Stealing Lines


Stealing Lines

Hour 24 becomes
the kaleidoscope poem
that I couldn’t write in hour 17.
The light rays penetrating the canopy
become the spokes of the kaleidoscope
turning fractals of
on the forest floor.
As I write the last poem
the cat puddles on my legs.
I feel the release of the pieces
of pens as my mind starts to shut down.
In a parallel universe my poems
would all be crystal clear and understandable
not a surreal morass of inertia.
I run away into the circus of minds
that are trying to stay awake.
I can do a full marathon
because I am retired
but do they make sense?
No routine is scary but maybe one day
will make sense.
Words are a blizzard.
I gather music and images.
I disconnect logic.
I hope there will be colors.
The cat purrs me back awake.
I write about turquoise bucket lists.
In my dream poem
trees have teeth in early morning.
I fade in the 24th hour
Is my cat real or myth,
do I feel his weight?
I hope there are clouds today
I will drink iced tea.
There are two crows but are elephants real? Creativity is a canyon.
I disolve myself in the 24th hour into a mine fog.

Age of Retirement


Age of Retirement

I am learning
the new routine
of the age of retirement
I shuffle old paper

The new routine
of digging into my past
I shuffle old paper
keep new at bay

The new routine
of no routine is scary
keep new at bay
there is still work

No routine is scary
in the age of retirement
there is still work
I am learning

Two Crows

Two Crows

Today’s walk outside
I watched two crows.
They hold good luck
so as I watch them dance
I hope they don’t leave me
without luck
on a day where I need
what I gather.

My Illusive Dreams

My elusive dreams

Stay funky*
Even in the hours of dream
I am staid,
proper, afraid of what
is outside of my zone of solitude.
I wish I was edgy but manage
just a snitch of snark.

Earth to Asgard**

If the gods are crazy what does that make humans that became sheep to follow blindly becoming humans that leap
or maybe not leap into the category of lunacy?

Don’t play with shadows***
Come in it’s dark.
I’m tired I flirt with the night
in my pretend goth stage
my body lies
my cicadia rhythm
that’s inside me
leaving before the twilight ends
and the shadows of deep night
overwhelms the space of my safety.

Soon my night move is a nocturne lullaby
suited just for me
and a soft dip into pages
before slumber

Inspired by
*Photo by Clark van der Beken
**Earth to Azgard Partick Doyle
***Playing with shadows David Franklin
****Nocturne Jiang Xiao Qing
All music instrumental

Staying Awake

Hour 15

Staying Awake

The reader will have to get flowers
to disconnect from the reviews.
I have been unfinishable.
The crawl into reality is
the sword and shield
of flat earth and the
Martian rocks.
Belief is that everybody
dies again.
To be honest with yours
according to research it is a
supermoon an unforgiven escape
the bad feelings that
the songs of country is
about the seven dwarfs.
I don’t know if you
have any questions.

A Pop of Colors

Hour 14

A Pop of Colors

In the secret world of desert blooms
you never know which year
will have just the right amount of rain
to blast color from sand.
They say carpets of multicolored hues
will spread over the land.
You tread a red carpet among
the arms of Saguaro.
You dance between prickly pears
red and vibrant.
It is but a fleeting moment
in the time of high deserts.

He Rules the Pen

Hour 13

He Rules the Pen

Is retirement a profession?
When did becoming
a permanent cat bed
become a daily requirement?

He rules the pen.


Hour 12


A closet is never empty.
It is always overfull with items.
One closet holds remnants of Christmas
that remain unused – – not cat safe.
One holds random boxes
of life’s paper trails.
One holds clothes from work
and the everyday I now wear
along with linens,
extra paper products,
and just oversized junk.

A closet is a metaphor
for an overburdened life.

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