December has cometh

november  30 2016

there are answers to the questions which plague us again and again
there are tests which divide and conquer us
happiness is not a thing to be(hold) but a thing which be(holds) you
and humans reach for the ring, again and again

am i the one who wants the easy answer?
or am i the one with the easy answer

i ask you.

november 29  2016
montreal seven oh-nine

ode to the internet

oh internet; have you forsaken me,
you have not answered every question
and i'm starting to forget what the question is
oh internet; they take you for granted,
your magic has slipped away
along with your buzz
oh internet;
they mock you, they reduce you to cats memes;
they step on your magic and hide behind fake names;
oh internet
i promise
i have not forgotten
your promise

  november 23  2016
tick tick tick tick

tuesdays become next tuesdays before i'm done with last tuesday
the large pots are washed over and over again
a thick sticky snowfall isn't so sticky except for catching us unawares
and the mbti groups never stop notifying me

it's not alot of moments it takes to pen these elctronic words
yet those moments seem to be evading me
the perfect moments of calm and warmth
where myself meets myself
and all my thoughts can be focused like a beam
after bouncing off the insides of this head

for many years, i never knew it was a luxury
and with that word,
a squeaky doorknob,
signals a waking child
who thinks her mother
is sleeping.

  november 15  2016
rush rush rush rush rushing

post your rants for all to see:
they will be forgotten:

  november 14  2016
monday monday 8:34

the curtains drawn, i chew, and i sip. mild worries wash over me and i embrace them, one by each, and push them away;
i lean and switch on the light, contemplate a bundle of facebook notifications, lean into the Klingon noise, and sip and chew
why did he forget every conversation we ever had about joni mitchell, every note in the Bach cantatas is still perfect in his head,
what does he think i don't like about this place, which fears of his come alive as he sits in traffic, can't he see it's just as peaceful?
i shouldn't write any of this but a supermoon must have made me do it, the weekend was wonderful in many respects, but
puncuated with moments of instability which threw me off kilter; finding her money for things i can't figure out anymore, if she needs,
arriving in a bright restaurant with too much makeup, and a few major bouts of exhaustion before my mother wondering why.
topped off with a text message which cemented how much i wanted the weekend to be over.

  november 13  2016
the circle of life

there is nothing extraordinary here,      
mine are ordinary thoughts and ordinary words,
the mundane thoughts one has as one rises to greet the day
and sees a yard full of crispy loud yellow leaves;
some on the ground
and others - still clinging to limbs - dancing a final dance
and then sailing to their resting place -

it marks a new circle, those leaves on the ground,
for for forty-seven years they would not have been resting there;
but would be neatly tucked away in precious bags;
to be controlled, as everything was,
by a generation who valued more the contrived world we create
over the great circle of life.


          november 12  2016

        i could distill Facebook into mEp words, synthesize that world, and spit it here, for all to see
        i could ruminate about whats homey and list the plants i've watered or the noisy fishwater in my ears
        i could list the tasks of life, archive fashion, from washing these old wooden floors, to still-heated maintenance sex,
        i could paint any picture here, sum it all up or reduce it all down, for the world to see through my ocular
        and that is what i miss doing, in fact, holding up a lens, my lens, my particular crinkled lens,
        and seeing all of it, and your lens too, through it, and making only sense of it,
        from where i sit.

        after many years i once again wake to beautiful emails
        - she's a younger version of herself
        - who needs an older version of me
        something about our relationship
        is so beautiful
        i can't even think about it

        "There is a crack in everything,
            that's how the light gets in"
                        RIP Leonard Cohen

November 7 2016

you can add up the parts you wont have the sum
you can strike up the march there is no drum
every heart to love, will come
but like a refuge

          While i was away, this happened



                    november 2nd 2016
                a well slept poot wakes with wishy washy dreams of being a lab assistant and eating weird food:
sometimes real life is better than a dream:
online friends form personalities and become more real than desired:
many hours of sleep and it's wednesday morning
some routine will return in november without a grant proposal to write
rushing to blurt out these words as visions of new CEOs run through my head
and i'm starting to understand how people lose sight;
will it help us, though, to know what it wrong and what is right?
even if i know truly and deeply, every single universal truth,
will it confer an advantage or still will it leave me begging for more.

the mEp ... my Electronic pen . . .
and all of the contents therein are copyright 
Poot's Place  1996 all the way to 2016. 20 years.
all photography original unless otherwise credited.