Open Link Eve

I’m taking this one off.
I have too many bees in the head.
A beard of bees. Bread and cheese?
I’d love a sandwich, thanks.

Too many cows, and I cannot
churn butter, not with all these
flies in the ointment, a whole
continent of lies; they buzz

the same as truths, only louder.
Louder, you say? I suppose
I could yell, but when I’m yellow
like this, and underwater,

I’m not sure it matters much. Yello?
Yello? Now I am at the last payphone
on Earth, with a fistful  of quarters
and nothing left to say.




If it’s Tuesday p.m., check out Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.


And Then Some Days, You Write 6 of Them

… and they all just suck (to put it frankly). What is going on? Did I jinx it by saying things were going well? And … will the magic ever return??? What if I wrote my last good poem ever, a couple of days ago? (Do these questions sound familiar to you, fellow poets?)

Or maybe this is just a Sunday night in July, and I am temporarily unable to see past some other things that are going on — like my son’s impending 4th birthday. Not that he’s to blame … but I do find I am often boggled by special occasions, financial obligations, and other “chatter” in my daily life.

Also, I had a Peep-roasting incident tonight … yes, in July. There were two left, so I fired up the gas range, and then I grabbed them to pull them off the skewer. Melted marshmallow tends to fuse onto skin pretty tightly — as I learned around Easter and relearned tonight.

On the plus side, a burned thumb (it immediately made a blister, and now there are some purple places as well) is a handy excuse for what I hope is temporary writer’s block. Perhaps I’m just distracted by the pain … and my own stupidity.

But wait — the first three lackluster poems were written before this incident. So much for that excuse. The upshot is that I’m just not feeling it today but hope to feel it again tomorrow … and will choose a less hazardous dessert next time.