What’s the difference in getting what you want and in settling for what they’ve got?
Why do I always feel like a nag, a shrew when I search for days and weeks and months and nothing I find will do?
So I go along to get along and accept the next best thing, but I plump it up with pillows and color and try to give it zing.
But in the back of my mind I always think, next time I’ll hold out. Next time there’ll be no doubt.
That I got exactly what I wanted and not just what they offered. Maybe.
Fifty-nine years and what do I know?
Apart from grey hair and wrinkles in tow
I’ve developed a limp and I’ve aches in my knees
That defy medication; I’m begging please
Just amputate everything south of my waist
I don’t need it anyhow so do it with haste
Before I have time to consider the loss
Of hips, thighs, legs, and those vaginal parts
I’ll still have my arms, my mouth, and brain
To write, rant, and think as I go slowly insane.
I’ve done something to my right hip which in turn is affecting my ankle. I’m walking as if I’m 102. It’s no fun. So, I turned it into this little ditty hoping it would make me feel better. So far, it hasn’t helped even a little bit.
No words.
Remembrance: Marcel Proust
Moments from
“Remembrance of Things Past”
“The soldier is convinced
that a certain indefinitely
extendable time period
is accorded him
before he is killed,
the burglar
before he is caught,
men in general,
before they must die.
That is the amulet
which preserves individuals
— and sometimes populations
— not from danger,
but from the fear of danger,
in reality
from the belief in danger,
which in some cases
allows them to brave it
without being brave.
Such a confidence,
just as unfounded,
supports the lover
who counts on
a reconciliation,
a letter.”
― Marcel Proust
Calloused
hands that carve or dig or plane,
roughed up, describe a textured
tale of hard years and harder days
whether laid end to end or stacked
in geologic layers: holocene, triassic,
permian. no oil struck or fossils
unearthed. jutting epidermal extensions,
thumb worn, subconsciously worrying
round and round. callous, unfeeling? or ultimate badge of survival?
Cute pictures of baby animals with some simple verse interspersed. My work here is done!
Well there you are, Spring!
Full of promise, bright sunshine,
And budding flowers.
Shhh! Learn to listen
To birds chirping, bees humming
Nature’s symphony.
Grab a front row seat
To the pageantry and joy
No ticket required.
Peace, people!
A caution duly noted,
“those words will not increase
your popularity.”
My response: screw popularity
I’ll say what’s right
and damn the consequences!
And when you’ve exhausted
everyone’s good will?
Then what?
I’ll create imaginary
friends and we’ll dance
and sing and exchange witty barbs.
But won’t you be lonely,
woman? Sitting by
yourself, whistling in the wind?
I’d rather be lonely
surrounded by truth than cradled
by those who spout lies.
peace, people!
Best take on this election I’ve read. Thanks Paul Lenzi.
“Ghost of Madness” by Miki de Goodaboom
the inmates are outmates
escaped the asylum
with campaigns of keys
smuggled in by a
mindless electorate
straightjackets pinstriped
and pleated respectably
demagogues rattling bones
of dead dogmas that
echo with craven canards
a most artless display
of insanity normalized
raised to a level of influence
bound to derange
a democracy founded on
rational principles
mastering the art of traveling through time took less skill than anticipated.
even so, i lifted weights, jogged for hours,
and deeply meditated.
finally i prepared to leap into the fourth dimension
engaged the machine and catapulted in a westerly direction
behold, i left at 1 p.m. eastern and arrived at 12:30 p.m. central
thus proving for once that time travel is somewhat preferential.
of course on my return to feathered nest the hour I did give back
So naught was gained on this fair day; my methods sorely did lack.
A friend called for an Uber ride, and just his luck… 
I always figured he’d drive a minivan. More room for the disciples.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 