The Pink Ticket

A playground of many muses.

The Pink Ticket - A playground of many muses.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 232

Words do not happen at the first morning alarm,
and words do not happen at the second alarm
just 15 minutes later. The pulling up of the comforter
a shield to the bright cheery sun. Slow
stagger on seemingly newly rubberized legs
ambling toward the kitchen, turn on the stove–
sleepwalk to the laptop, tripped by the cat
who wants morning treats, explain we need music.
Cats don’t seem to understand this, I don’ t know why not.
Slightly awakened by the motion, pour the water
into the press, get the damned treats, pour coffee.
I do use a cup, it isn’t a straight
transference, if I could figure out how though…
then, an hour, coming alive, reading the news
before five rushed minutes to get out the door.

Prompt: Morning ritual

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 230

Once upon a time books came alive,
cartoon-like thought bubbles over the heads
of children… a notion so vastly dangerous;
the imagination of a generation of thinkers,
a society of questions. And all that remains today
are charred markers on a highway, littered
with bytes of data; words nothing but a series
of binary hashes too easy to disappear.
I wonder how they will burn it all.
This. Time?

Prompt: Start a poem with “once upon a time”

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 227

Sweat and desperation, she explained
as I finished a second round, it’s what
every gym smells of–even empty.
Brushing gym floor lint from my knees.
They are all working hard, wanting
so badly to just be skinny.
I wondered how many memberships
I’ve had. I tried to count between
bicep squeezes. I’ve already done skinny,
I simply want to be a super hero now.
No desperation. I have confidence.
10 Gyms. 20 Years.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 226

humidity sticks to the window
pane as thunder crashes across
the tops of trees. lists, notes,
and ideas strewn lazily over surfaces
plagued with dust of disenchantment.
in the background, countering
whirs from fans and air conditioning,
Robin Williams is rambling poetic
about pornography while I eat
Triscuits and ruminate a lexicon
of fairy stories and fancies.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 225

At night it’s hard to tell if the squeaking
from the porch is a bat gorging
as dinner circles a nearby bulb–
a naked sunshine fallacy. Or
if it’s the old pinwheel I bought
one beach bound Saturday,
now aged, hurricane tattered,
and glistening as it wheels on an evening
breeze. Somewhere, from beneath
a cloud, the moon laughs, heard only
by the ears of cats as they keep
survey from flower beds and window
sills. Neighborhood dogs sleep, curled
up with their person who is oblivious
to the bats, the pinwheel, the moon,
clouds, and watchful felines as reality
television is beamed in. Another page
from the Orwellian playbill, turned.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 224

My kingdom for a cupcake, I’ve been known
to say… and especially today of days.
And while it seems extreme for a frosting
fix, all you would get for the effort
would be a couple of plants and a high
maintenance cat, the latter of which
rules all–and is not especially impressed
with cake of any sort. Though he is easily
bribed with treats; we all have our kryptonite…
and I would like mine chocolate, please.

Project 365: A Year in Words, Day 223

Bones of the sea; fragments broken
and spilled across time. Years and a
thousand small pieces adding up
smooth over the rough edges
as we ride upon the waves
not cool surfers, but pulled
and pushed in a forever abyss.
Coveted, collected, and processed:
someones necklace, or earrings.
Treasures of a six year old
displayed in homes, dusty with life.
Souvenirs of the day–that one day;
crunching underfoot. Waiting.


Today’s prompt from: TweetSpeak Poetry