number eighty

staring at a blank notebook page
this blank screen glowing back at me
processing it all with this fallow mind
this dormant marooned soul
waiting...

moist ideas evaporate in a mist
might have caught just a glimpse
might have jotted something down
that might have become a poem or three
maybe...

the world turned cold finally
the globally warm kind that won't last
while wars stay unfairly hot and afar
and social media plods confusingly along
this strange new normal...

nothing at all to preach or rant on
nothing - the difference it would make
nothing almost any of us could do
but for some fleeting reveries or dreams
nothing...

A Last Coffee

was told, sad news, that
the gratis ebony elixir
is nearing some kinda end
a transition of sorts to
bring your own at these
clanish convocations

'tis some cost cutting
budget labor saving
leadership guidance
and inspiriation to be...
more self-sufficient

the last sips of
freely and ever so
sweetly bitter poddish brew

ah...

Out of Sorts

like i never belonged
really, never? ever?
well, sometimes, maybe

whatta they call it...
pangs of angst
bangs of pathetic rhymes
adrift on dry land
seeking mirages and
some kinda...
ok, i'll settle for
an explanation

the collective you
define you, well enough,
convinced me...
can't seem to make
any headway convincing
myself

maybe...
it's just a stage

War of Words

displaced...
displaced population
what refugees, exiles,
people, families, young
or old, driven from their homes
to wherever just not
where they were
for years or ages
you know, displaced

so clean, so pure,
so displaced like
almost misplaced like
car keys, sunglasses, like
it was a wee error,
almost innocent,
you know, misplaced
the poor displaced

juneteenth 2024
nngi and rafah and...

Poetic Exile

the coming armies
ever closer and closer
security and peace eroding faster
with each approaching artillic boom
disintegrating faster
than we can pack some
few precious memories

we go...
toward some border
between this life
and tomorrow
the unknown whatever

this random shock
further droughting
my arid soul

June 18, 2024
Some fictitious Elba

Powering Up a New Fountain Pen

a new pen unsheathed
flowing across seas, deserts,
amber waves of tundra,
rain forests, and obsidian slopes
of mountainous memories
crafting this bit of sentiment

open source reflection

reading not nearly enough,
the same for righting thing
though doing more arthymetic lounging
perhaps just another word for anemic longing

the gloom of self-reflection
and an almost positive attitude
walking on the sunny-side
of the globally warmed street
carelessly paved across droughted lands

come on....
it's not that bad
it's just a bad poem