experimental poetry (round 2)

frick

sick

celebrations of libations and moaning too far away and into the morning.

this emotion has lent itself one too many times

and i can see it to the door, thank you.

shucks

pucks

of ice and lollipops shoot across the yard in the middle of late summer

what might be a brief fall

flying through the cheese balls into the mouths of the waiting birds so patiently sitting.

rots

lots

of empty ones and new ones, yards in disarray and tidy fashion grass to fence to grass.

shower the other with care as much as you water your own or at the very least

relish it once a year with the christening of bare toes snuggled in the depths of its comfort.

batch out

when these dollars and cents add up to

be

the sum total of my life's time

up to this

point

i find another reason to pause

and search for the best.

the very best.

what i have before me is nothing less than the unpredictable and

potentially very full life of

living.

alone it is magnanimity.

with god it is magnificent even beyond my comprehension.

and this is why

i will never

can never allow myself to go it without the spirit which made me and lives in me still

this weakness, penchant for half-assed living due to it's easy nature

lends oneself to believe, nay, be clouded with, the vision of success.

but i have only succeeded when i have failed to live a life cloistered

a life uneven

with the keel

of the path

or the soft hewn planks of the stern

worn by the worried and frantic pacing during the storms.

nary a hair on my head goes uncounted.

these pennies and dimes will show me why

it is never the end or the change that results

but the moment in which i give it away.

let it never be me that settles.

for less.

than the best.

ink on a roll

start out raw and tiny

unsure and hopeful that i will turn

eventually

into this giant thing i desperately want to

be.

a small ball of string

that starts tipping, then slowly rocking and

gently

on it's way to becoming

the biggest

ball of collected life stor(ies)y

ever in my history.

frankly my dear, i don't give a damn.

it's only ever been

about pushing

being pushed

into the shape

whatever it is

of something i am inside but cannot be

on my own.

i keep discovering little corners and bits of geometry

that i didn't know fit into my structure

but do.

oh, so well.

these sharp angles that keep poking out are preventing me from rolling,

but then,

i am finding

the stopping and slowing

is all this ink needs

to flow life into these dry bones.

green as a dandelion leaf.

dry spell

crackle

and spackle

when you just can't stop to breathe

spit

fire

and roll on the ground

for when you can't blink you need not hesitate

halt and lay down

lay it all down.

take a nap, take a rest, take a break.

rest up in the warm covers and the security that

god's got your back

and your front and your everything uncertain.

he's in the picture, he is the picture.

lord, when all i can think about are my failures you give me rest, peace, persuade me yet again with just a glance

that i am not lovely because of what i do. no not in the least.

i am loved by you and created to bring all that you have shoved in my soul to life simply because of what you are.

this war that wages in the blink of an eye in the conflict of middle battleground ceases when i drop my gun and raise my surrender

for you are always ready to jump in my stead

lead me away from the middle and give me perspective.

let the things i think on be noble and pure and a delight to your eyes, god. all of them.

i think,

therefore i am.

promise me this dry spell won't last, father. whatever it is, just promise me you'll be here speaking still.

promise.