Day 194, rainy and monday

Rainy and Monday
A rumpled silk river
Forges quietly ahead
It's top waters steady hands
But underneath is the turmoil
Of too much rushing
Too much moving
It's grey and brown complexion
A divine sort of concoction
Waiting to be tasted
It wags its fingers
Saying, come along, come along
It's come hither gaze is
Tantalizing, you begin to imagine
The way the water feels to your skin
Never realizing just how deeply
You'll have to dive to swim
It's current nothing but an undertow
Of hidden bitterness
Your dreams nothing but flotsam
It's silky deception
The silver sheen of lust

Day 193, what are your four words for the day?

Pick four words to describe your Sunday. Two on top, two on bottom and whoala! you have a poem!

subdued fatigue

vulnerable repose

Day 192, saturday morning

Saturday Morning
is little boys with cow-licked hair
rubbing against my chin
the smell of pancakes permeate
and fill the house, their gentle sizzle
a soothing sound that seems to blend
with the steam from our coffee
held in hand, balanced on a knee
pudgy toes rub together, sleepy
blue eyes close and open
it's a false but welcome lull, an
I've got nothing better to do but
lay around and flip the channels,
and then ten o clock is here and
the uniform is on, rowdy they run
outside to shoot some hoops
like a magic trick, the serenity
disappears as if it never existed
no trace of it at all.

Day 191. the golden drink

Was reading the Bible, seems the Irsraelites made an idol and to rectify the situation Moses grinds the golden calf into dust, pours the dust in a brook and makes them drink. Their own version of Gold Schlagger I suppose, complete with regret and humble pie.

The Golden Drink

It's an amber dust that floats
so serene, majestic, lavishly
atop the silvered stream
a gypsy dance that taunts,
agitates the lust of those
thirsty for a golden confidence
a face to look at.

Instead they dip their bronze
vessels slowly in, with long faces
the metallic blur of gold and silver
swallowed in, distributed
ingested, a heavy weight
to hold, this idolotry
a belly full of gilded sin the
cost of their redemption

Day 190, there isn't a poem for every mood

No there isn't a poem for every mood
every day is not best consumed
by words and pithy phrases
Today is not a day for poetry
it's a day for resting, sleeping in
but worry not, I'll go get my meds
and write something 
tomorrow, once again :)

Day 189, universal remote

I'm a universal remote
Adept, useful
Handy and needed
Until the big bottom
Of bronchitis sits down
On the sofa, squishes me
In between the cushions
Suddenly I'm mute,
Invisible, batteries draining
Irritated from the rub of
Crunchy crumbs and cold nickels

Day 188, blue, blue skies

It's PIRTY outside today, real pirty. So pirty I'm about to try to go running {cough, choke, wheeze} I can't help it. I'll go to the doctor later this afternoon though, no worries :)
Blue Skies
Blue, blue skies{let me interupt with the story of a little boy potty training, he loves his big boy underwear, carries it around the house... but when I just explained that to wear them he has to stay dry he said, "uh-uh, change my diaper, I wear diaper". That's what goes on in the middle of trying to write these poems... Mya Angelou surely did not have to endure this :) Now, back to blue skies thanks to Disney! }
This sunshine bathed day
washed in the pearly glow
of springtime hope
distills any fear of sudden dark
It's the way the warm
flurries of heat
swimming in the wind, splashing
on my skin, saturate my soul.
It's the way the brittle leaves of winter
edge themeselves in green
tenderly applauding the consistency
of mercy, a gentle praise
arising from the soft wrinkled
sound of branch and leaf
swaying, floating in the stream
of willy nilly mirth the brilliant day
breathes forth.