I sit in the cold hard chair against the wall. I stare at the clock.
Tick tock- –
The chair is dead. The wall is dead. The clock is dead.
I stare at the clock.
Tick- –
The numbers start oozing down the clock face on straight paths. They make their way down the wall to the floor. The hands elongate and snake their way, following.  Soon several slimy, wirey appendages are slithering towards me, still anchored to the face of the clock. They creep up to my feet mounted on the floor and wound themselves around my ankles and the chair, working up my legs and body. I am bound.
Thump thump thump thump my heart is pounding.
I hear my name.
The clock has numbers and hands.
I exit.

look away

i look at you for a sign
a sign that you agree
maybe you will answer
in the way you look at me


and so my mind lies waiting
and days later you will say
that i’m looking at you strangely
so for now i’ll look away


It’s been quiet here. Above is another poem, I will be away from a computer for a few days so it will be a bit before I can sit down and devote time to a real post.

Resting my brain

here’s a poem.


these teasing thoughts of work vs play

flicker in and out throughout the day

i am proud of all that i have done

but the war continues in defense of fun

dreams of magic and wonder and light

persist through the day and into the night

they frolic around inside my head

fed by beauty seen and read

they fuel my movement through this life

and are shelter and shield from stressing strife

always mine, they are my own

evolving and increasing as i have grown

what would we be without our dreams

but dull, austere and loveless beings

Zen Mentality

Zenhabits.net is one of the few blogs I read regularly. It’s been one of those weird days for me so I’d like to leave you with a thought from the most recent post on Zen Habits titled “Life is Poetry:”

Each of us lives a life that expresses who we are, reacts to the world around us, shows our passions, reflects our deep river of feeling and being.

We might sing out in joy, through our words and actions and expressions, we might hide in fear and pain, we might lash out in anger. Every thing we do, everything we are, expresses.

Gandhi’s message was his life, and yours is your life. What message are you giving the world, through your actions, how you live, how you treat others, what you accomplish, how you choose to be, every moment of every day?

Are you an angry rant? A ballad? An epic poem?

Perhaps a sonnet, a limerick, a haiku?

If your life is a poem, what do you want it to say? What would you rather leave out? What will the essence be?

Enjoy each moment as the perfect syllable, recognize the lyrical in the everyday, and sink your teeth softly into that cold delicious fruit.

At the end of the post is the poem “This is Just to Say” by William Carlos Williams and it talks about plums. I would like to leave you with another poem with a subject of fruit:

The Orange by Wendy Cope

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all my jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.