PODM A Few Final Words

Poem a Day in May.

Well, folks I managed to stay abreast of the month (once I caught up) only to fall behind as life is seldom that set or smooth more than a week at a time. I won't say all 31 pieces were amongst my best- BUT I did try very hard to get all of them to work/flow better than rhyming on the bathroom wall.

These are my final words when confronted with my life
as it has come out in these last days before I began the
next ones with a new sense of all that has ended and the 
promise of what is about to come, 

These are my final moments in the track of time that
my people, human beings, have called May- as if you
can contain thirty days down to 30, or 4 weeks within
the scope that time has, in fact, passed.

I like to listen to music when I begin to write since it
inspires me to compose more, to improve on what
I am planning to say and be thorough without being
boring or too brief or too slow.

These are the final characters that will mark my days
I spent crafting my art that others will most likely
judge harshly and not linger long enough to see
what all this poetry has meant
to me.

To me.
What all this poetry has meant
to me.

PODM 30 Poetry Crush

Wow this is what I get for getting behind.

Poetry Crush

Feeling the flow this is the way that I must go
it's not about the words, it's not about the lines
of poetry, it's about having something to show
when I get to the end of the present verse
does it still move off the tongue?
or have I just made it worse?

I love what I have written most of the time
it's got to move like silk off the tongue
some pattern is required to remain sublime
otherwise it's not what I want to read
it's in the trash, I look for the delete
it's what I desire, it's what I need.

Is it good enough for the likes of you
the unknown readers finding me on the web
will it brighten your day, or at least ring true
is the rhyme forced out line by line
am I pushing it out all in a rush
just so I can compress my smile
into this my poetry crush?

PODM 29 Untitled

Well- I went walking around one day
it might have been in the month of May
I might of spent so time in Montana
I don't remember but I did spend some
time singing with this awesome girl
I think her name was Danna.

Sing it out loud
make it proud
like the Sun
behind a cloud
making it rain
all that is is all
that remains.

We went walking across the world
we went dancing unfettered, unfurled
I wish I could be the guy with that girl
for a secondI stop to wonder that it is not as real
as I think, but then she stops in place
 to give me one wide-eyed wink.

Sing a song
it's not wrong
to want a thing
even if it
is little more
than fretting
some strings

I want spend more time in the effervescent dream
make it more than an idea, more than it seems
Time for one more turn at this my verse
to remind myself that imagination is more
than a blessing, more than curse
like an in joke amongst friends
like Puck there only enough
space to make amends

She is my muse
not to abuse
but to want
to be amazing
to be absurd
more than a poem
the weightlessness
I find whenever
I hear her words.



For Danna Richards
she drove me to attempt this Madness in May.

Danna and her Brother Alex

Truly an inspiration for me.

PODM 28 This is Sadness

This is Sadness



A moment in the rain, a walk down an old street along a hill
overlooking the torn up shore of a once popular tourist trap.
A time I stood waiting outside her window, in the evening as
the cool winds blew in from the sea, just trying to glimpse
her looking back out at me.

She gave me a nervous smile over a steaming cup of Chai
tea, she bit her bottom lip, and a tiny part of my heart sang
at the thought that I could bring an emotion like that despite
that it would be the last time I would see her, that it would
soon by our last kiss by the sea.

Years would pass and part of my soul would yearn for the
forgotten path that my dreams take me whenever I think that
she would remember us standing in the cover of an umbrella
as the mists swirled around us, shaking in the chill of the
coming night, each wishing for something we could not
have, something we would not give. Something that might
costly dearly, but in the end could have been free.

Each time I find myself looking out into the night sky
searching for the stars and the moon, I seem to hear her
voice trickling down inside my ear like a tear is wont
to run down her cheek,a slow but steady rush of ectasy
that fills the seconds between dawn and madness
between the echoes of solitude and sadness
when I was not, when us was we.

PODM 27 Almost There!

Almost There! (no that's the name of the poem)

Almost there he said over and over again but never made it.
It wasn't that he failed to stay true, or that he lied about
do so, he just died before he could make it come true
His soul is a part of the space between the stars
It became all that he was, his final words remained
with me all those years that I grew.

Sometimes at night I can still him facing the long dark trench
against impossible odds, no real chance of ever coming
back. He was a good man even if he wasn't heroic or all
that. He wasn't the star in the movie or even now a star in
the endless night, just a piece of star dust wandering the
skies in my dreams of space flight. For him, I would
surrender my imagination and talents to give answer
to that long momentous final call.

Almost there but I haven't forgotten you or the other
heroes who died that day when the movies of my youth
were clad in my beliefs, my wishes, my hopes
my long life lasting search for understanding and truth
I know that you are somewhere still waiting to come
and fly against evil when it threatens us all again
it's not a matter of how, just a matter of when.

Most have forgotten your names, they did not make it
on any wall. But you are my hero, Porkins, you
will remain my favorite supporter of the impossible-
you will remain my wingman the next time
you face off death between what is and what
could be, when we will give it our all!


For all the heroes of my youth who did not make
it to the final credits.
for the record, I know that Porkins didn't say it, Red Leader (Garven Dreis) did, but it seems that Porkins
captures the essence of those men who gave their lives in the movie. To me he is the quintessential idea of the wingman.

Still confused?
here's a clue...

PODM 26 Reflections of Passion

Reflections of Passion

Life, is not what I thought it would be today
things come and people go- I am the observer
of the show along the passage of each day
Life is not a lie less than it is something
that has a hard time being truth, we seldom
remember more than what was to be our
short-lived variances of youth.
I do not pretend to know wisdom
for the paths I have walked, nor from
the words I have talked nor from even
the fears I have faced anymore than
the silence in the moments that surround
me as I write what I am supposed to feel
with a measure of what I choose to accept
as being the boundaries of what I call real.

Is there more than this?
Can I be more than that?

where will I end up,
what will I miss
will it all be said and done
will it just be simple and pat?

I look into the mirror and all I can see
is the relfections of the passions that I
thought were made from me.

PODM 25: The End of the World is the Beginning of the Next

The End of the World is the Beginning of the Next.

I was in a small town in Murandy
when I happened to run into a old
friend dicing over a cup of brandy.

I spun the dark one's eyes
amid the tables with men I did
not know, but who still whooped
hollered and cried.

I asked my friend if we could dice
for something almost as nice
as his fine hat, he looked at me
with his one shining eye and spat
"We can at that!" I began to see
that dicing with this prince who
called the omens like ravens was
as always my good friend Mat.

We drank and gamed all day
before we parted to go our
separate paths, our separate ways
He grabbed my sleeve, and with
a wink, said "Say hello to Rand."
then he was gone before I had time
to wonder or to think.

Rand was dead, wasn't he
he had always been a friend to me
saving the world is just not that easy
as any bloody fool can see.

My friends are gone but some things
never change, when one life ends
another one takes wing
Ages come and ages go
so do friends and while some
will make a grand show
not all things come to an end.

The closing of one door is the opening
of another, what is more than that
is that nothing is ever set, Because
you see, I just won Mat's hat!


Dedicated to Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson
and all the heroes of The Wheel of Time

PODM 24 What is it about Beauty?

What is it about Beauty

What drives a man to cross the endless seas
what makes him strive for someone eternally
what can bring him down to bended knee
what can enslave him even as it makes him free.

When I look into the blue depths of her eyes
My mind soars, my imagination flies
the past zips by so fast, only glimpses last
the moment has come, my die is cast
there are times when I can understand my choice
there are reasons that I can give voice
I look back at all the I have done to get here
I now hold that which I treasure most dear.

What drives a woman to leave everything behind
what makes her sure that she has made up her mind
what can bring forth such endless joy and delight
what can she afford to lose yet make it alright

When she looks at me I feel my heart skip a beat
my blood thrills in her focus, I feel we are complete
its times like this, I long for just one more kiss
we are still there in this scene we both can share
captured and taken, my faith is restored: unshaken
It was almost a song, to the other we belong
the treasure I hold, has made me brave, made me bold
I feel I can stake my claim, everything is different
yet the feeling remains much the same.

What is it about?
This hope for romance
the time to take a chance
what is it that drives me
to seek you where ever
you shall be, over land
over sea,
What is it about Beauty
that makes me believe
that this is more than
fate, that this is more
than about me?

PODM 23 Sand Dancing

Sand Dancing

The drums thunder on the beach
the feet stomp in cadence 
boom, boom, boom
hands in the air jumping out of reach

My heart soars into the sky
my blood roars as I sing and cry
the beat thumps in time to my feet
we are brothers as we pound
out our dance upon the beach

Arm in Arm, hands to hand
we move unison we the band
palms out, toes to the ground
like knives we stab in time
with thrumming of our sound

Our skins flash against the sun
Sisters move amongst us
we are one in what we have begun
our sweat unites our motion
like fluid we are the waves
in the blue blue ocean

Fingers outspread like wing tips
we unfurl our shirts to take flight
Spinning in time, the song on our lips
we dance into the shadows
we dance out into the light

This is our movement on the stage
this is our time, this is our age
we are one moving bodies twisting
pirouetting in freefall as if by chance
we are the wind, we are the dance.

When it is done, when we are spent
there will only be scattered remains
of what it all was, what it all meant
was this all there was ever meant to be?
was this nothing more than our words
said from you to me?

PODM 22: Memories from a distant Star

Memories from a distant Star

The moon fills the night time sky like a glowing orb of glass
as if to reflect the stories from almost forgotten, almost passed
I wake to find its words falling down upon my lonely bed
things unwritten, promises unfulfilled, truths unsaid
life continues on in the absence of your face
sometimes it is meaningless like negative space

The days are longer than time could allow for since you left
the nights are worse, they make me feel like the victim of theft
I look to where you once lay by my side
my life is bereft, my happiness is denied
I think I can still hear the sound of your voice
saying to me that I was always your choice

I cry, I scream at the wrongness that comes to me each night
Why me? Why us? How can this ever become something right
my answer comes down to me from the starlit sky
as I stare into the heavens, I can understand why
you came to me in the eclipse that we call life
a moment of bliss we shared, a time without strife

It was better to have loved and lost, as another poet said
than to never love at all, to be alive than to be dead
happiness comes once in awhile to us all
if we are willing, if we can hear its' call
tonight I will stand in motion, as dreams come from afar
tonight I will listen to my memories from a distant star.

my inspiration for this one

PODM 21 The Players take the Stage

Good Evening Lords and Ladies,
May I present the ever so humble
Company of Thespians all the way
from the hallowed shores of Imperial
Roma.

He stands there in his ragged speckled coat
of so many colors that it makes the eye spin
from one patch to the next. His Company
of players look like the road they have
traveled is still with them, on them, in them.
The men and women bow collectively in their
rags eager to begin their performance
the pent up magics each hold curling out from
the wigs they wear and the chests surrounding
the forthcoming scenes.

The Company Master bows
so low that his wide flat brimmed hat
falls off to land upside down ready
to receive this nights tokens of approval
and affection.

The Company Master straightens
surveys his domain, struts three steps to the left
four steps to the right, clears his throat and-

Let me tell you a tale of
beauty, beasts and desire
The story of what can come
out of tragedy, heresy and fire!

The Stage has been set, the players are primed
let the torches be lit, let my words be rhymed.
let the dancers dance to the music of our minds
let our lies become truth, let it become redefined.

The sun sets now in our fabled land in the East
until the moon is down, until the morning has come
let the player present to you, our story of Beauty
and the curse of the Beast!

PODM #20 The trouble with finding a muse

The trouble with finding a muse 

Sometimes words will not come forth to me in the free flow form
of this thing I write, this matter of poetic concept, this splatter
of ideas like the memory of rain, the shadow of the storm

Sometimes my pen runs dry before it hits the empty page
leaving only droplets of regret, this fury of unspent emotion
this need to express, this passion of inspirational rage

Sometimes I look for the dreams I had long ago in my distant youth
looking for answers to the questions that I have misplaced 
finding little but the silent keyboard, the lack of need, the loss of truth.

Sometimes I sit for hours looking for aspiration, imitation, anything to use
hours on the internet, in the silence of the evening, sounds of birds
filling my constant yet unassuming desire to find my muse.

PODM 19 Making Rain

Making Rain

The morning was white with the mists covering everything in sight
the rains came softly falling out of the skies in the morning light
I wake into the silence as it stretches out to fill my room
my cat yawn's as well it will soon be time to rise from our gloom

It's times like this that I can hear a piano playing
it's in moments of pleasure that I believe I can
understand what God might be saying
to my soul, "Go forth and find the end to pain"
"Go forth and make it rain."

It's times like this I hear someone calling my name
it's lost somewhere in a song, it's always the same
I try to imagine the singer somewhere out in the morn
a little bit of melancholy mood that I have borne

upon my spirit in the rain
upon my spirit in the rain

PODM 18 Got the Cat by the tail

Got the Cat by the tail

My cat is the most independent needer I know
he needs me to rub his ears, his need and
occasionally even his chin
Depending on the level of demand, his neediness expresses itself with
soft grasps of his padded paws
or quick sharp pricks from his claws

My cat is the most lovable rascal I've met
he likes to bite, brawl and when the
cans are off even to beg
for the morsels of meat that he thinks 
that he deserves with utmost speed
he is all about being in the now
when he is on the prowl.

My cat complains about many things I do
or do not do depending on what time
or day or nap it interrupts
I get my mews for the lack of attention
that he is given by my hands
he is afterall things considered
the one who makes the demands.

PODM 17 Ode to Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper

Hey sorry sometime we all write stinker poetry


Ode to Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper

Oh you can of soda-nary delight
you are thrill of my tastebuds
you are my joy- well at least you're
better than sprite.

 If you could see what your
69 or so flavors truly mean to me
then we could be wed or at very
least happily divorced instead

I would have written you a sonnet
but your artificial goodness distracts
filling me with good vibrations
and I cannot focus on it.

I would rather be dead
then be denied the bounty instead

PODM 16 Running on empty

Yes, I am in fact exhausted and running behind. I am going to pretend that I am mentally writing the poems on time and only publishing them a day late!


Running on empty

two drinks down, three to go
day is moving but it's moving too slow
reminds me of an old rock song
something about running on empty
running dry but I am getting it
all wrong, so wrong.


for three night I've come to this bar
down at the end of the street, pretty far
reminds me of every dive I have ever
been too in my dreams of you
dreams of us things that I have always
want to be true, so true.

four days I have been out in the sun
four nights of driving, like being on the run
reminds me of an old movie scene
you were wearing your blue dress
I was smiling, I can still picture you
in the dark, a midnight countess

I find I am down to the last glass
I look for more but then decide to pass
the road lies before me but I feel like
I am about to run out of gasoline
some days it enough to drive my memory
tonight I feel stuck in between




For Jackson:

PODM #15 Why I always fall in love with women from my video games

Why I always fall in love with women from my video games

It's the middle of the morning and by morning I mean 3:30 am
I am chasing yet another incredible blond down an alley.
Yes, I want to be there even if I have been shot, shot at- yelled at...worse
I am following after her just in case there's an oppurtunity to
give her a boost, to help her up a ledge, maybe-just maybe an embrace
as we board the stolen aircraft or I "catch" her when she falls into my arms

It's times like these I can totally get the birthday cake and romance novel
allure even if I would be passed out waiting for the thrill of a "literary"
moment when the words indicate the inevitable connection between
me the romantic scoundrel and you the voluptuous damsel who doesn't
"need" rescuing but still wants to be kissed like you do.

I get it, I get it, its all fantasy. No real woman is like this, that woman has
respect, power, skills, she is flesh and blood and blue jeans and dirty
tee shirts and messy hair and her bra doesn't always fit right
she isn't some perfect geek's interpretation of a video game bimbo
So why this? Why me? I am an intelligent man who can see more
than a very nice package of pixels.

I will tell you why- like I told my brother all those years ago when he said
all I really wanted was a nice little wife who would bring me my slippers.
I don't want the video game bimbo, I don't want to rescue the princess like Mario
or Luigi, I don't expect some fainting damsel from the fairy tale books
No I would rather chase a non-bodacious woman down an alley
at 3am who is pissed off with dual colt slide action video game guns
with almost unlimited  ammo, weapons blazing mouth going almost
as fast stopping only to ask me sweetly for another mag as she is about
to run dry as we plummet down the elevator shaft while running the bad guys
away from the cast iron monstrosity that is currently destroying
the quaint scenic video game setting with ludicrous speed

I am happy like a teenager at times like these becuase I can stop
being the good guy I am and be a slightly more scandalous good guy
I dream of being. When I play that video game, it's not the fame
the gamer rep, even the awesomeness of trophies and awards that
make my avatar glow like a nova in the galaxy, no it's the warmth
of her smile, the slip of her grin, the chatter of her repertoire like the
spattering of Uzi gunfire, she is never a Power Girl more like
Elaine, like the new Lara, the Old Christine, the allure of a dozen other
spunky, sassy and yes sexy always sexy tough gals that have me playing video
games denying my own reality which is devoid of such fantasies.

It's my answer, the answer, the long way round it mostly so I can spend more
time with her, the video game queen. So divorce your sense of
what you think a bytee size chick is going to be in some Geek's ideal
and remember that the answer is not reality- it's some psychological mumbo jumbo
for my total lack of self-respect and some post modern explanation
for why I have such poor female relationships.....
no that is actually BS. But it doesn't put me to bed at night without
one last virtual fling off a burning building in a hail of bullets
just for the imaginary touch of the heroine's fingers in freefall.

PODM #14 Toy Guns and Plastic Swords

Toy Guns and Plastic Swords

The bittersweet melancholy of my misspent youth
chasing dreams of warfare love and this elusive
idea we sometimes call the truth.
I wanted to love and be loved in return
I wanted to know sex, 
I wanted to have my turn.

Toy guns and plastics swords are 
considered only for the big boys
if you want to run with us
you have got to learn to fight
and to cuss

Those were the happiest days in time or space
chasing girls with kisses, writing bad poetry
hoping to catch her in the embrace
I want to know what it was to love
I wanted to learn how to lie
all I needed was one good shove

Toy guns and plastics swords are
now the domain of the little boys
you sometimes pause to wonder why
if you found one again
would you yearn for the fight
or flee before giving it a try.

Toy guns and plastic swords
sometimes youth is in of itself
it's own bittersweet reward.

you know this is all your fault right?

So many rewrites on this one today.

PODM #13 Problems in Levity

Problems in levity

The treatment of a serious matter with humor or in a manner lacking due respect.

When humor is not enough, when tears run dry
when being a fool lacks any real effort
when being cool is less about your head
and more about your lack of heart
its time to look and show that you
were ready from the start
to take the low pass, to walk the
shortcut, to accept that it
is more about the lack of hatred
the loss of honor, the emptiness
that is prevalence of playing the part

When life is too cruel, when crying is no
longer a matter or reason to be
when all around is little more 
than mindless chatter and tweeting
in little more than ways to 
continue cheating on the life 
that you claim to be living
in order to appear normal
in hopes to remain somewhat sane
if the possibility is more about
the chances of avoiding the pain

Then I will say this to you my only friend
find a mirror, find the truth, don't
rely on your innocence any longer
than you has misspent your youth
run like the whirlwind, find beauty
and then freedom may find you
reap the thunderstorm, looking
for love, looking for truth

For life is too short for anything more the
brevity so why waste such dreams on the
facts that sometimes I have a problem
with such gentle means of levity?

PODM 12: Mother's Day

For some reason I keep thinking of a song. Turns out the song is about a mother helping a psycho path and the other one that came to mind was about - well who knows? Thanks Kate Bush and Tori Amos for the wonderful mother songs. On the other hand they pale in comparison to some of the other's on the Google searches

Mother is a not just another word

Mother is not just a name that you get by giving birth
It should be more than that, it should be what you are
truly worth.
It should be the privilege to bring life out onto this our
mother Earth.

Mother is not a thing to do on the weekend
it should be in your blood, the comforter, provider
maker of amends
it should be about peace, promise and forgiveness 
rather than a means to the ends

Mothers are not made by default but forged in fire
it is more than giving birth, it is more than even poetry
can admire
It is more than words, it what all women can hope to inspire.

PODM 11: I am Africa

I am putting this up a day late - because I am also a good for nothing busy body.

I Am Africa

I am the sum of all the places I didn't belong
I am the words of a long forgotten song
I am misery, merriment and  the scorn
I am the music that has played since I was born

I am of the black loam and the silent soil
I am what grew out of my ancestor's toil
I fall from the arid sky, the blessing of rain
I am the flower from a dark place, endless refrain

I walk this earth far away from my motherland
I am her memory, sorrow and heated sand
I am the lyrical moments on Veldt's long grasses
hear me now in the winds of her mountain passes

I am the rocks the diamonds and the unwelcome shore
I am among the lost of those who came before
I am the sunsets golden red filling the sky
I am the Lion on the koppie, hear my melancholic cry

I am the darkness within, the whiteness without
the beginning of innocence, wonder and doubt
I am Africa from our birth until my death
I am the land, the water, like God's own breath

I am what I am
I am Africa

PODM 10: Whimsy

Whimsy

Like playing a ukelele in the rain while riding down a steep hill on an
ass of a rhino roller skating sideways while wearing a blue polka dot
parka as my brother skips after me, camera in hand screaming
while storyboarding out the latest film plan
He stops all of a sudden and yells
why Mike why?
and I reply
because it is Monday.

Like running with bananas, in leotards on tiptoes in the Month of July
in front of twelve angry bulls bathed in orange hair gel
we race in steady staccato to the last symphony
of Beethoven's sister's husband's son who at this very point
has joined me on this wild rambunctious run
He's laughing so hard
under the sunlit sky
as I reply
well it IS Wednesday

Like flying up through the evening twilight, under the stars and moon
a bullet shot from the mouth of the confetti cannon that my cousin
bumped while aiming at his girlfriends bedroom misfiring into
the coming night surround my progress with pixie dust and tiny
blue elves like widgets out of someone's
 digitized daydream fantasies
My cousin is calling me on his cell
That was supposed to be for me
he reflects with a sigh
that yesterday was
almost Friday

and I reply
Oh, my bad
I thought it was Saturday


Danna Again

PODM 9: Bone Tired

Bone Tired

Too weak to move faster than a steady stumble
to weary for much more than a smile
much more than a shrug, much more
than what is required to return to sleep

So tired that my bones protest and creak
to sit is to slump, to walk is a like crawling
from bed to the breakfast table
much less than pain but more than an itch

I long for the deeper sleep
the waking dreams of the working day
the moment when the body quits
this mortal coil for the escape  to slumber

PODM 8: The problem with the flow

The Problem with the Flow

You know, you've got to go
go with the flow floating free
out into the blue, out into the sea
run with the pack all the way to the show

You have got to get with it
it's like a risky bet on someone
I haven't ever even met
it's like knowing without seeing
its like following without believing

Go with the flow until one day you stop
and realize that you have go to know
where everyone is going only to find
that no one is looking behind

The problem with the flow
is in the loss of destination
so that the trip is little more
than the show, no one knows
what is in store, where did we go
wrong? where did we go right?

Was it the correct decision to make
was it all a deadly mistake
how many other roads were there to take
how many other decisions are there to
before the road we are all on fades
out of sight.

PODM Number 7

The Seventh Poem on the 7th Day

It's my birthday, no party, lots of strange mixed messages from my parents
The girlfriend is still not talking to me
the suspense would be killing you if you even guessed that I am telling the truth and a lie.

No that wasn't the poem even if it looked like one.

44
There are numbers always numbers in our lives
if there were no numbers then would I still only be
44?
I am 5 7 1969, 6 4 365 and 125 above normal
I am past 12 above 12 more that makes me a master
but not a doctor.
I am 16060 days later, 2294 weeks beyond,
happy I got over the 385, 440 days since it all began
I have got 1927200 moments of surprise
and only 5 moments of truth to show
for the numbers that mean little to anyone but me
1 in 3 people in my family tree, 1 in 2 with any practicality
sometimes I feel just 1 in 1 when I remember those that would
take the responsibility. I am the 1 that Diogenes
went looking for in the dark 2425 nights before this one
sometimes it is good sometimes it is just strange
that 44 should mean more or less than the answer
to the universe, life or anything
by the way, it does not.
but it might still be worth a shot.

PODM still running 1 poem behind

Keeping up is hard to do.
No I mean it.


Keeping up is Hard to do.

With friends, it is so easy to promise but fail in the end
with family, it is often a jerk response to the guilt that only you can see
with me, it is all I ever wanted from you to think of us as we.

I want to sing to you like Billy Joel would do
but the tune escapes me leaving me lost empty blue
there is seldom one when we almost always want it to be 2

With you, I gave you my word and hoped it was true
with my followers on twitter- the blog- the others too
well meaning and well meant, keeping up is hard to do.

I want to run in this crazy race
I want to keep up this maddening pace
I want I try I seem to have lost my place

Keeping up is hard to do, I can run only so fast
I can type everyday, trying to make the magic last
I survive I endure I post I consider the cost
but the effort is too much, even when I win, I have lost.

Another great entry from my favorite You Tuber

Poem 5 several attempts later. Bigger and Bolder

Make it bigger and bolder

The secret a friend once said to me
to all things that center around poetry
is to make it bigger and bolder
for anyone who finds it to be 
something else on a table in a book
or carved into the trunk of a leaning tree

You want someone to like what you write
make it look honest avoid the white-
washed indifference of the daily thought
make it reach someone, make it out of sight
make it the font, make it all about the type
find a picture, make it a picture sunny and bright

The secret is not to make the world a better place
rather sell your ideas, sell your space
make it bigger and bolder
so that everyone will remember your face
this is not your song, your poems are not the way
this is how to win the ever loving god forsaken race.

Making a poem bigger and bolder is a lie
much like engineering an emotion to comply
in order to force a rhyme over the reason
that you came here to give this a try
words without wisdom are just empty passions
without form nor understanding, no reason
to break away from expections, to walk
to run, to make a moment in time to take the wings
of the imaginary things that fill my mind
coming out of my fingers onto the blank
page then passion of truth, the marks of 
my misspent youth, I am poetry I am song
I am the music from the places I want to belong
I am the words, I am the tune I want 
a moment in this life to become someone more
I want to dance under a poetic moon.

Today I spent the first part of this process writing to form, I tried writing an Ode to my cat. Imagine that I almost tried to Seuss my Cat. You have been spared that unfortunate structure
as ode writing is mostly annoying since I had to stop and reference Keats and Shelley and
go mostly willy nilly in hopes that I could hold up the old forms with updated content. We can't all pay homage to the Grecian Urns that we want to. My cat Yorick showed his contempt of what I was writing  with a stretch and a yawn, licked himself and stretched before giving me a disdainful glare and strutting off to find another place to sleep.
I started this piece instead, caught myself checking on the rhyme structure, cursed a lot and finally left my mind and fingers write what they wanted and then end comes out truer. I have decided to leave it intact since we all need to be reminded that sometimes it is best to trust in our instincts for the word, the form, allowing the poem to write itself.
Now I am going to shut up and leave the rest to you.

PADM # 3 down and 2 to catch up!

Back to making up for being a slacker.
3 down and 2 to catch up to Monday


Saturday Haze

I looked out at the rains that came after I finished
the mowing that was really a race for me to finish
thus to prove that a little rain would not drive me
to a craze that comes with getting things done
without anyone without help without the 
time it takes to keep switching mp3 players
to keep my mind in the game row by row
circles cut into the grass 
I ran I run out of gas in more ways than
one but it is finished it is done
and now I can sit here inside and look
out at the Afternoon sun in and out 
of this maze I created with my certain
kind of madness in the Saturday evening
haze.

should have called it A poem every other day in May

Same Old Story

It's the same old story, I will repeat it again
since you didn't get it the last time I told it
to my friend at the end of the street
Whom I would like you to meet
She is quite nice, I think she is pretty sweet

Anyway, I told her about my need to express 
the way things stay the same no matter how
I try to change or even compete
with the inevitability of defeat
She agreed, and that made my thought complete

What is it like to find someone who can make
my day shine a little better like the sun
make me forget that I am unhappy for awhile
it's the way she makes me smile
we two are one, freedom without denial

She looks at me and says "It's the same old story"
it might not be great, but it's not boring
its my life filled with moments of bliss
like the last time I remembered that I miss
the day at the end of the street we kissed.


I missed getting it done yesterday, I was mowing and since I am not William Carlos Williams, I can't get Mowing into a poem so I won't even beat around the bush. So keep in mind I am not Robert Frost, but I am Ogden Nash and something a little too sweet.

Here's my shout out to my inspiration for doing this:

Wow, I just have to say wow.

and also her Brother, Alex

He's got a great voice.

Making up for lost Time APADIM!

Words with Friends

I play, you play, she plays, he refuses
mostly I suspect because there is this lack of any
real ruse to get friends to play games
without end.
It's a game of words, but there is no real point
since winning is not anything but the trick
of starting another round of the same
scrabble of letter to form moves
that prove little victories in a game
with friends
Bragging rights? no bragging rights
around here, 30point achievements
like double dailies with no rewards
save for another means to an ends 
when you play this game
of words with friends

A Poem a day in May

Might be starting a day or three late but better late than June.
After watching the effort being made by Danna Richards and her friends for the Song a Day in May: Song a Day in May
here is a direct links for a few of them:
Paper Dragons

Well you get the picture, anyway, I hope she will allow me this small promotion of her ability.

and now to business.

A POEM A DAY IN MAY!!!

(3 DAYS BEHIND)

Poem #1 

Hard

Like rocks, like stones, like chalk white bones

my emotions fall against the wall of the world

with thunderous rush of impact 

 like water, like balls of icy hail in the howling wind

Like tears, like the passage of years, like days in the rain

any sense of reason, decisions are blocked 

with cold precision of well placed pain

like repetition of the ever present prescience of the fall of rain

I am hard, I am hard

on the street, under the heat of the unforgiving sun, 

I am hard, I am hard

without humor, without joy, I feel nothing but the passage

of my feet on the run

Like the fleeting footfalls fleeing my own despair

my soul would retreat, retrieve what is lost

with the heavy heartbeats as my blood is spun

out of control out of my control

Like the end of life worth living, like the fear that cheats my breath

all chances of ending are little more than futile

without any mending this ruin of rending

like the droplets of words written without wonder, without death.

I am hard, I am hard

like a rock, like a derelict house on an abandoned island

I am less, I am less

than perfection allows, I hold within me the haunted 

shadows of the meaning this poem demands.