national poetry month

national poetry month
Join in the Poetry of Life!

Monday, January 11, 2016

enroll now in "Cinderollo's Passive-Agressive School of CLEANING!!! --wanted one butler and one maid and one maintenance guy and one day-laborer to split 400 dollars a month Plus Tips !!free Coffee!! Arbeiten macht Frei


Can't walk hardly, always in pain
spends all day dreaming, television and laptop screen
dreaming and games she plays
But the worst of it, she thinks is she can't do a thing.

Can't vacuum the carpet, can't wash dishes
Can't clean bathrooms or take garbage to recycling places
Can't change table clothes, can't wire cables
Can't fix door knobs, can't fix ceiling fans
Can't defend republicans
Can't fix a fire, can't turn the house down
Can't pick up cat litter, can't keep house
Can't participate in family exercising
But she thinks I like being dominated
And uses her tongue to keep it fake
While I do all these things for heaven's sake

Whether through reason or domination
She's talked herself into this...
          ...place where...
            it's not true
     
       just that she can do little things
     with the 12-year-old strength she ruled
 by reason and authority all her occupational life
   (and I'm her 12-year-old adopted student)

Except I already learned lots about life.
For one, I don't care for BDS&M.
And most of kindegarten skills is all I need to get by forsooth.
They can hire a maid and butler and be snobs they like, in leaving their work behind.
Work they think justifies mine in double-standard perfection of hypocrisy.

and so with her 12-year old strength she'll look for new student to abuse
rather than making someone wonderful, she'll suck the fun out of work, too.
unless she learns to change her own narrative of this shitty...
                                       "I can't" she keeps under lock and key
to alas, use her 12-year old strength for smaller victories.
And this is the most grown-up thing I have to say about her attitude.

Tuesday, January 5, 2016

Dysfunction

I saw five chickadees and red-headed woodpecker
In deep winter amongst rays of sunlight, today.
We might not be solar powered, you and me
But I tell, a day without light is a dreary day
Full of gloom, doom, despair.  Like someone shot the dog,
Though that sounds like a good idea anyway, both of them.

The Mr. has gone back to sucking his teeth.
He's still hard of hearing, and plays word games with forked tongue
Saying abusive when he means angry
Saying spy when she means sucker
Saying browbeating when I swear
It's hard living in this perfect family...
    mainly because it isn't real.

We spend most of our time playing videogames
   or games with each other's feeling
Over lice nobody has because we're so worried about appearances as gentlemen.
We have better things to do than nit-pick and worry each-other,
But without fail, we are hardest on our family.
And yes, even our in-laws get in on the action.
Seems... there's a word for it... I can't think of it right now.
With the 'less thans' getting the brunt of it, and 'majors' needing therapy.

One-on-one therapy works, CBT and other patient therapist relationships
I learned with my therapist...
       that I need therapy to better cope with those that need therapists.
Isn't it all so clear as mud?

Sunday, January 3, 2016

Humanity Wins Over Understanding

The construction was a derivative
A break-down of elements
Computationally arrived at, as in this case,
Without art...

Maybe though, that is precisely what art is...
Computation by brains in humane beings called homosapiens
As ball is caught by footballer
Or pitch hit by batter.

It is said frameworks are made by Artitechs, there's a neologism for you.
And these Artitechs draw, don't they, making stuff
And making stuff real!?

And when made, the room with a view, isn't any bridge...
So perhaps Architect is a misnomer,
Subjugating me to years of misplaced pains,
Un-needed and unwanted tyranny.
Or perhaps IT was once a new word considered neologism.

Architect is a poetic word
Bringing a sort of romance to liberation, though,
Sheltering us from the many stressors that is life.
Keeps the rain off me, I know, though feeling put upon
Describing to one such as you, the meaning of art

And there is art to such things as titles...
I could name this summation of vexation
I could name this 'It is inevitable'
I could even name it,
    "What could you possible care about a neologism"

But the truth remains, you read it, and you wanted it
to be titled, "If I truly judged you correctly"

Friday, January 1, 2016

Something Found, Something Created

I watch this show that's edgy
Like my therapist's lasting contribution
Both kind of ironic voyeurism
And a sense of wish fulfillment
Because they've both been paid to be my friend
"And if I like it, I might twitter..."
Like some bird about food or sunlight or danger...

The manger-scene holds the arrangement
Estrangement from controversy leaves little but method
Like Freud and his projected daddy issues
Perhaps that's myth, perhaps that's truth...
In Real Life the complicated breaks leaving crumbs
That are then consumed, too, by natures recycling earth and birds
Rather than gossip, whether behind closed doors or public screen.

The manger-scene holds the method
One family, angels, wise-men, and shepherds
All figuring out how to win and what prize they might choose
In a still, and silent night, they got together and networked
They figured, gifted, worked, conversed, and probably ate energy
Like any CPU with ticking silicon chip sipping electricity slowly

And outside boardroom or makerspace or manger-scene,
Enacted by surly bean capricious with dreams,
Plans and methods escape the singular, inform the plural
Indistinct from ingenuity or individualism.. as conceit or invention
Why not? we're mobile unlike some tree made from silicon dioxide
Or doped silicon and fibreglass for that matter on motherboard.

We can be anything we want.  Do it all...
And dream the possible in our dreaming of everything