my cup of tea

I have a cup of tea
all my own
chipped
neglected and ignored

spending away
myself doing
things I do not live

I have a face
aging
showing true
in at least regret if nothing more

is life

is life pre-planned

laid out

pre-determined

the beauty in
how well we keep it organized
and on track

or is life
more rewarding
when rolling with chaos
and emotion

the beauty in the surprise
of what peaks around by chance
at each new turn

hills abound
my life
and challenge me well
to choose the low road
around

which has more
achievement
more learning and expanse
over expense

even in valuation
against the cost
of all more plausible routes

I get so little being just here
and yet everything

and going out
I break many limbs
but the ones that hold
give me new breath
and new vocabulary

a new bend
in the fabric of our experience
a new curve
a pesky wrinkle that won't die

a new chance
to experience something
previously undone in the world

here to give eyes
to the parts of the universe that can't see
in whatever way I can

is honor
a reward for skill
or restraint

for risks well chosen
balance can be death if missed even slightly
only it is so slow it is mistaken
for what it was

years of following expectations
and potlitities

if you can't rise at the moment
choose heart felt chaos and creation
over stability and repetition

and just love
something
even a rock
if that is the best
you can

we love

love
you are such a pick up artist
make us feel anything
to get what you want

sweep us left
then right
knock us over the head
and no matter we smile
once hooked

except on your down sweep
oh how hard you can flatten
what was an uncrushable future
full of magic and promise

love
on your back
there are
a million hearts
bound then broken

I guess in the balance
a few less broken
but what does that forgive

a power of kisses and roses
that farts can't douse the perfume of
one day

then the next
in you hand is the equal of a
frigging lump of slippery wet coal

we stand and blow in your wind
like tender little blades of grass

we love

wanting to sing

up
beyond
my voice

sill wanting to sing
but nothing moving
metaphorically and in reality

slipping into a death
of this last outburst of words

eyes to heavy to be held open
by an now lighter heart
good night

love to the muses
that still echo
to remind me I can
still sing in my own way

in pieces

picking crumbs
from the floor and teeth
not knowing
whose smile
I am wearing

what was this
world
suppose to become

what was this world
to teach itself

under the dirt
out in my backyard
under the fake plum tree
all flower no follow through
there is something

something I think
is everywhere

bits of the universe
just trying to take a look
evolving eyes
and ears
some left behind to eat what there is

us one of the farthest along
and yet maybe to far
all confused and diverted
by an overload of possibility

or maybe that
is exactly what the goal was
to piece by piece see and fell it all

chance

the treasure
has no chance
in the suburban
maze

all trying to be the same
or purposely and destructively
standing out

what
were we trying
to achieve

is a dream really yours
in the heart
if shared so widely

I can't maintain such passion
in those circumstances
can't more than flow
in such a pool

but finding the way
to tread
the current
just right
to not lose what I had
and to get what I can become

this is the struggle
that eats me down to a blubbering
apologetic
noncommittal
buffoon
worse than when I left the race

I apologize and ask
forgiveness
and preface
everything so far
anything I start is already a day
closer to its death
at the start

but I am getting there
finding a start
finding a way back
to waht I started
a decade ago

planted

I planted the seed
before
it grew
out of hand
into a tree

before it grew into a formidable
water pipe threatening menace
it was just a seedling

then roots only inches
in reach

contained in plastic
seed cell packs

I planted this
beginning

I planted
this ending

this growth that now threatens
and will be destroyed
for not comprehending
what we could ultimately be capable of

the chain saws we can draw upon
the wood chippers we can tow
behind simple vehicles

there is no match
yet

except
the complete death
that awaits after we get the last tree

looking up

I can see
your castle
high on the hill
the mountain it completes

breaking the back of those rocky ridges
into submission

watch us toil in envy
and in the dream
that we might replicate
ourselves into your place

and in the less
that drops more freely

we work for pay
and promises that shift
and beliefs in dreams
that color our future brightly
whatever it be

treat us just well enough
to stay in the game
to buy, to spend
to show up again
at the appointed times

I can see you
but not really
so high
so far
so long
away
from me

out of reach
or will
or means
for sure

I can see
but it is not
as much
as I thought it was

pennies still valuable
before each pay day
even in these more
funded years

december sun

sun
dark light
has your hand

last night
still grew

sun
where
are you

the grey
clouds did light up today
but the rain
and all
obscured you

and dark light
still rules more of the clock

in days
you'll come
again
but mark an end

an end
to longer nights

I still remember
in a vein or vessel
and a muscle or two
the summer heat

and already
the cold will
begin to turn away

sun dark
sun light
sun take the night
and follow it out

follow it into the new morning
the new mark on the wheel

round the sky
give back the day
its turn
in warmth

Sometimes

sometimes
it matters more
what the music stirs
than what it says itself

me stirred well
and thankful everyday

December 21st, last year just past

short days
dwindling
long nights

click click click
something goes

caught in the wheel

echos calling
clearing our throat
of cold and colds

short nights
I will welcome
your retreat

as do the seeds
chilled in the mud
cells stirring still

short days
farewell

short days
dwindling
long nights

here marks the change
the sun I watched die tonight
now sleeps it longest sleep

tomorrow
is a new day
another in long chain
of first days
circle after circle
stopping and starting
in a night like this

2:52

2:52

Thursday
in December
work

reward
of sorts
but not of dreams

but where
else to spend
december

all slows
and waits

even the sunsets
this week
crafted themselves
in near motionless leftovers of storms past
or brewing
but not in the moment

sitting
waiting
like us all
for the last rays
to cast upon us
something
something worth while
something that said
we are not dying

the worlds walls
are thin
the times are
turning

let me show
let me give
let me do
something
anything
that says
I am not dying
that says we
are not
dying

if

read me if you can
bare it
avoid me
as you will

it was 55 degrees last night at the coldest
just two mornings before we had frost

somethings never change
and others tun on a pin head

once again the trees are blooming in winter
only to surely have their fruit fall short
of what a little more work could have made it

so to do I spill over
prematurely
and unrestrained
unrefined

but this
this is me

and yes
you should never
use the tool to complain
or explain itself
but again I have.

sitting

sitting in clutter
trying to find a remote
looking for anything
to reach across the void and change the channel

take away this life
and replace the scenery
decorate the visible 180 that the best screens can capture
even in that best upscaled 1080i hd

I'll take even just that half
even though it weighs less than advertised

sitting in a mess I can't catalog
but can still navigate just enough
essentials like kitchen and toilet
oh and tv (minus remote)
all visible

lives being laundered
or buried in the unfolded
towels thrown
but no surrender answered

let the onslaught take me
please take me away
give me wings
or amnesia
some disorder to follow out
of the mess