Dimanche

Misty air envelops each movement
Skipping carefully from tile to tile
Choosing the lesser of the ice bricks
   on the way out
Substitute steam and towels for morning attire

Turn the knob and wait, for the turbulence to begin
Hissing and clanking--a morning monster awakens
Elegantly pause the picture to reset the playlist
   that fills the room with drums and strings
Dancing with the speakers, the coffeepot rises
   to tempo with the beat
Shaking and whistling, screaming perfection
A fresh cup joins the scene, along with a glint
   of bright winter dawning
Aromas of comfort, joined with circadian serenity

Disembodiment

[Three years old. This poem started a need to write]

Cackling winds and rustling leaves motion past the portal to an external world,

            Awakening the inner mongrel from its child-like slumber,

            Tearing each sentiment from its coupling utopia

Remove myself from this relaxing, recumbent rest

Make no haste warming bony fingers over 2 putrid smelling candles—as preparation for the trial

that lies ahead

Ease into these instances; …freeze, rather, seize them for yourself—

Amidst the solemn outer atmosphere a Corvidae shrieks out,

            Alerting the day of its eminent dominance

So I glare out into its hellish glass eyes and…, it plummets from the tree—dead

            With sudden relief

And I transpire—again

14 times oblivion will shroud my maniacal mind…today

Tomorrow never arrives, a Penrose triangle remains uniquely impossible, and

            …time stands still on Thursday

Yearning to shatter the mold that is every day routine, you march to the front line with Dreams

and Emotions and Collective spirits at your back, only to see the enemy—Father Time,

Mother Nature, the Angel of Death, and Cousin Chaos

Defeated without contact, yet all is left intact

you drag yourself out from under the mattress of misery

Post dinner party, you host a Ménage à trois with neighbor palliative and sister loneliness.

Longing to live like King, Gandhi, or even Churchill

            we adapt idiosyncrasies of addict musicians, ditsy celebrities, and spineless politicians

but denial claws up through the fissures in modern autonomy and the cannons blast their

defensive projectiles, separating the boys from men and the ideal from reality

Thus far, nothing that can’t be replaced has perished, no one that grows distant sits missed,

            and nowhere recently traveled prevails in our memories 

[This poem, I feel, fits in with my previous position on my writings, described further in "my attempt at a stream of consciousness". A view in which, as I see it now, is an attempt to be able to simplistically write something profound by first beginning with the opposite--shallow words and meaningless phrases from which greater depth 'appears' by use of my highfalutin vocabulary and disconnected imagery.]

Chem Poem

Au-en  BaNa₂(s)  Ar,

now  I  LaC  K.

Golden bananas are gone,

now I lack potassium

Perpetual Host

Locked away in a cell, wallpapered with Star Wars posters and thick eggnog paint

A jail from which I could travel freely as commander of the keys, a perpetual host

in my own home. Frequent visitors come and go; friends seeking enjoyment,

peers of pleasure and mirth. Pleased, they stay for a spell, and oft remain past welcome

Guests of mine: eat and drink and laugh; annoyed when I tire of entertaining.

Companions with minute awareness of the ticking clocks of their placation limits

Personal relaxation is their boredom—never content with a company of one

Chef, tutor, housemaid; bro, teammate, weekend chaperon

Trapped among all too familiar strangers

Overrun with no place to seek refuge, or peace of mind

These festive giants wander back to apartments and beds more comforting then

recessed couches and stale basement air,

only to return again—freshened, and energized to restart the cycle

and interrupt their uninteresting lives,

confining me to a cage, built by walls but fortified with ignorant friendship

smothering the source of satisfaction

A hideaway turns to quicksand and solace becomes a distant dream