Running
Running for my life
Past following close behind
Don’t look, keep running
Hour 20 – I have run out of routines
I have run out of routines
Waking Up
[Is less now like a time and more so an estimate, expansive above all else,
who knows how many angles of the sun I will miss in my dreaming]
Eating Breakfast
[Food, too soon, sits in my stomach, becomes its own urgent care on a Monday morning
each particle trembling, shaking their knees, clutching their palms, refusing to leave]
Making Coffee
[Always dependant now on the coffee sitting on the counter, or in the fridge, or none at all
a courtesy that has cracked autonomy open and let brown sludge leak out]
Brushing My Teeth
[My toothbrush has melted into a plastic pompom on a bending stick
and the paste has imploded in on itself, a minty black hole with white and green swirling]
Starting My Day
[When does a day start? At zero hundred? With the incessant clanging of alarms?
When eyelids open and yawns impact the air? When I’m ready to be alive?]
Jackson Brown Would Be Proud
Running on empty
Pre-dawn hollowness
A shell of my usual self
My words brittle, stilted, halting
My emotions devoid of feeling
Free-floating angst and anger
So great, yet so nebulous.
I have no core.
My thoughts echo in the vastness
as they ricochet between scales from high and the abyss
Vacillating on the periphery
Of sleep deprived cravings
For friendship,
Commeraderie
kinship.
I miss my friends
and Some Poets.
It’s hard to remember a time
When I have felt as sorry for myself
As I do now.
Breath fills the cavity within me
Slowly released into the vacuum that connects us all.
It is enough for now,
for me
to keep running.
Hour 21: Running
Running out of time
There is so much left undone
The clock does not stop
So much more to be
Minutes quickly become hours
Grains of sand slip through the hourglass
And I watch them slip away
Time just keeps running
Hour 21: Simple Pleasures
Running.
Flowing through my hands.
Warm and comforting.
Nuzzling me as I scrub and scrape.
Plate after plate, spoon after spoon.
Turning the most mundane of chores
into an act of comfort.
Giving me some pleasure,
some stillness,
Till I am ready to finish,
turn off the tap,
and once again, start
running.
Hour 20
This one came to my brain really fast. It’s kinda silly and almost is t a poem at all. But hey counting it today!
Hour 20
My worst habit isn’t that bad
It’s almost silly really
I never tie my shoes before leaving for work
I get them on my feet and go
Which isn’t a problem
Until you end up in the ditch
And there no pretty way to put it
When the ditch has a couple feet of snow
And your shoes are untied
Hour 9. See How They Run
Running all over the house as a young child
without any rhyme or reason
Running aftera ball or a doll as an older child.
Running after a lover as young adult
Setting up a house running after money
house,car, education, learning, fame
As the body tatters under its own right
thoughts and worries run riot
Wondrous are these funny little (wo)men
Even in death bed as disease has ravaged
they still keep on running!
23~8
melancholia
is my master
memories
longing lost love
rudely ripped away
just as it was
beginning
such sadness
memories
drown me
can I be
forgiven
hidden regret
colors everything
around me
wistful
fleeting
glimpses
of joy
stolen happiness
leaves my past
forever gone
away
with him
our secret
i’ve paid for
with
the rest
of
my life
Eneke the bird
African myths have many stories of birds loving rest time
Loving the taste of worms and insects, and coming down for them.
Eneke the bird has learnt to do the extraordinary
“Eneke the bird says that since men have learned to shoot without missing, he has learned to fly without perching”. Chinua Achebe, Things Fall Apart.
Long ago in the African kingdom, the birds were commoners, easy sports for hunters
Their little ones served as snacks for bigger animals of the sky. The young and able-bodied were snacks for men. The ones that managed it into old age were left with many dead relatives, struggling to navigate life.
Now there is no room for sloppiness
The bird has learned to soar the air, knowing not to perch
The bird has learnt to remain on the move explore the sky more and leave land for men
Hour 21 – Running
Running
Running late
Grabbing a coffee
And my keys
I head out the door
Without my lunch
Running copies
The machine jams
All my efforts to fix it
Are in vain
No math paper for
my kids today
Running my mouth
I reveal a secret
About a fellow teacher
My cheeks grow red
As she walks past our lunch table
Running errands
Prescriptions
The post office
Dropping off donations
Looks like fast food again tonight
I want time to sit
Enjoy the seasons
Read a book
But I find myself always running