I’ve been listening to a lot of music today. But then again, I have also spent some time out in nature, and I’d like to share three photos I took. In one, I am squinting my eyes because it’s so sunny outside!
I recently quit smoking the occasional clove cigarette, so I’ve been chewing gum, and drinking a lot of coffee, tea, and anything else that is relatively calorie-free. The thing is, the “occasional” clove got to the point where I was smoking several a day. And boy are they strong!
Right now I’m listening to Nick Drake, one of my all-time favorite musicians. He, like many others, died tragically, and way too young.
My grief is great, and smiles are few,
Since childhood I have had this curse!
I summon up faces to view,
My grief is great, and smiles are few
My memory is time pursued
Have you had to deal with this curse?
My grief is great, and smiles are few,
Since childhood, I have had this curse!
Here I am, reading a poem. I know I sound like I need nose spray.
What I didn’t know was how she would show me that my heart did,
indeed, belong on my sleeve. Or, it had to live there.
And that she held the amount of wisdom
of an 80 year old, in the body of someone who felt 80,
but was in her mid-50’s. She said we could just be friends,
and I thought, Please… please don’t state the obvious.
That is, that she also holds all of the trappings of a wife.
No time for me, on the side. Maybe some fries
to nourish her larger belly, which I found fascinating
and attractive because I am unusual myself.
Atypical, as they say. Both on and off paper.
Would I want to pursue her had she been available?
This is what I ask myself after every love interest is first conceived.
I didn’t used to ask myself such questions,
but I, too, am older and wiser now.
Maybe not 80, but my bones have been through
a lot and I cannot help but think that maybe I have
something to say at any given dinner table.
If only they heard me.
If only I heard myself.
Things are pretty good here! Aside from having some financial issues, which many of us have, I’m good. I do get quite lonely sometimes and try to ward off the loneliness by writing poetry and other stuff. I find that WordPress has a more appreciative audience for poetry than places, such as Facebook.
I rarely get to visit with my friend/love interest these days. She’s so busy. I wonder if it’s another thing the Universe is trying to tell me about me being attracted to people who’re unavailable and/or just don’t have time, even if they want to be.
I’m already nervous about my disability doctors appointments (I have to see two doctors) that isn’t for three weeks from now. If I don’t get disability, I’m not sure what I’ll do for income, for the time being. It’s not that I want to receive disability payments for the rest of my life, but I need it now.
What will likely happen, which almost always does, is I will be denied and have to appeal with a lawyer.
The other day, I inherited some really nice furniture, so my apartment is really cosy right now. It helps. Anything positive does.
I was a baby, and the breeze was just so that I was born a little late.
If you can even blame the air. That meant a few more roast beef subs
for my mother that otherwise wouldn’t have been eaten.
It was just so that I almost didn’t, or we almost didn’t,
make it to the hospital. It was snow. Nineteen seventy-eight,
a snow storm to remember. The weather was just snow.
And I was ready to come out.
But I wasn’t ready to face this world.
Especially below freezing. Tiny as I was,
the nurses all wanted to put me in their pockets
and take me home.
I’m no longer tiny, and a series of events have led me here.
Ones that made other ones happen. The Butterfly Effect,
an underlying principle of chaos, as they say.
Chaos Theory. If this didn’t happen, that wouldn’t happen.
The chances that I was conceived on a whim, on Valentine’s day, is not slim.
Valentine’s Day means a lot,
or a little, to some folks.
My mother was probably dressed up and ready for her first,
or maybe her last date. No one ever told me.
Or, I couldn’t believe what they told me.
Valentine’s Babies are Thanksgiving Babies sometimes.
And I was late; just late enough.
“Something cold is in the air,
An aura of ice and phlegm…” – Anne Sexton
I look to undo it,
but my skin feels
the gentle breeze of September,
and ending to come
tree leaves falling,
crisping under the feet of
children and mothers alike
The earth wants to unwind me,
make me simple and find me,
But I’m twisted into a season
Just like that,
don’t wake me,
For these eventual
colors will take me
To a place of longing,
a state of belonging.
And I don’t.
Never will I.
pills to make the
But you can’t swallow
I can’t touch you,
so my dreams say,
But I try,
in every way
my bed in the morning,
thrashing dread from
You caused this.
That dark mass is
swelling my belly
A baby, of sorts
that has been here
It fills the empty space
and gives it meaning.
I see myself through,
and feel myself new
At least there’s feeling,
one’s not out there,
shattering glass ceilings.
Fresh air, and exercise,
but who has time for that
When one has pills to
Keep black holes at
Tablets to slow you down,
And speed you up,
One’s a dunce.
A sharp one at that,
one for which
to tip your cap.
Poetry doesn’t come easy
You’re a sadness whore
What was that you wrote?
You can’t remember,
perhaps next September.
Wash off the dirt,
wipe off the grime,
For this his episode,
you haven’t got time,