Inner turmoil boiling over,
The stove over heating,
I'm eating from another plate,
Looking straight into the pot,
I can feel how hot it's getting,
I'm sitting right in the middle,
A little of this,
A little of that,
I keep adding stuff to the vat,
Splattering to the floor,
It won't hold anymore,
Bubbling and roaring,
I start exploring,
Thoughts justy pouring out,
Shouting about the turnout,
I doubt it will be any good,
I'm always misunderstood,
Nothing turns out as good,
Like I think it should,
Who would've guessed,
My best wasn't good enough,
I couldn't find the right stuff,
It was a rough ride for sure,
My concoction wasn't pure,
The recipe for my cure,
Was tainted by fury,
Worry kept me from working,
I was always in a hurry,
I'm jerking me back and forth,
Forcing the kettle to crack,
There's no turning back now,
Turmoil is part of the track.
Taking my power back,
I stack up Experience.
Stand up,
Won’t lay down 'til I stack up.
Fed up with the brokenness
A liq just gonna tease me
Focus,
Pull up in a Lotus.
Fly on essential,
Throw up like bulimic
With you she a padlock,
With me she a secret.
Convenient,
Don’t take life too serious.
Articulate,
Went and took one
She missed on her period.
For my dogs, I’m ruthless,
Like John Wick, I leave you toothless.
Perseverance in the darkness,
Soon as the lights turn on
You ain't flawless.
Stock market lookin' exotic,
Potential in motion, perpetual.
In her walls like a schedule,
Might see you later
If this sh*t don’t get raided.
I'm faded.
OK!
I Think This
"Loving Yourself"
Bit Has Gone
A
LITTLE TOOOOO FARRRRRRR !!!!!!
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
HaHaHaHaHaHaHaHahahahHAhahahHaHa
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Ha Ha Ha
HA!
HA.
That Doesn't Even FEEL Original.
You Can Do Better Than That.
Oh - Get A Life...
Get Your OWN Life, You GUYZZZZZ...
Sheesh!
-Gray Squirrel
05-19-2025
***
Who Here Loves Dancing Music???
I'll Just Stack Up 5 Poems,
Like Logs Then...
I Guess...
You're Cute!
Not really.
-Gray Squirrel
05-19-2025
Another Double-Yoker You-All!
Say Cheese...
CHEESE!!!
Serious, But NOT Serious... I Guess...
***
***
***
TRIPLE
"Don't Worry About What Other People Think!"
She Said The Loudest In My Head.
Then She Said: "Tooo Needy..."
(Quietly, Under Her Breath.)
Turning Away.
"JUST TAKE IT ALL!"
I Yelled Everywhere...
Later.
-Gray Squirrel
05-20-2025
Maybe one day,
when silence is loud enough to hear,
we’ll open the door
instead of stacking bodies.
They ask, “Where’s God?”
when the blood hits the floor—
as if He hadn’t carved
light into every corner before.
But truth is,
He built the door.
And we locked it.
Stacked our fears like bricks
and blocked it—
then cried
when no light shined through.
This was never a flaw in the plan,
just a flaw
in the hands of man.
Given a garden,
we bought a shovel.
Given a Son…
we played holy telephone.
Game took too long.
Judge is dead.
And God didn’t fail—
but we found a way
to sell mirrors
and bend love,
just to justify hell.
God bought me
a five-dollar door.
And my thoughts
have me stuck on this side.
I punched a hole through it—
light shines through so properly,
stands no chance
against the dust in here.
Every once in a while,
somebody comes to visit me.
And they stack up.
Weather is overcast.
And the light becomes a mystery.
The cracks in the door
no longer glow.
Too many bodies
blocking the rays.
I can’t blame the builder
for how we fill these hallways
We get approximately three boxes a day in deliveries
My husband is the ultimate order-machine
He takes more stuff back than most people order
I am sure UPS knows his name now
These boxes stack up on couches, the back of a bookshelf,
Beds, chairs, tables, and other not-for-boxes-places
When I get tired of them, I burn them in a huge bonfire
I love this part of the boxes the best, thus I encourage these orders.
All empty streets are paved with sleet,
it's not cold enough for a snowfall;
the cheek-boned guy is seeking a place to sleep,
he has found shelter in a warm corner down the hall!
We expect some heavy snow, don't be caught cold;
power outrage is a possibility, buy candles
and stack up on food and check on friends;
mental health improves: if communication is good!
I spot the hot dog vendor with frozen face and eyes,
his steaming breath is a volcano fuming; he challenges
the brutal weather by rubbing his gloveless fingers;
he curses it aloud: who thinks is mad when he yells?
Wild kids run by the hot dog stand and poke fun at him
saying, " Santa is another fat grinch, he offers nothing! "
" My two children are hungry! " He chases after them;
I hand him a twenty dollars bill: he can't stop smiling!
I do not want you burning stuff, my husband says
this is tantamount to waving a red flag in front of a bull
you already set fire to the dumpster he reminds me
not once or twice, but twenty-six or seven times
I do not reply, because a reply would be a no-win.
I believe in a win-win; especially after my husband goes to bed
I stack up a little pile of boxes and begin my fifth bonfire this week
I think I hate writing poems about you
They stack up so fast, 1,2,3 this is 4 now
And they used to be a blast, I couldn’t wait to write you more. Now,
The warm, strong arms around me have been replaced with warm, wet tears
And God no I could never hate you
But I used to think I could see you at any hour, any time
Now to see you it’s like I have to scour for any dime
The comfort that I used to know has been replaced with only fears
I feel like I’ve been betrayed by you
That one night when I needed you the most I was alone
I ended up in the hospital and you say you’re trying to atone
We used to talk for hours, I’ve watched as your longing slowly disappears
At the end of the day, I love you
But my love feels so pathetic and one sided
My poems feel so sloppy and misguided
I used to cherish writing out our love for just our ears
Now I don’t know if any of it is true
And that’s why I hate writing poems about you.
Sometimes we need to shatter what we thought mattered
Refocusing our vision for clues to update our point of view
As a student in how the heart teaches what true inner peace is
So we can stack up our broken pieces as high as the sky reaches
bitter biting wind
ice crystals glint on fresh snow
sheets stack up below
Ice, Snow or Frost Haiku Poetry Contest
Snow chosen theme
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Howmanysyllables.com5/7/5
12/29/22
I think it is your turn to do the dishes, he says.
I do not more or react.
He has momentarily lost his mind
Not remembering that I am thirty-five years ahead of him
on cleaning, cooking, doing the laundry and the yard work.
I remain in my Lazy-Boy, not turning or acknowledging his hint
He shuffles silently away,
perhaps remembering his thirty-five years in his Lazy-Boy
Or maybe remembering
That I do not care if all the dishes stack up to the ceiling
I do not care if they are crusty and wormy.
I do not care if the roaches dance on top of our counters.
I do not care if mice build villages in the kitchen or sleep in our bed.
It is my turn to man the Lazy-Boy.
Ticktock, as the clock counts down time:
the seconds morph into minutes.
Then, the minutes stack up as hours
that accumulate into days,
transforming into weeks, then months.
Tethered to thoughts of forever,
time, transcends the concept of years.
Hills stack up on miles passed
Rolling down the mountainside
To take a chance on asphalt limitations
Black as night with traffic moving backwards
Poppies line the road as color globes
Fragrant red heads steadfast on stems
Held together with green and leaves
Cars try hard to hide their misery
Running out of gas before they end
On every hour turning down the day
The earth remains in total darkness
When the sun turns off the light
Setting as if poppies really cared
Covered up in night the flowers rest
Showers try to drown them in their sleep
The sun remains in silence
Rising only when it has too
Birds fly in circles with feathers still intact at morning
With elements of dawn fresh on their breath
It might be time for breakfast
Wondering about a potential food source down below
About those red specks flowing by the road
And listening for signs of traffic
Coming from behind the mountainside on time
Dare to live!
Stop insisting on chasing after death.
Stop trying to die!
Quit the grand delusion.
You shall never die!
Grow your wings and fly to the mountaintop
of your world. Breathe stars.
Bravely go alone. Only you can do this.
Regularly in your day–exercise conviction,
visualize. Take in
golden, fibrous threads
of starlight, of sunlight.
Take them in through the nostrils.
This is nothing less than soul’s power-fuel.
Inhale slowly and experience
the gentle music of love’s fire,
as flames would pull up
a chimney stack, up pipes of ovens.
Faith builds with such breath practice.
Greed cooked away.
Anger melting.
Ignorance surrendering
to ways of knowing.
Transformations to flowers.
To gratitude.
To generosities.
Prepare that your purpose
shall speak to you.
Breathe starlight.
Are you surprised
that you feel no heat?
Your unique timelessness
awaits your recognition.
97
All these
Little pills
I stack up
In the morning
And evening too
Keep me a
Memorable
Sane
No drugs
In my veins
Just regret and
Love-hate for my exes
All ways gone
And I’m left
Alone
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