if it’s gratitude? What if it’s self-love?
Building myself taller with each positive action and affirmation. Building myself tall enough to one day step out of this pit.
Used to gad about town as such in my day
but don't get around much anymore
conked out zonked out
(perchance to dream)
I prefer to remain
housebound indoors
yes it's an age-old refrain
my dogs are barking
and my best guess they may really be
completely up the wrong tree entirely
but my best bet yet feeling my years
(the weight of the world)
I'm in a slump down in the dumps
a pooch too tired to smooch
tho' stooped but healthy hale and hearty
this poor pup's too pooped to party
What is your excuse for not writing today?
Come now, is it…“my Muse has gone away?”
Or …the feeble.” I just have no inspiration?”
A feeble excuse for a lack participation.
Here is a tip tp get your creative pen to flow.
Once it begins to move, it is your show!
Like a powerful lawn mower, the pen will go.
Look at you~creating, writing and all aglow.
12/29/2023
The slump
My doctor, like many medics, knows little concerning
diabetes, but she does her share of guessing and gives advice according to her assumption
Cheer up, she says, you look sad.
Depression is a part of the illness, walking on a treadmill of illusion to stave off a coma that hangs onto the sick like an ill-fitting cape, a heroic actor will not be seen dead wearing
Beans! She says triumphantly is good for diabetes with
meat and veg, pauses, and suggests walking is good
Diabetic ice cream, she says, must be good on a hot day
it is full of artificial sugar, I say. No, I'm not about to help her
I know what she likes, should I invite her to a classy restaurant, it must be posh as she goes to her hairdresser twice weekly
Do you still smoke? No, but it makes no difference Tobacco, has nothing to do with diabetes
She grabs her pad and writes out some tablets to be taken
twice a week
and come back in six months.
Looks out of the window and asks herself if you are still alive!
She knows I'm a mind reader.
Slump
(Shakesperean sonnet in Iambic Pentameter)
Sobs, muted sobs, night's harvest of remorse,
spread from the core and dribble through the eyes,
in search of solace on this woeful course,
of bygone suns that shall no longer rise.
Cries, muffled cries, those nightmares of despair,
rise from the pits to choke a gloomy soul,
and waken corpses from commitments’ lair,
where pledges gather dust in a black hole.
Yet this numb, downcast, and lethargic mood,
returns with vengeance early every morn,
like pleasant warmth of summer lassitude,
no matter the night’s ridicule and scorn.
Regret piles up, like mail we never read,
To foster apathy and sorrow breed
Placed 4th
10.15.2022
Submitted to "A Brian Strand Premiere Contest"
An approaching cow with a hump?
Definitely, I shall do a jump!
Together with Safety clump …
But I shan’t into another bump
Nor bash head against a pump
Nor what would me in clinic dump
Nor find me nursing a stump
And off showing a swollen lump …
With a crash into A hump
The least for one instant slump:
Be you Ted, Tony or Trump …
Gored straight by A Hump
You’re worse than a kicked rump.
we had known that trump
put economy in a slump
became an old grump
Restoration's grant, the loss of life from War
the handle hot with subsequent encore,
so hot the burn is isolated core,
a ministry of choice, sometimes the store!
Staves not the discontent from trial's abhor
that waste, that infamous consent's implore
why festering its dullish mindsets bore
Experience, that solemn trials hurt's before!
A stable sign of entity, full spore
collaboration entity's restore
of ethics binding grace called beauties glean,
the willingness of change of righteous serve!
Commuting not the treason, greed calls same
participation's trump, as War on War, the idol's stump
is crossfire where the bowing's chump
ranks penitence concern, toward righteous slump!
upon steering wheel you scared me for I thought no, I'm not gone yet
Sweltering Monetary Slump
Torrid atmosphere
Spent as a humorless mock
Bare heat funds replete
Sunshine Williams
1 Subject,
70 Sheet,
Wide ruled,
Blue main, partially covered in fleece
With 27 blue and 1 red line
3 holes punched
empty circles in time
emptiness of thought
trying to learn things
that can't be taught
no catchy punch lines
not even a sweet phrase
in act of creative desperation
I write about...... a notebook page
facing depression
enduring the agony
constant state of angst
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