Saturday Morning

Once again, nothing to report

except that the sun melted through the window blinds today

and the light, streaked across the closet door in lines, long

woke me before the lawnmower had the chance

to begin his guttural song

 

– E

 

April PAD Challenge Update: 12/14.

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Worn

Moth-eaten sweater,
all full of holes
frayed blue cuffs

Mangled shoelace
tangled in knots
flapping rubber sole

Mismatched socks
torn-at-the-knee jeans
and a grass stain

Mother dressed us well
if only we could wear
childhood again

But now it is not
our clothes that wear out
it is us

The battle is with myself

that’s why I always lose

I never know which self

is the self that I should choose.

 

– E

Something

Say something thoughtful
Think something original
Create something awe-invoking
Write something beautiful
Hold something dear
Love something innocent
Believe something faithfully
See something differently
Be something joyful
Be something
Be

Scholar

I will give the world my two cents

a daily offering to Intelligence,

and on days when I’ve lost my sense,

I’ll give instead to the tray of Ignorance.

Time and place mean little
you cannot blame your birth
In the end it is our actions
that determine what we’re worth

SAge

Loss of hearing, loss of sight

loss of teeth, loss of height

memory fails with eyes and ears

must everything go in these final years?

 

Or does time compensate for what is missed

as would say the optimist?

and these surface senses are replaced by

a sense that perceives without eyes.

 

Is the forgotten past in your decline

mere proof you exist outside of time?

and as you grow deaf can you hear

at last through your soul’s ear?

 

Blind, do you finally know what it means

to fix your eyes upon things unseen?

For what is seen is transient–we know this–

but what is unseen is eternal (…I’ll believe the optimist).

 

2 Corinthians 4:18

 

– E

April PAD Challenge Update: 7/8.

 

Midnight Revelers

It’s that time, the quiet hour
but there are people in the streets
shouting and shrieking
while I grumble in my sheets
How their voices carry
through the night air
breaking through the windows
echoing everywhere
Do they not know how much
ill will is directed their way?
And yet it seems it is only
we quiet ones who have to pay
Good night! I’ll exclaim and
I’ll scream it from my bed
but the shouting will continue because
the screaming is only in my head
I scream it in this poem
and I scream it to the town
Dear Midnight Revelers,
would you kindly keep it down?

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