Ring Ting Ting – #20
Ring ting ting
Hear ye Hear ye
Rise up and shine
Lead me let me wander
And if that should fail
I
will
bark
in
your
face
Book of Lists
My brain is magnetically predisposed to lists.
Out of thin air, I will new lists into being of items
no one but myself has a curiosity.
One day, it was apartment movies.
Another, it was directors who married their leading ladies.
My favorite was my wishlist for Hot Ones guests.
Looking at my daybook for January,
I see that I started a list of potential Oscar Hosts –
and, maybe I’d had a glass or two of wine because among my wish hosts
were “extras from Seinfeld.”
The sense of overdrive for accumulating
unrequested minutia is the last refuge left
for the 21st century. Or, so that’s the conceit.
Everything has been accomplished
so now all that’s left is to catalogue it.
Will the end of the world
be a flash, or will it be a slow collapse
that finds us accelerating our lists for a
memory no longer required?
Note to self: List all my favorite disaster flicks.
What is enough?
Aren’t my eyes pretty enough to be seen?
My nose tiny enough
like in the movies.
Or my lips, shapeless
isn’t worthy of sweet words?
Why, isn’t my body
worthy of love?
Perhaps it’s my hand,
that’s too cold to hold.
“you’re enough” they say;
But what does enough mean?
Am I never enough to be loved?
ON THE SLAB – #19
Immersed in the slabs of the labs of forensic diviners
My poetry brain sits in some sick existential crisis
While cannibals do their work with swift expertise
I rob the thesaurus I wish I had more cheese
I stare at the screen that’s looming in front
I end up writing a poem short uninteresting and blunt
Routine
Everyday –
I make a humble entreaty
With bowed head, I supplicate the Lord.
A brisk walk is part of my morning routine.
Besides the practice of keeping myself
And my surroundings tidy.
My office is on the top floor near the traffic in the capital city.
The function of my seat is two-fold:
To communicate to clients and to drive valuable insights.
Hour 20–Noche
She’s my new routine at work
Noche
she has me trained
Sweet black kitty girl
Medianoche midnight
She’s trained me
to watch her jump up onto the table
trained me to offer my arm as she leaps onto the seat beside me
the seatback behind me
She’s trained me to allow
her to be trusting
slowly
but make a change to the routine
and
spook
Rachnoc Haiku 20 Hour 20
Menage a trois died,
Along with baby inside,
Drunken father’s hell.
In a moment fell,
Birthing pool, two concussions,
Born into the depths.
As his gentleman,
Rose and staggered from the room,
He entered, eyes blown.
Beneath the warm water,
Four arms and four legs crisscross,
Devoid of all breath.
The room’s dim light sight,
Lighthouse summons back with truth,
And Rachnoc awaits.
15. This Thing I Do
A little line here,
Another line there,
A bit of nap,
A bunch of prayer,
All jumbled ‘round
the ticking clock-bomb,
to conquer the Poetry Marathon.
23~3
seemingly centered
plausibly relaxed
surrounded
by hard earth
darkness encroaching
waiting to engage the world
she sat
with her legs crossed
peering into the depths
of the future