i’m awake
and aware
and alive
and in love with this life
while horrified with living

i have all i need
– youth and charm –
and enjoy much luxury
with my little leisure

i see humanity terrorized
by the established institutions
of inter-galactic corporate entities
colonizing political planets
with toxic, economic, electric dependent
greedy, self indulgent egocentric maniacs

i commute to work with the 9 to 5
for minimum wage and the constant headache of fluorescent light
and i barely keep gas in a tiny toyota
(japanese made in tennessee)
so i can be run down by ford suvs and chevy pick-ups
(american made in mexico and outsourced to china)

I’m really not sure how this got put in the “old manuscript” and not left in the old slush pile where it belonged.

And to think that I ever though youth and charm were all that I needed!  Most of the time I was saner than that, even at 19 and stoned all the time.  Maybe I was exceptionally stoned at the time?  Who knows.

I am, yet again, too tired to write a real post and posting old poetry instead.  Ah well, I am, after all, a poet.

But this does bring up a point about Poetry and Truth.  I have never intended to capture and big, eternal Truth.  I sit down to write and attempt to capture a little, now truth.  Sometimes I don’t even manage that. Truth to tell I don’t think I’m really very good with words.  They are slippery things that often squirm out of my grasp and leave slime on my page when I wanted mist.

Not to mention the problem of language where no two of us speak any language quite the same.  Words carry different weight with different people.  A while back I start a post just on the problems with poetry.  Then I got busy with school and it’s still sitting there in the drafts folder.  Ah well.  It can sit there a while longer.

I’ve been proofreading a paper today.  I’m a bit nervous about my first graded paper in years.  Turns out MLA has changed a bit while I’ve been away. And I need to learn not to double space between sentences! That in itself will take work. I’m trying to practice the new habit right now and it isn’t going so well.

Between that and looking at this pathetic old poem I feel like an antique tonight. Really, I’m not that old! So enjoy a laugh at a good example of how not to write poetry and what happens when time slips by. I’m going to crawl off to bed and finish the paper tomorrow.

About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
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