random
channeling Mark Twain (an update)
“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” I have been busy with working the 9-to-5, teaching part-time at a college, and finishing/editing my novel. My deadline is the end of May and I so look forward to June.
June 1 is my birthday and I plan on celebrating life and me everyday throughout the month. I also plan on including you, my loyal and voyeuristic reader, in the celebration. I will be posting everyday. That’s right. Every. Stinking. Day.
I’m not sure that I have that many interesting things to say but I will attempt to share anything of significance each of my days in June. Stay tuned.
placebo
All due respect to grandfathers and amoebas,
Yellow bunnies, crosses, and ill-fated placebos
But that pink pill won’t calm you, it makes you cough
And that blue pill will arouse you then turn you off,
That horse pill brings restlessness and facial fuzz
And that white, tiny square one – I forgot what it does
Substitutions, placebos, colored eggs, and denials
Thinking to blaspheme and giving praise all the while
With some celebration of Life or Fertility’s egg
Covered idols in chocolate then off with his head
How hollow this apostasy, how empty this ruin
How can not saying His name lead to any congruence?
What is this atrocity that the King is still dead?
The Most High is down low and covered in dread?
Maybe He’ll resurrect from some brightly painted egg?
Sarcasm, lies, and substitutes are akin to vomit, bile, and red.
Long live the living King who redeemed us when He bled
And there can be no placebo… it is written and said.
“The sting in any rebuke is the truth” – Benjamin Franklin
copasetic
It’s forty-five later and I feel fine
My raiment of half-knit intentions and twine
Unfinished commitments on an unstable shelf
Obscuring my menagerie and wax that was melt
The walls are still cracking from our caterwaul song
And my heart is still breaking at what love’s become
It’s forty-eight later and I’ll give it time
Copasetic amidst it all… and I feel fine.
week in review – an open letter
This past week started like most work weeks as of late for me – busy and challenging. Coming off of the high of getting a nice bit of writing on my novel done the previous weekend, I was ready for whatever the week had to offer. I was convinced that this week’s demands couldn’t be as bad as last week. I was kind of wrong.
I had yet another court appearance to make in reference to a bus accident I was involved in last year. I was hit from behind and charged with improper passing. There was no way I was taking responsibility for this matter when I was following the law. I challenged the charge and the city bounced me from court date to court date until they finally threw it out on Wednesday. An encouraging victory amidst a mentally and physically challenging work week. I mean really – who works 20 hours in one day? Me – sadly. My 40 hour work week was 72 and it ended last night at 10pm.
I have been too tired to say thank you to my friends and co-workers for the support, attention, letters, and love this week. I was too dazed to praise my manager, Keith for being one to go down with the ship with his crew. Or too achy to let James know that his brain power makes my brain hurt but I’m blessed and fortunate that he’s there. I was too distracted tell my sons that I’ve missed them or to thank Lara, Camille, Rhonda, Missy, and Gally for their much appreciated presence or congratulate Shawn on his new house.
Let me just say that I am appreciative of all of you – named and otherwise. I look forward to warmer weather and lighter workloads and hanging out with you all again soon. I love you all despite my absence of late.
ceaseless. kenn.
color therapy
I stuck my hand in a thorn bush
To follow what was free
Then painted a pretty picture
With the color that would bleed
I sat on the doctor’s couch
And he said to stay in the lines
I told him he was ash to me
My colors won’t be confined
My offspring are as promises
Pigments in rich oil
My imagination, she always sits with me
Through calmness and through toil
People see all my colors
And they often do assume
That a rainbow would seem pale near me
But they’re so far from the truth
Color brings and freedom rings
And hope is a fragile seed
Ask not for whom the bell tolls
The bell, it tolls for “we”
This chromatic facade that alludes to God
In tints and hues alike
I complete the “we” and we water the seed
And the seed is filled with life
I stuck my hand in a thorn bush
Screaming, “Would you look at me”
Then colored another page
In this therapeutic scene.
accelerated delay
I am NOT a speed demon (as my T indicates) when it comes to writing.