20211130.0430

A smaller flock
Less diverse plumage
A quieter murmuration
Yet still the birds do flit and swirl and dance lightly
Still a source of smiling

20211129.0430

Again
The metaphor of fruit arises
Fertile product of a union that may well grow abundantly if it is not eaten up
Implying good soil and better tending
But the rows tilled are all too ragged
And neglected
Hoed once and not watered again
Some farmer

20211128.0430

Shallow roots struggle to find purchase in the stony soil
A newer shoot more suited to the scant dirt grows in its shade
Though it still suffers the shock of being stripped from the banks
Of a cypress-lined stream where bass are born
Being watered now by a flint-flavored flow
Whether it will toughen up the root and stock is yet to be seen

20211127.0430

I once again sit and stare at the screen
Thinking how to capture what I mean
In pixelated words upon the page
A task that grows no easier with age
And sitting, staring, makes me feel the years
I've not much lived, wrapped up in my fears
Of what might go wrong, what rules I might well break
Instead of what I gain if I might take
A chance

20211126.0430

Swollen with the
Deeds of the night before
Staggering on to the next ones
For though the day was a happy one
Still there is more work to do
And less time to do it than should be

20211125.0430

For the day
For the days that have passed
     And that they are passed
For those who are present
     And those who should not be and aren't
For those who have been
     And should have been
For the roof above
For the food within
For the clothes on backs
For the chance to work to make things right
For those who do that work
For those who support them
For other things yet...

20211124.0430

Full many tools the Stupid God does wield,
Has many agents working in the field,
Such that it seems that fate is long since sealed,
As those who wrongly act are proclaimed right
And held aloft as heroes in the sight
Of those who think themselves immune from plight,
Emboldening those who would repeat the deed
Despite the cries of good they do not heed,
Think that they will never have the need
For things that they in joy have overthrown,
Things whose benefits are little known
To those whose near concerts have ever grown.
Perhaps for they themselves they have it right,
But those who come will shine a brighter light.

20211123.0430

By what measure do we tread
The dances we are all supposed to do
When those who step out of the line
Are not left behind alone but praised
Cheered for how their meant missteps
Knock others from the ballroom?

20211122.0430

She is with me this week
Released from other tasks to celebrate
And she is not yet at the point where I have been
And where I still am
That the work does not stop
Or long pause
But shifts instead to another task
And I seem to feel a spring as I think upon it
Though I should not
But should instead
Appreciate the brightness of her bloom
Oh
It is bright, indeed

202111121.0430

I know
Because I have been told
Again and again and again
Over these many years
That I ought to do some things today
But I will not do them
Have not for long
Being taken up by other tasks
And even if it's not some
Sheep in a ditch
I still have to put my hand thereto
And yank it out from
That moist divot
Where something white, something fluffy
Has fallen

20211120.0430

The lights will pass by in review
Driven on by the labor of many
And I have struggled to see them before
To not frown and rant and decry
The expense in material and time
I will try again today
And maybe I can smile
Amid the sea of smiles in which
I will immerse myself
Once more

20211119.0430

The flower I have tended these years
The seed planted in warm, inviting soil
The first shoot springing up too early
The blooms brighter than could have been expected
And more fragrant
I have again in my greenhouse today
And I will show that bouquet about

20211118.0430

I have not seen the cypress standing here
Beside the banks of a different river than
The one flowing through my youth
A lesser thing that never finds the sea itself
But must be borne along by others
To reach that surging end

20211117.0430

Pen in hand, I
Remain Laertes in supposed prayer
Though I am bound to more than doubled business
And my brother had no wife that I would want

20211116.0430

I am still treading
The laps that have been marked out for me
But I have slipped my leash and
Run at my own speed now
It feels good to stretch my legs

20211115.0430

Sitting as the
Music swells around me and I
Find myself carried along again
Fingers working over keys even though
No saxophone is in my hand this time
And while I do not add to the song
That surrounds me I still
Add a strain
Enriching the chorus as it plays

20211114.0430

There is a seed that needs planting
Even if it's the harvest season now
And I need to tend it
Make it grow
I've tried to do so many times before
But the fruit I've harvested has not often sold
And I've no stomach to eat what I have fertilized
Myself

20211113.0430

Huddled under her blankets
She looks so peaceful and
I wish I had that for myself
Even though I do not move in sleep
Waking where Morpheus finds me each night
I do not wake refreshed, and
I must ensure she wakes,
Refreshed or not

20211112.0430

Picking up things that had been dropped
Against the thought of other weights to carry
Assumes a humble posture
And I have needed to bow my head

20211111.1111

Again and again
I give the refrain
Would that they had been right
But we don't abstain
From working that pain
On ourselves and increasing our plight

20211110.0430

A sixty-second time today
The sun will rise upon him
And our own orbits will remain in place
Held by his gravity
We speed onward even as we fall
Because he has been here to help us along
Even if the paths have sometimes been erratic
Which we have all of us taken

Happy birthday, Pop!

20211109.0430

The Stupid God again has worked its will
And in so doing occasioned more ill
For me, and doubtless found its own cheap thrill
In doing so. So much the less this day
Can be done to its ill effects allay
Than could before it would itself betray
As working once again in the fair land
Where I have lived and thought to make a stand
For spread of knowledge and the mind’s command.
Yet that is not to be, is not desired,
No more than those who thought they had been hired
To reach in, pull out those who had been mired
In ignorance, the Stupid God’s foul touch;
In doing little, I have done too much.

20211108.0430

Pressing on
I step away from what I have known before
The walls behind which I had long hidden
And strike out
Though there are no pitches thrown my way
Yet

20211107.0430

It was nice while it lasted
My sojourn through greener fields
But they are browning with the changing season
And I still must pasture my flock
So I return again to other places
Where I have trod before and
Hope to find some forage thereupon
Or else to buy some of what others have harvested

20211106.0430

I had meant to hammer this out earlier
Other things got in the way
It seems a thing I often say
It seems a thing often true

20211105.0430

My stomach clenches again and
Although I was ill a few days back
I know it's not the sickness that
Churns my belly so

20211104.0430

As it happens, today's my thirty-ninth birthday. It's worth the note, although I've not got much, if anything, planned in the way of celebration. It is, after all, a school night tonight, and since I'm a teacher again, such things matter. Too, I have stuff to do tomorrow evening and after, and there's always work that needs my attention.
But there are some traditions I'm sure will hold. I expect I'll be yodeled at before too terribly long; it's something I look forward to, certainly, strange as it may seem. I also know what I'm getting for dinner tonight, unless something goes terribly sideways. (I acknowledge the possibility, although I hope it will not be the case.) So that much is nice.
Aside from that, though, it's not worth much more than the note that it happens. I know I "should" take more delight in it, but, really, I'm not in a position to do much of anything, and I'm not really desirous of doing much of anything. It might be nice to get a bit of rest, but, again, there's always work that needs my attention. I'd not be much if I didn't apply myself to it.

20211103.0430

All out of order, I
Set myself to my tasks at hand and
Find that they are many again
As is no surprise
It is ever so
You'd think I'd be used to it by now

20211102.0430

Briefly resting
Refreshed and moving forward again
The work is yet to do 

20211101.0430

Lying awake
Her beside me
Sleeping
The dark spangled curtain rising
Stage lights shining pink and blue and gold on
Limestone floors and oaken pillars
And cedar and mesquite
Only a spreading blue carpet could make it better
And such will be laid out again