Taking what life throws at me one pitch at a time
con swindle then sue
abuse evade elude laws
bunko artists all
Corrupt resource fork
A.I. nurse told the patient
We'll need to reboot
Low expectations
The spice that keeps me patient
Crushed joie de vivre
the slinging of the
spring mud next year'll be nothing
next to autumn slime
don't you just hate it
when past becomes now too soon
leaves no future room
I committed too
soon to commitment in a
noncommittal way
Water and feed it
Dark money, fear, and hatred
Now you see what sprouts
What drives a life force
Once on the trail of the snail
All other things pale
it was in the past
when snail sprouts wings to take flight
to future too soon
will spending my life
on the mend send a different
end around the bend
economic mist
what markup to charge thirsty
folks for fresh water
It always seems that
No matter how hard I yearn
Affection is spurned
The difference between
To darn or to mend my socks
Yearn for an answer
So I wrote a haiku this morning to a Bluesky #vss365 prompt of #yearn as I am wont to do daily.
It went like this:
It always seems that
No matter how hard I #yearn
Affection is spurned
A comment made on that post brought to mind this song by Loudon Wainwright, III
“Unrequited To The Nth Degree”
Oh, when I die and it won’t be long
Hey, you’re gonna be sorry that you treated me wrong
Yeah, you’re gonna be sorry that you treated me bad
Hey, and if there’s an after life I’ll gloat and I’ll be glad
Might be a plane crash, or some sort of OD
Hey, there’s going to be a photograph with my obituary
You’re gonna see it and you’ll cry
You’re gonna wanna wear black
Hey, I’ll be dead but you can bet your life, I’m gonna get you back
I’m tired of being left up on your shelf
I might not wait around, might kill myself
Not only would you miss me, but you’d feel guilty to
Oh, I’d be dead but it’d be too late the joke would be on you
Ha ha ha ha, ho ho ho ho
Chuckle chuckle chuckle chuckle
Snigger snigger snigger snigger
Guffaw guffaw guffaw
Yuk yuk yuk yuk
Ha ha ha ha…
So you better take warning, start treating me good
Start doing the things that I think you should
And you better not pout and no you better not cry
The grim reaper is a-comin’ to town and I just might die
This song reinforces many things for me.
From irrational exuberance to unreasonable expectations.
From pining for personages out of my league, while not noticing those that would have been a better fit.
Personal life
Professional life
Business life
Financial life
Spiritual life
This song also affirms my observations on codependency:
When I die your life will pass before my eyes.
🛩Meanwhile, Keep Em Flying 🛩
we were magical
things when held in each others
fierce fiery gaze
We rolled in the mud
Then we rolled in the clover
Fun wash once over
once reached for the stars
now only low hanging fruit
culture warfare fare
divide to conquer current
collapsing constellation
"I wonder if it's true that a buttered slice of toast always lands buttered side down?" She leered back at me over the breakfast table and winked. "Wanna find out?" People our age had no business behaving that way, but we put that mornings inspiration to the test for a spell. Someday I'll Google that question. But I did not then and I will not now. Some mysteries of the universe are left to be explored over and over again. The buttering of the toast can be wonderful and messy. Surprising and surpassing expectations. Not a chore, but a delight. Whether morning or night, my little toaster would often pop up when least expected, delivering a surface for that delicious spread. Toast is fine. But Biscuit was different. Since I've never heard of a buttered biscuit theory I can only imagine you never can know which side a buttered biscuit will land on; so you just have to roll around for bit. Or a bite. Or a bit of a bite. That was the way of the Biscuit.
Biscuit Bolero
Now please pass the toast and for heavens sake be careful.
another day to
inflict my predilection
for snark on the world
a sudden bout of
boisterous behavior ends
a long-term friendship
Talking head pungent
Sold this President
Smile indecent
Bought by Pepsodent
Current resident
Not a proper gent
Everywhere he went
His welcome was spent
With loud vile vent
With no precedent
Opinions for rent
For ratings percent
Zero
The numerical expression
Of the answer to the question:
"Can absence be present
And nothingness exist?"
1. Why did the chicken cross the road?
Because a flyover did not eggsxist
2. Why are eggs oval in shape?
Because if they were square it would be an eggsistential threat
3. Who said Humpty Dumpty was an egg?
Upon advice of my attorney I take the fifth eggmenment
4. What is fumigate?
What will be needed once our coop's eggosystem crashes in on itself
5. What is a wuss?
Wet cloth used to wipe the eggxtra yoke off your puss
6. What is a spotter?
One with eggstremely sharp eyesight
7. What is the speed of light?
Eggstrodinarily fast wave and particle scramble to fly the coop
8. What is a hangover?
The price of overtly eggregious consumption
9. What is a grammy?
What you get with eggsentialy 28.3495 ounceys
10.What is lycra?
It's all about how you lycra your eggs
slow strangulation
by misinformation vine
chokes critical thought
redo the doodoo
that you do so well though I'd
prefer a remake
mangy malignant
murder primates manifest
in their own image
malodorous malfeasance
reflects in roiling waters
I loitered in that corridor the whole school year, nonchalantly leaning against my locker in between periods 4 and 5; while not so discreetly watching her. Noting every nuance of her garments which changed daily without ever repeating. I was hypnotized by the cut of her strut. No, not strut; the glide in her stride.
She clearly worked hard to ignore me. Still I convinced myself she was sneaking a peek my way with a sort of stifled psychic acknowledgment. I reciprocated with my patented teenage gaze and smirk. Was I stalking in a crowded school hallway?
I only ever saw her at that spot at that time because I thought regimented consistency of school schedules served up that gawking opportunity. Nor did I ever follow her, though fleeting possible sightings at other locations in the school were not unheard of whispers to my eyes. But I never spied her at large out on the free range world.
Something about her didn’t track right; until the last day of the school year when I found the memorial plaque beside the school trophy cabinet. I wasn’t stalking her, she was a ghost haunting me.
A Scroll Threw Life 