Tall window into the world. My Fishbowl.

Tall clear window,

Gives me a view, with a seat in-front of it

that supports the writer and the words that swell out of a

mangled mess of jello like brains.

Mixed amongst the words sweet sugar cookies and cream invading black

night liquid.

Jitters, shaking arms, a shot of energy and consciousness

Words of unfiltered sorts tumble out as the people on the pavement

walk by, cycle by, drive by in metal boxes with strange wheels that move

moving somewhere, going somewhere.

I am supported by a hard wooden chair that absorbs nothing.

Sitting waiting for the words to tumble out, in the right order?

Never really since words have a mind of its own and a strange new order to bring order to the disorderly.

Later perhaps tomorrow the sense of the words make sense or none at all.

Maybe if I look outside the words will make sense?

Two hours later…

I wonder where time went.

The coffee is gone, as did the sugar.

Hello words what can I do with you today?

 

 

 

Postaday

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After the warmth is gone.

Shiver shiver oh the coldness of the bamboo mat
isn’t doing its duty when the night air is cold, and I need some warmth to
lull me asleep. Where is that snuggling bird to regulate the heat?
Take away my excesses of energy, adjust my mood , and keep me sane.
Can it not be that I’m drinking too much. Coffee? Caffeinated drinks, to spike my consciousness into overdrive, limbs are trembling out of my control. I am sensitive. Too much. I cannot bear anymore. Sweetness begone! I cannot have you. I have other things to do and you are not among it in my to do list.

A Cat’s wishes…

A cat, round furry cat, sits in a cafe sipping green tea.

She writes a wish on to a page with round misshapen paw prints.

Meow, for a cat friend.

Meow, for the cat’s favorite cat nip presents.

Meow, for some time to snooze and snuggle in peace.

Meow, please can I have these simple wishes?

The cat would purr… contentedly if she could have these simple pleasures.

Meow.

 

Postaday

 

 

In a country full of clocks.

My heart is set in a land full of ticking
infernal clocks that tell me the negative of what I want.
I am not allowed to latch my hand onto that hand,

that large slender hand.
I hope my emotion that fills me with misery and worry
to not be the breaking point.
Between two things
that share a lucky passing connection.
Between two points
from here to there is just a far away place.
Between my head and yours
dreams fill the space with time.
Between the next tic-tock of the minute
I feel torn amongst this world of mine and
the world I don’t know existed.

I hoped I died when that heart of mine expired
yet, yet, nothing was there when the metal tore me apart
there was an empty space
it was gone,
oh dear
there is no end to this.

He’s gone far away

Far away from my hand
my arm, me
He is not by my side
in physical presence
I am now aware that I am
ill with a desire to
be back together again
where two halves
make the chubby round whole
egg again
like yolk to white
cat to its nip
chocolate to the lady
and everything nice
For awhile and some time more
the world will be a bit
off
off kilter where two beings embrace the
earth in hope that the distance
dissipates and no amount of air is too far
in this day, this moment where there is an
electric connection
between that egg and that white
to make something fascinating
so fantastic that the girl would
cry happily with joy
that she could have that chocolate
as if he stepped through a window
in a frame in an instant
that need that want could be
calmed for just awhile
a little while
where the chocolate melts pleasantly
and mixes into her.

I am a cookie dealer.

My youth and to now does not seem far apart
I once dealt cookies under the banner of helping girl guides
push cookies door to door, taking outrageous prices for meagre
boxes of cookies, mint, vanilla, and chocolate.
the three main staple flavors.

Now I deal cookies for similar purpose to help some poets
some sugar cookie monsters that need
simply that dark dark sweet cookie
that makes the user say
om nom nom nom
om nom nom nom some more please?

really I need some more cookies
please help I need my cookies sam.

Sure I can help but at a cost.
your cookie fix is funding my
charitable projects, groups, and poets.

You know the sugar and the cookie itself is not of my creation
its a product of culture, sweetness, and habit.

My habit is to sell these cookies,
it matters not to whom but
when the cookies may appear to be in excess.

Cookies here, there, and everywhere.

Tollhouse cookies, sugar, gingerbread,
molasses, snickerdoodle, raisin oatmeal,
white chocolate macadamia, chocolate chip!
Cookies of my desire. A gut craving for sweets.

Cookie cookie on the tray, oh!

Tell me if you can me mine?
Tell me if you taste sweet and divine?
Tell me if you can stay soft?
Tell me you won’t melt my resolve.

Tell me, Tell me cookie.

A new day, new snowstorm.

The night ticks on

measured by the ticking time on the clock.
I am waiting for the time to pass by when I can see the one who makes me laugh
merrily, dance, and fall in love with language all over again.

For this I can love anew to this one catalyst,

who lets me dream, a dream

wish my wishes

climb up towers and mountains

I waive at the world from the tallest point, the pinnacle

where I can send my gratitude, my love

to my love.
I wish to hold you again and make some happiness, in a smile

a laugh and all in between.

Exams you are done!

The moment when the brain turns off and says “uncle” is when the exams are over

and I don’t need to think much no more.

I can sit and sip chocolate, and nibble on rice with spice.

All in good company I suppose, but not all the time will

my mind understand what is exactly going on.

Brain now that you have shut off and decided to hibernate on me

what will you do? I know I have mathematical issues to deal and solve for I

do have a house full of things to do for it needs to be finished with all the care and delicacy

that my hands can exactly manipulate to obey me and turn a beautiful project out.
I will cut, measure, and nail you to where you need to go. Before I can manipulate,

I will need the very tool to enable this desired action, and result.
Be gentle as I am with you. Dearest power tool.

chewy chocolate chip cookies

soft tender morsels of oatmeal

incorporated with sugar. Brown and white

meld into an unidentifiable mass with dark dots, dotting about

in a dance of mixed material

Oh! shall it be sweet? shall it be decadent?

It shall! It shall! For I have stolen away a lunchbox 

of you little sweets to become a part of me.

Come, come melt and sing to my senses.

Let me taste you smell you, devour you.

Till you are no more my fragrant cookie.