Steel sky, or: Desert summers

A piece of Tanka Prose stoic behind wheel multiple backseat drivers steel sky glints at dawn desert summer sears highways air conditioning cools heads This week, both yesterday and tomorrow, I am on site visits for work; and I am the designated driver. Yesterday's site visits were wonderful. It's inspirational to see some of the… Continue reading Steel sky, or: Desert summers

Under control, or: Under advisement

My 1st Constanza This is not a poem as such... I'm writing these lines off the cuff and tipsy off the stronger stuff. I simply can't be bothered much when my head is heavy and tired... when I'm so bloody uninspired... As my fingers firm table clutch, I realize I might collapse; my concentration's long… Continue reading Under control, or: Under advisement

You quit when the gorilla is tired…

Life is one long process of getting tired.-Samuel Butler (1835 โ€“ 1902) I've got a great ambition to die of exhaustion rather than boredom.-Thomas Carlyle (1795 โ€“ 1881) The vision of a champion is bent over, drenched in sweat, at the point of exhaustion, when nobody else is looking.-Mia Hamm (b. 1972) I'm an artist.… Continue reading You quit when the gorilla is tired…

Eventually, or: Thank goodness!

A Chลka Gymboree playdates; small girls... ack! That is to say, medium-sized girls playing, exhausting themselves on climbing walls, slides, trampolines, bungee towers, huge air mattresses, forts of enormous cushions, ball pits, balloon rooms, mini-soccer fields, dark rooms, swings, long balance beams, multiple levels, and then pizza followed by ice cream are actually enough to… Continue reading Eventually, or: Thank goodness!

Text, or: Vexed

Sevenling (Every day) A quadrille Every day ('cept Shabbat, cuz) I'm at my 'puter late; sleep schedule off; strugglin' to get up. Las' night, my eye itches, blurry; wake up this mornin', blurry; later, itchy an' still - blurry. Thought: am I at the screen too much? ... Nah, s'jus' allergies. Sevenling Lines one to… Continue reading Text, or: Vexed

Foggy, or: Clouded mind

Poetry Partners #20 'Fog', a poem by Steven S. Wallace of 'There is no Stigmata' Enveloping white Fog covers the highway soft Beyond and unknown. Mist creeping along Like a man in an alley Lighting a cigarette. Wafting from the west As a persistent rumor Travels through a crowd. Shrouding the beyond This inscrutable ghost… Continue reading Foggy, or: Clouded mind

No bed, or: Roses

My 2nd Lai My engines are fired up, as is required for flight. Coffee has me wired, but nothing's transpired tonight. Though I feel inspired, my brain's much too tired to write. I dream of heartaches, of mountains, of lakes, still, vast. Then, morning, I wake; it's come time to make breakfast. Oh, for goodness… Continue reading No bed, or: Roses