#0111 - 30 Days

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 30}

These varied rhymes
'cross 30 days
have found their way
through different styles.
The month has gone,
but coming times
should soon bring on
new written lines
continuing
to sing like songs
or strum like strings.
Rights and wrongs
     will always ling-
     -er 'mongst these things.

#0110 - Musings

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 29}

I

I wouldn’t say I’m sober now,
But neither am I liquored up.
I guess I’m just preoccupied
With existential thoughts.

And that is why I seem distraught:
While part of me’s awaiting death,
The second part is clinging on
To this simplistic life.

I’m floating by and trudging ‘long,
I’m hoping that a glimmer of
Enlightenment will find its way
To this imprisoned mind.

I wish I were a bird because
I’d have to move through air instead
Of trudging through these expecta-
-tions, sorely overwhelmed.

II

You’d think that air would rightly be a breeze to travel through.
But something ‘bout these sounds and stares keeps holding back my feet:
These horrid expectations that are always finding me
I’d rather have replaced with clubs or knives of crimson hue.

This populace is filled with people that refuse to care:
A massive presentation of this world’s fatuity.
These ersatz feelings pave the way for thoughts that torture me:
That everyone is simply waiting for my mind to tear.

The stares devoid of any thought replace the dreams of past;
Forgetting what they once lived for, these people are now grey—
Their dull indifference seeks to spread its deadly grip to me.
I’m chained and beat by glares and stares, but hold my ground, steadfast.

III

There are a million paths through life, and e-
-very one is forked to form a million more.

At every gateway there’s a second door
To lead you faster to your final end.

It offers you a short respite, an end
To all the gloomy things that may assault

Your mind and propagate your countless faults,
Which never cease to bring torment and doubt.

Thus, Death is there, awaiting your last bout,
Which drives you grimly, quickly ‘cross the edge—

That ever-present scythe with sharpened edge,
That cloak of darkness standing motionless.

Don’t let yourself be drawn by what Death says;
It’s easy to be happy when some nic-

-eties find you, but not so otherwise.
If life were not made up of darker times,

The better times would not be so sublime.

#0109 - Światła

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 28}

Światła,
jak les Simples Soldats
maszerują przez czarną pustynie.
Niecierpliwi, ale wolni,

oni przez sto lat już
formują kręcące trasy
przez urbanistyczne mokradła
i polowe niezwykłości.

#0108 - Silhouettes

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 27}

Silhouetted against the night sky,
stars form shapes—
patterns and contours—
in a puppet-show display.

White Rorschach splatters
perform their artistic stillness
on a pitch-black canvas
of infinite vastness.

This is white shade
creating analogous long ears
and slender muzzles and showing
that shadow is a point of view.

#0107 - Haiku XII

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 26}

You can’t attempt to
Hide your own shadow without
Creating more shade.

#0106 - Stockholm Syndrome

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 25}

Do you remember when,
upon a successful landing,
the passengers of a given flight
would give a round of applause to the pilot?

It's that type of unconditional respect
that is progressively becoming extinct;
it is that mutual altruism
that's being replaced with stoicism.

It's Stockholm Syndrome.
People like acknowledge each other
only when they are held inescapably
captive by one another's company.

Unequivocally self-centered
they will remain
for as long as they're offered
any means of escape:

Blasting beats,
ductile displays,
or just something to stare at
in infinite space.

But give them the motivation
of more pay or a better place,
and they'll suddenly will themselves
to speak with someone else.

#0105 - Cinquain IV

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 24}

Lód

Jest jak
Płynące szkło;
Czysty, naturalny...
Jakoś zaprasza, ale zim-
-ny—mróz.

#0104 - "Phobias...haze"

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 23}

Is society so anarchic
because it's people are anarchic?
Or because everyone's view is laser-focused,
but on a superficial goal?

Xenophobia, homophobia,
amongst many other phobias,
are the perpetual insomnia
of society, keeping people awake at night.

Aspirin, Aderall might help a little,
but only for a one-time headache.
If the migraines persist perpetually,
will you just keep yourself doped up perpetually?

I guess the "doped up" makes sense:
everyone sees the problem,
but they only ever stare at the elephant
in the room as if in a cloudy haze.

#0103 - Student's Plight

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 22}

This massive flood of texts and books, so bland
Cannot prepare a student to go on
Or even just to start to understand

The things in which they wish to play a hand.
With frantic grip they must for life cling on:
This massive flood of texts and books, so bland—

It threatens, makes one wish to quick aban-
-don hope and with their tired wits abscond
Or even just to start to understand.

If we say knowledge, wisdom, are both land
On which we must survive, then is it wrong,
This massive flood of texts and books, so bland?

Or is it for each woman and each man
Required to within this life move on,
Or even just to start to understand

The shifts, changing, always moving sands
That form this life's eternal, abstract song?
This massive flood of texts and books, so bland,
Is nigh-impossible to understand.

#0102 - "Patience"

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 21}

If patience lasts for centuries
and rashness lasts for only days,
then which of these is always bound
to go a longer way?

#0101 - 420

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 20}

So strange a day
to commemorate
to getting high
on smoke divine.

If days were so readily
committed to steadily
elevating family/community/society
rather than one's doped-up psyche
we might be in a better place,
pummeling ignorance with steady pace.

"Blazing it" is fun, sure,
but I propose a day for,
instead of burning toxic seeds,
planting convalescent seeds

of knowledge.

#0100 - Haiku XI

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 19}

The poet's tired;
He writes a brief haiku in-
-stead of a sonnet.

#0099 - Haiku X

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 18}

Darkness of the night:
The world changes when shed in
A different light.

#0098 - Kickstart

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 17}

Acres of mire and
pitchers of fire can't
shift my direction much
more than a breeze. || The
day's here to seize so I
make it my mission to
thrive in this grind and to
leave doubts behind.

#0097 - "J'ai rencontre un homme"

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 16}

J’ai rencontre un homme:

En un café rempli des démons et monstres
il était assis, espérer que le temps
passé avec sa peur, son stress
restaurerait sa innocence épatant.

«Je sais que je suis une proie,» il a dit.
«Je me demande seulement qui
me chasse maintenant; je fais face mes peurs,
mais je trébuche sur formes nouveaux des douleurs.»

Mais il craint quoi; ses vices voulusses?
Son humilité, ou caché égoïste?
«Tous et tous; ces et plus—
c’est l’espoir, c’est la vie.»

#0096 - Haiku IX

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 15}

Dry cacti, cool pines;
Vast natural opposites,
Yet each grows sharp spines.

#0095 - Cinquain III

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 14}

Hindsight:
Something passes.
One vainly wishes to
Revisit once more that which is
Long gone.

#0094 - "Deconstructing diligent diversions"

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 13}

Cogitating cognitive conundrums—
abrasive, abstruse abominations
deconstructing diligent diversions
satiating simple succours
warding worrisome wishes
undeniably unattainable. Unreasonable:
pulchritude pervading pigsties.

#0093 - To Know

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 12}

If I could know a hundred million things,
I don't know if this craving would abate;
or even if an end to these stirrings

can truly come... Can I myself satiate
this cursèd cluelessness? Or am I, now
and always, doomed—wisdom's prison's inmate—

to only, always humble, lowly bow
and, seeking, pray to some enlightened mind
and hope that I can grasp some knowledge? How

am I to keep from staying dully blind?
Or am I to be with this void aligned?

#0092 - Tire

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 11}

Tire.
But not like rubber.
Not malleable.
Not heat-retardant,
crack-retardant,
split-retardant,
force-retardant,
paper-holding
hair bun-holding,
spandex,
latex
thing that we somehow pull out of trees.

Tire like lethargy.
Tire in keeping with the light of sobering stars
moving slowly across the sky
as you slowly succumb to sobering sleep.
Situational: somber street lights lining
asphalt streets that linger in your line of sight
as you leave one place to find
another.
Leave the lights;
lie down lavishly (or lumpily)
and learn to list off little sheep
that lollygag across
a lay-er’s sleep.

#0091 - ode to your beauty

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 10}
{Prompt: "Bad Poetry," from THATRANDOMPROMPT on Tumblr}

O, how beautiful your beauty is;
O, how wonderful your wonder is;
O, how amazing your amazement is;
O, how pulchritudinous your pulchritude is...

To attempt to describe your beauty—
whether your face or hair or booty—
Would be nothing but a sin.
but, I can try; and in
My attempt to commit this sin
I relate you to a metal trash bin:

Like the polished metal of the waste-holding can,
You reflect the gleam of stars and plan-
-ets, and the tar-colored irises of your eyes
are as black as the bin's residual grimes.

To truly find words that
can describe your beauty would take so much thought that


























I need to pause
before I can describe your jaws
or describe your hair,
Which flows like air,
Or describe your legs
which are as long as pegs
that are long.

And don't think that I jest!
you are more beautiful than anyone could have guessed,
So that I feel like I'm under a hex
Such that I only think about se-
-lling my heart and soul to you
so that you won't be blue—

You being blue I never want to see
Because, although your eyes are blue like the sea,
I never want you to be
the bad kind of blue, if you know what I mean

(If you don't, then what I mean is that I don't want to see you
     sad; I relate sad with the color blue—
Now see, do you?)

So, I again raise my glass to your beauty
And hope that you can stay with me
As we stand on the snowy ridge of an overlooking
     mountain range buffeted by a windy breeze
and see.

#0090 - Thought 19

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 9}

Harsh, bright lights;
          Now slumber—

Straining eyes and weathered mind
          Meet thoughtless void—unique respite.

#0089 - Haiku VIII

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 8}

Movie ending scenes,
Unlike our reality,
Tie up the loose ends.

#0088 - Cold Mornings

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 7}

Reminders of times past;
Nostalgia;
The blitheness of a child revisited.

At a time when darkness still reigns—
too late in the night for anyone to be awake, or
too early in the morning for anyone to be awake—
tata (father) rouses us to consciousness.

Lethargy
like superglue keeping our eyes closed;
Cold
like waterfalls of ice on our feet
when they poke out from under the covers.

"Come on, time to wake up;
you can sleep in the car."

Pillows, blankets huddled in our arms:
mementos of the paradise of slumber.
We stumble wherever that familiar voice leads us,
vision fuzzy,
feet shuffling,
comprehension nonexistent—
just get to the car,
where rest awaits.

Step out the garage door,
cold morning air hits us like the gust of a blizzard.
Still black as ink outside;
the sun makes a feeble effort to light our way:
the faintest glimmer of blue—
hue inspired by the glacial air—
streaks along the Eastern horizon.
And the air:
As if winter concentrated all it has
into this single morning;
As if we are living in a fridge
and the fridge door just slammed shut;
As if Antarctica has come to visit us,
but without the snow.

Oooooh it's c-co-old.
Where's the car?

We shuffle begrudgingly to the open door and dive in,
creating our personal nests faster than any bird
out of pillows and covers and anything warm.

Darkness:
sleep returns.

As tens,
dozens,
hundreds
of miles of asphalt pass beneath our metal chariot,
the sky grows gradually brighter
and through holes in the sheltering veil of Hypnos
we listen to snippets of grown-up talk:
something about planning,
something about money,
something about home,
something about travel,
…something about us...

In retrospect, it was all probably important,
but, to the infinite indifference of childhood,
irrelevant.

That indifference is gone now—
it could not follow me through the years.
Like Blankie
and action figures
and Gameboy cartridges,
it’s in the attic now.
I can visit it,
but I can no longer have it back.

#0087 - Thought 18

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 6}

One true difference exists between wilting and shedding:

Either way, the bad stuff falls away.
In shedding, a better you manifests;
In wilting, there is nothing left when the detritus falls away.

#0086 - Forbidden

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 5}
{Prompt: "Taboo," from Poetry Riot! on Tumblr}

Perpetual Earth:
our home and our hearth.
The disk of our sun
not turning 'round us?
Forbidden.

A dark-coloured man:
him, owning the farmland
that's littered with soil
upon which he toils?
Forbidden.

A woman well-dressed
and clever, no less:
her, raising her hand
or taking a stand?
Forbidden.

A man and a man
to walk hand in hand?
A lady and lady
in shared bed asleep?
Forbidden.

So many things that have been labeled taboo;
are you still surprised that the judgement continues?
Not surprised, I would say,
just a little irritated;
Saddened.

#0085 - Rhetoric of Numbers

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 4}

These numbers and dry formulæ may be,
By blasted inexplicability,
A better piece of poetry to read
Than any word or phrase written by me.
If words in poems are indeed to veil
A meaning that by pond'ring eyes' assailed,
Then digits can be easily availed
To cause these ardent ponderers to fail:
Replace a thought with π or e or 4
Or any of a frankly endless score
Of varied symbols rarely used yet more
Elucidating than one's lingual lore.
     But, rather than with maths be so enraged,
     I'd like to just read poems off a page.

#0084 - Spare Time

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 3}

Who could know what you do in your spare time?
Do you dance with angels?
With devils?
Are you searching for affection
or, faced
s d r a w k c a b,
just direction?

These moments, these times,
do you find to be sublime
or do you simply lie
in everlasting wait
for this lifetime to abate
its slings and arrows?

Perpetual love,
perpetual sleep,
perpetual hate,
perpetual peace.
With which endless path
do you hold your allegiance?
Or do you rather sit in indifference
as moments pass, silence
as your reaction to nascent
cataclysms or confused parlance?

I won't take the time
to guess;
I'll only be half-right
at best.

#0083 - Thought 17

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 2}

Sometimes we attempt to mask our emotions
from being interpreted by the inquisitors surrounding us,

And sometimes our emotions are masks that we can’t even interpret ourselves.

#0082 - Thoughts

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 1}

Flowing through the crevices within my mind
Establish reality, which I survive;
To fall or to thrive is
A question of mine and
Whose answer is lost in some ditch of my mind.