The stresses and pressures squeeze until I shout
by dribs and drabs, words force their way out
The “poor me’s” the “why me’s” the “life’s not fair’s!”
The aches and pains, the daily strains, the “no one really cares”
This mental incontinence, this leaking of thought
for this diarrhea of the mouth, a remedy is sought
A little on the sensitive side, the leaking doesn’t stop
A single conflict and I’m off, to find another pity pot
Caught up in the flow, the pressures grow
Won’t be long now, I think I’m gonna blow!
So, the thoughts will pour, emotions will war
the mouth begins to move, who knows what’s in store!
These bloody emotions are swelling and cramping
Don’t know which I need more, Zoloft or Pamprin
This inability to stanch my leaky dysfunction
overwhelms focus, destroys concentration
This cycle of leaking, this mental menstruation
causes those around me a sense of frustration
Whether it’s depends I need to stop this flow
or just a bit more stability to help me grow
This mental incontinence has got to stop
My pissing and moaning requires a mop
This stinking thinking is way too hard to control
Can’t stop my mouth leaking even when it’s the goal
Row after row, section by section, a maze for hunting new adventures
Spines of every color and kind
bright, faded, repaired, or in desperate need,
all with varying textures of age and smells of time.
Some covered in cracked plastic
others sporting broken spines braced with yellowed tape
all become much more attractive in someone’s hands,
grasping, holding, flaming another’s interest
drawn into the past or led to the future,
either learning, reminiscing or escaping!
Comatose lives wait between the covers
resurrected by touch, fed by the spark of interest
Infusing a new mind with thoughts originating years,
decades, even centuries before
The author, granted the chance to live again
feeds off the pulse of the beholder, the touch on pages enliven,
characters become new again as a reader gets hooked,
flat pages gain dimension, characters dance through our imagination,
fusing the souls of reader and author
adding a new generation to the writer’s immortality
Gray, black, white, silver
the constantly changing consistency of pattern
herringbone wool with texture and style
giving warmth to the wearer
and comfort to all of us
Whether sitting atop the full round face
holding the thick dark pompadour in place
or capping the thinning skull of the aging man
colors matching the gray and black of mustache and sideburns
the Irish tweed Trinity captures the persona of the man
The comfort in the fit, the way it defines the curve of the head
framing the symmetry of the face and the set of the eyes
remained constant while the body of the wearer wore away each day
familiar feels of relief from the proverbial old hat
acclimatizing us all to what was not
As someone who’s been with us forever
reaches the point when they no longer are
the inanimate takes on life
gives us comfort and peace
even now, when the hat resides boxed in a drawer
We can take a can of paint, re-coat a rusted chair
making it beautiful, almost new again
but if the rust and old loose paint wasn’t cleared away
it’s just a matter of time until chips and rust resurface
a painful blemish on our new perfection
Just like anger! If we don’t deal with the resentment
if we just move on, deal with the present, keep it clean
avoiding the real bone of contention underneath
the poison, the rot, the untreated decay patiently
waits for the next bump to bring it back to the surface
How do we balance moving on, not letting yesterday ruin today
with clearing away the root of the problem? Surely the hardest
part of the Serenity Prayer; dealing with past problems,
and changing, requires one foot in the past. It’s not the same
as setting troubles behind and then joining them there
Do we just accept the things we cannot change? Spray
on a new can of ‘just for today, it will be ok’? Do we
take up the fight and change the circumstances?
Deal with the unpleasantness of confrontation
risking clearing our resentment, but losing the other person
Where do we gain the wisdom to know the difference?
How do we set aside the emotions to not react?
As with most things, it’s all in the prep work. Take
the wire brush of reason, bounce thoughts off others
and then, choose the next right thing
Our life unfolds before us
memories gathered, moments combined
taking our eyes off the present to view our past
Stories, dramas, decisions…
choices paving the way to who we have become
Growing and learning
experiences accrued along the way
loves, loses, tributes or tumbles
those we embrace or those we avoid
even those we have excommunicated
all hold a place, leave a mark, on who we are
Separated and viewed singularly
like pages in a book
all these small pieces of us…
pieces flowing into one another
our decisions and actions of today
shape the choices of tomorrow
As we look back through the chapters
viewing the story of our life
fold down the pages of successes and joys
save the “what if’s” for the positive impacts
look at the impressions we had on others
What if we were not there to change those lives?
These are the things that matter!
these are the paths we want to keep marked
these are the images to keep alive
the parts of us we want to always share
the true making of a best seller!
For just a few moments during the holiday season,
with all the festivities and celebrations,
I can’t help but reflect…
Some life changing moments, although they pass by
so swiftly, impact us deeply throughout our life.
Even after decades, a lifetime ago, I can’t help
but wonder… how would things be different?
How many lives changed, but for the turn of a wheel?
One stupid moment in the name of fun. A young life
flung to the side, the impact crushing so many dreams.
Avoidance, anger, or alcoholic amnesia!
We each dealt in our own ways. Time healed,
scabs form and fall away. Others can’t help
but pick at the past, ripping sores open again
and again, causing a lifetime of pain and scars!
Life goes on whether we like it or not.
Move on with it… or a part of us dies, locked
away in the shadow of yesterdays. Emotions stuffed
deep, never seeing the light of day, constantly
feeling on the emotional level of when walled away.
Sitting and pondering another second or two
A single flower and prayer placed in remembrance.
Stopping time just to reminisce…
A giant smile, a gleam in the eye,
the bounce full of youthful excitement.
All the laughs and lies and loves at sixteen
briefly brought back to life this time of year.
The sadness of loss, a splintering of friends,
a long ago life casts a temporary shadow…
shaped by the bright lights of the holiday season.
The emotions grow as the day gets near
For some it’s expectation, for others it’s fear
Christmas carols, decorations and lights
In some houses it’s abuse and fights
Boys and girls with big, bright eyes
But plenty more sedated or serenaded with cries
It’s not all joyous, this time of year
Depression and pain, but don’t dare shed a tear
Christmas carols or crying for a meal
Holiday specials or a frightening ordeal
Season’s Greetings or the yelling begins
Decorations and lights or alone with their sins
No presents this year and nothing to give
What kind of way for any child to live!
Dark empty corner where the tree should be
The only loving contact was a fake Santa’s knee
For every soul who loves the Season of Lights
Many hide in the shadows, only themselves held tight
Holiday joy or a Season of Sorrow
While some gather and rejoice, some won’t see tomorrow
A season for family or families living in woe
Gratitude and joy or awaiting the final blow
Wreaths and garland or empty and alone
The Joys of Christmas or another reason to groan
There has always been an emptiness
A place where a piece of me seems missing
a longing for understanding
or at least a connection
A chance to know someone missing from my life
Being part of a splintered family
raised by two loving parents
but never getting to know one of those
responsible for your birth
creates a cavern of un-felt feelings
This cave, a place of unconnected love
creates echoes, as emotions bounce
off the hardened parts of my heart
filling the emptiness with phantom feelings
knowing reality and perception are unaligned
And now, as this part of me, my blood
fights, then fails to draw life-giving breath
those sympathy pains of unfulfilled love
become aligned through actual loss
phantom feelings for the mother I barely knew
Every day I stand at the copy machine, knowing-
as I touch the button, carpet static will bite me. Not
that it hurts, maybe borders on uncomfortable, more
the pain of anticipation, knowing it’s coming, knowing
a spark will be triggered by touching the login pad
There’s always that person who has the effect of collecting static.
Their energy gets passed to us whether we want it or not. No
matter what the interaction, we know we’re going to get shocked.
They start walking your way and you have the same
anticipation, knowing unpleasantness is coming
When someone rubs you the wrong way, neck hair
stands on edge due to their nearness. The thought
of contact makes every character defect pulse, every
past annoyance makes its way from history to present
giving unpleasant thoughts way too much power
The work environment is the perfect fishbowl where people
who share goals, ethics, and etiquette come in contact daily
There are many ways to ignore the annoying things they do
Others annoy us by showing up for work
making the hair stand up in the wake of their passing
The common denominator is based on past feelings
instead of what we have in common. Expectations
of aggravation prepare us negatively, develops
an island of attitude, only seeing things that will piss us off.
What can be built on this kind of framework?
The day in, day out interaction with these folks, set us up
for nit-picking and focusing on all their faults. A case
built against them before they do anything.
A perfect example of how a reputation precedes you
always entering the room way before you do
How far do I let the thoughts go?
Where does the trouble start?
An innocent fantasy can grow
while left alone in the dark.
Romance it or feed it
with the least bit of thought
pack it away while you get back to your day
but carefully check the lid before re-opening!
Fantasy grows in secret!
Blooms into obsession
takes on a life of its own.
Once the roots set and the thoughts grow
they never remain a single plant,
but grow like vines
into all the surrounding trees
strangling the life out of whatever they touch!
Fantasy takes so many shapes.
I never know which are safe playgrounds
and which are condemned houses
with floors just waiting for my foot to feed on.
Which thoughts can be manipulated
for my own enjoyment,
and which will manipulate me
for my own abuse?
Reality versus fantasy…
a constant battle of wants
against what is real!
The separation in my head
between my outward self and my private self
become subservient to my dreamer self.
How long can we live in fantasy land
before it is just considered life?