I don’t discount the grouch in each of us,
I’ll share the troubles I’ve got along with yours,
My lot has lost me kith and left me bust,
And scar my face and punch my gut with force,
I turned my inner eye to see my path,
And where it led was nowhere one should go,
I’ve tried to turn my way to miss that sad,
Result that leaves me naked on the road,
And something new (for me at least) arrived,
A helpful nudge from interested folk,
Suggesting something gives me extra tries,
Vocation rehabilitating work,
I’ve had one meet so far that gets me set,
I’ll duly chronicle what happens next.
April 14, 2015
ADD, ADHD, blog, career, poem, poems, poetry, rehabilitation, self, vocational, work
I bought and lost a book some years ago,
Full of tiny poetry,
The title may have been just “Chiyo-Ni”
Faulty goes my memory,
The only one that stays with me is this,
haiku with its imagery,
But now I see it different than it was,
Beauty grabs the realty:
That path the woman walks along in peace,
Owned by none but womanly,
Remembrance pulling girl to matron fast,
Pushed along unwillingly,
A butterfly performs a gender role,
Japan’s not solo pushing such a thing,
Our feelings forming socially,
I love that poem through and through and through,
These words aren’t meant irreverently,
And please don’t think that what I say is true,
It’s just it’s nagging thoroughly,
January 8, 2015
culture, gender, haiku, influence, japan, kigo, muse, musings, poem, poems, poetry
Mr. Hebdo sat on my head and wouldn’t stop pulling my beard,
How could I hold to my lovely distraction when dealing with something so weird?
Mr. Hebdo laughs like an imp who spills all the drinks on the floor,
Ruining carpets and taking a toll on my sanity just like a bore.
Mr. Hebdo, why do you make my life such such a notable pain?
How can you live with yourself when it’s all you can do just to drive me insane?
Mr. Hebdo patted my back and brought me back down to the Earth,
Bade me to look out the window to see all the neighbors inflated with worth,
Mr. Hebdo gave me a wedgie only to help me to see,
How that we need to be brought down a peg, and he whispered “Je suis Charlie.”
It’s cold up here,
Nothing like Minnesota,
They dialed the Sun,
Down low to freeze my tush off,
Okay, I lie,
Tepid or just below it,
But, all the same,
Nothing like Minnesota.
November 16, 2014
chilly, cold, fall, hemisphere, north, northern, poem, poetry, weather, winter
Bake (my skin),
I read up on the sonnet yesterday,
Because, I wanted something new to write,
Because, I wanted something new to say,
Because, I didn’t want to be so trite,
I thought it was too difficult to write,
A poem shaped to make it too obscure,
And, then I got too tempted not to bite,
So, writing this began to feel unsure,
At last, the form begins to feel more pure,
The keyboard clacks with regulated feel,
I’m pounding out the stanzas quick and sure,
Impending words are ever ever real,
Oh my, I think that its conclusion’s starting,
The thing is done; my brain’s not worth a farthing.
September 18, 2014
challenge, crazy, feet, meter, poem, poems, poetry, rhyme, rhythm, sonnet, stanza, writing
I don’t know what to write,
Isn’t that the point of this?
Going on exposing this?
A scatter brained disease.
I come upon a word,
That makes me turn around a bit,
Before I can get back to sit,
The perfect word, “dis-ease.”
(And then I see the first line above:
Does the emphasis come on “don’t”?
Does the emphasis come on “know”?
And then I heave me a hefty sigh.