X Is Seemingly Beside The Point

Ok, I need to do X

What is X?

It really doesn't matter

Because whatever X is

It is certainly not getting done today

Reason being is that 

Squirrel!

Or it could be something actually impor....

Shiny Penny!

Last night I tried to get to bed just right

I brushed my teeth and set the alarm

Let the dogs out one last time

Which was when my gaze fell upon my budding typewriter farm

I'm hoping to breed them you see

I have two Olivers set as close as can be

With candles and roast quail

Romantic music and champagne in an ice pail

One is a model number 9

And the other is a number 11

I'm hoping what will happen

Is some pollination magic to net me a number 10

Oh! and just past that are some pictures I've been meaning to hang

And I've got all the stuff right there too

Hangers and hammers with wire and brass eyes

With an old cotton apron that pokes vinyl corners into my thighs

I just need to set the level over here

And slap a chalk line just there

A measure and a mark

Then a whack of the hammer and....

Boy do the stairs need vacuuming

There is dog and cat hair all over them

I should go get the sweeper right now while I'm thinking of it

I could probably collect it all into a ball and knit up a pet sweater

I'll bet I could learn to do that online

Seems to actually be several more places than one

Aha, here is a place that even sells pet hair yarn premade!

And they've given it the name of "Woofspun"

Crap, what was it I was supposed to be doing?

Oh bag it, I'll go change the oil in my car instead

Driven to distraction by all the things around me

Until I'm miles away from where I started

And the one thing I set out to do

Mommy, Where Do Poems Come From?

When a daddy poem and a mommy poem love each other very much

And all the iambic pentameters have reached their monthly apogee

The daddy poem takes his A-B-A-B and gently puts it into the mommy poem's Haiku

In a dignified reproductive dance that ends with a cup of tea

I know you've heard other stories

Of slam poetry contests done in the open mic forums

But those are far too gonzo and frightening

With spotlight and quavering voice amplifying everything in a far too public porno display

Sometimes there can be two daddy poems

Both with aggressive stanzas

Or perhaps two mommy poems

Each an open interpretative style

In each case a mash of word DNA soup comes together

Producing something unique though all the words have been used before

Which continues to grow and change over the hours, days, and years

Nothing being perfect

And the Great Author is known to revise endlessly past the point of tears

Mostly

That's where poems come from

The product of the marriage of words

Assigned and assembled

Parsed, carved, and molded until they resemble

Something almost beautiful

Though even that is only subjectively true

Won't You Be My C12H22O11 ?

Were my heart made of clay
I could remake it every day
There would be no risk to falling in love
As that sucker is just a plug and play throw away

I could step up my game
And carve a heart-like likeness out of wood
Safe in the testing of forbidden desire
Or the risk of someone throwing it upon a fire

A heavy metal heart would be a little bit harder
As I would have to break out some real skill
But with enough bending and milling machines
I could manufacture a new heart every day that would gleam

A heart of water could be easily replaced
With a few sips of water I'd be good
Full of all the love possible in H2O
Perhaps with bioluminescent algae glow

Even now with this beating heart of meat
I could fix everything with some semi-choice cuts of steak
Glued together in the kitchen of an almost gourmet restaraunt
With all the Elmer's brand meat glue I could want

My heart could be made of anything at all really
I can make it, bake it, assemble it, craft it, and paint it
Until the whole thing beats just like new
Capable of equal parts pumping blood and feelings too

The one thing I would never wish my heart to be
Is made of stone
For then I would never have fallen in love
And spent my days companioned by cats and otherwise alone

Life without you in it would reek of the dead fish of emptiness
Without your love the years could only ever be bittersweet at best
A sprinkling of saccharin upon my favorite sour fruit
Never knowing the sweet kiss of real sugar upon my lips

Yet with the sad madness of suspecting
As remembering a half forgotten desperate dream
That you were out there somewhere
A honeyed flavor that makes me complete

Sapphire Pain

How blue is thine window?
Does it reveal secrets only you can see?
Does sit reek of cobalt colour
In shades that only madmen and you and me can see?

How blue is thine window?
Does it serve to keep out the sea?
Does it tease the coloured coral
In how only a lonely anemone can hear its quiet plea?

How blue is thine window?
As it reflects the very close at hand stars
This porthole to the nothingness
Brought to you as easily as riding in cars

Though rolling down the window here
Will give a stiff breeze to THEM
And stifle everyone with you within

EOT = GHA - GMHA

Every time I wind the old clock
I can hear the springs catch in protest
Each catch and release felt through the ears of the silver key
Turned with the old familiar ratcheting sound
Tighter and tighter
Until I feel that it's right at last
Or at least to the point where the spring will unwind for the week

Two holes for the winding key
One for the timekeeping itself
And the other for the sound of the bell
Four tuned rods in this case
Trimmed to different lengths
To give a poor man's version of the Westminster salute
Abbreviated and slightly off key
But recognizable
Giving a little dignity to the old crap house

Stowing the key in its clip at the bottom of the case
One finger gets the pendulum swinging gently
Marking out the seconds in halves
The two curved claws at the top of the shaft working in rhythm

One side releases
The other one catches
Over and over again
Allowing a round toothed gear to go its merry way
One halting step at a time
Transmitting movement through the works
Marking the progress around the face
With arms and hands of tapered grace
And horror movie ticks and tocks

Inspiring no more unease in me however
Than the simple realization that the only problem that really matters in the end

Is the equation of time

Red Hearts Decoupage

Tattered edge page brown with old age
Half crumpled photo of you in cheerleading attire
An image of relatives I don't know in front of your grandmother's casket
Unpaid bills from 1995 eating us alive
With papillon puppy baby teeth in a silk bag
Two ships passing in the night all through the 1980's
Serving nothing but high dollar ravioli's upon an overlook
While you wore a terrible biker onesie and Blue Oyster Bar leather cap
Snow froze my feet while you looked in wonder at blue ice
The doctor told us it was twins
I cannot believe the screaming didn't wake your parents
As I forget more details every day
Too much beer was drank to go to the sub shop
For there was a secret wedding on a anachronistic island in the North
When the poodle rode next to the corpse
Some memories I'm happier to forget

Leaking Color Confinement

Colors bleeding to the floor

Puddling up in tie dyed patterns

Before rolling their way to the crack beneath the door

Entering the hallway in a tsunami of color

Grayscale was flattened in colorific hurricane

Battleship dull became paisley guns a blazing
Crazier than dazzle camouflage
Guaranteed to give a U-boat captain the shakes

Michael the now multi-colored Marmoset
Traced upon ten toned toes back up the color stream
Past the drainage troughs
Shimmying up copper downspouts
Into the cascadified open windowsill

Swimming upstream in an ancient brick lined hallway
All he can do to keep his snout above the tinted deluge
Finding an old delivery pass through to the apartment
The source of all this creamy frothy pigmented goo

Breaking the two rusty bolts
That held the small sliding panel secure
Michael Marmoset was aghast at the new view
A scene from a horror Saw Seven sequel

Hard up against the old chipped brick fireplace
Was an arched figure from the realm of the gods
Chained fast with bronze locks was a gallant double rainbow
Bent forward in despair weeping primary tears