Poem-A-Day: Day 115

Scared Squared

S C A R E D
C There’s E
A nothing R
R  to be  A
Eafraid ofC
D E R A C S

Poem-A-Day: Day 114

Creature Feature

Hummingbirds drop hints
like napalm,
laying waste to the entirety
of a mind already barren,
scorched in more ways than one…

lacking things essential,
thoughtful,
insightful,
but not terrifying.

The whole mess is a field
of nightmare creatures,
tearing every living thing to pieces,
so that they,
in some godlike way,
can find peace among themselves.

Poem-A-Day: Day 113

Sparrow Doesn’t Get It

Sparrow calls the silver-backed wings
something unheard of in this day and ageless gimmick.

Silver-backed wings respond contrite
that they have a name somewhere near simplicity.

Sparrow never knowing, never heard
of simplicity, not once in trying things like flight
and being verbose, talking overhead, over heads,
spasmodically sundering thunder clouds to chirp
away at the voices in its very narrow minded
absence of thought; the train that stopped short
of greatness.

Silver-backed wings fly simple, over
heard, if something happens to catch another’s
fancy, but nothing’s fancy, because the flight
is soft and slow, mellow, dramatic, but eloquent
to notwithstanding underneath the eyes gazing
in chapped glory towards the sun and clouded
blue heavens.

Sparrow calls the silver-backed wings
contemptuous names, faltering over each word blankly.

Silver-backed wings respond contrite
that they have been called worse things than simplicity.

Poem-A-Day: Day 112

Light Slaps

Raggedy slaps in the face
from the light that breaks
through the blinds in silence.

Mute, unsightly mess on the floor,
watching the ceiling come to life
and reach down to help
clean up the pile that’s wasting away
the day, dreaming
of what happened the night before,
and the night before,
and the night before…
before…
before…
before boredom sets in like mosaic tiles
creating a fragmented picture
that seems to make sense
the further away it’s viewed.

The bed a partner in crime,
insomuch as it left a deathbed wish
to be left alone.

It hates to stink.

It hates to see the same mess
on the same floor
day in and out,
unless it’s the in and out
that makes the mess.

It has a twisted sense of morality,
that laughs circles around
the quiet pale, quite failing bedlam
that mars the carpet floor
morning to morning,
mourning the slaps that never cease
from the ragged blinds
come calling.

Poem-A-Day: Day 111

Binary Connections

one binary connection lacking
zero thought towards the many things
one needs to understand.
zero chance at the systematic,
zero possibilities at comprehension,
zero leads to exasperate the
one situation that needs more than
zero standards of development.
zero stands in for
zero, leaving nothing but a
zero to represent the
one piece of information that lends itself to the
one thing plus the only other
one thing that just happens to make any sense.
zero just happens to be easier than following
one simple subject for the sake of
zero recognition, or being able to seek out that
one part that has been lost, and left a
zero to take the part of lucky 7.

Poem-A-Day: Day 110

Tales of Voluntary Madness

Darkness, aside from a false sea
churning silent waves of fluorescents
into squared majesty
that just happens to be permeated
with envious greens, and a familiar scent
moving slowly over wood, carpeted
in silver, strange and silent gaze
locked on mildly glowing heaven sent
that seems to always subtly amaze.

Poem-A-Day: Day 109

Jelly

A person I’ve known many years
Has become more than what she appears
My friend’s little sister
Was once quite the blister
But now she’s just one of the peers.