UnfulfilledUnder-filledIt really makes no difference.Restless mindRest less, mindClogged with naught but dissonance.
Harmony in Red
The Buddha sat serenely in grace,The Cardinal joined his calm space.The snow softly falling,It all seemed enthralling,Charming and slowing my hectic pace.
Derivative Devotion
I tire of your indelible marks.Canned and copied remarksHint not at emotion,But to a devotionTo acclaim for hollow praiseFor your overused clichés.
Fill My Stocking
Nothing in my stocking,Not a trinket nor a thoughtful bauble.Just dust and memoriesReducing my pace to a hobble. The deft, skillful, seamstress’s hands—Confused and enfeebled now—Made their mark long long ago.A magic I couldn’t disavow. Kindly fill my stocking.Just a silly doodad or helpful tool.Something to raise my spiritsWhen there is nothing merry or bright.…
Over There, Birdsong
The bird in my handDoes not sing; it barely chirps.Over there? Birdsong.
“Unalived” Needs to Die
The term “unalive,” while used since 1828, has evolved into a vague euphemism that undermines language clarity and seriousness. Its modern application as a verb often circumvents content moderation and promotes linguistic laziness. Meaningful communication relies on precise language, essential for discussing life’s gravitas, especially in challenging contexts like death and grief.
I Know the Pieces Fit
Did you know there are over 43 quintillion permutations of 3x3x3 Rubik’s Cube? That’s 43 followed by eighteen zeroes. 43,252,003,274,489,856,000 to be more precise. For most of us, that’s a number we can’t even comprehend, so let me put some perspective on it. If you had one of these at the Big Bang (13 billion…
Vice Versa (1988)
I don’t know why I suddenly wanted to re-watch the body-swap comedy Vice Versa (1988) except to say that I felt unreasonably nostalgic. If someone can give me anything with a more provocative flavor than nostalgia, I’d be much obliged. I remember when it was first released, and I know I liked it well enough…
Unshared Evermore
You never told me your favorite colorOr about the monsters under your bed.I don’t know how you take your coffeeOr which thoughts you prefer pushed from your head.I won’t venture with you into the yonder, wild and blue,Or even admire you in any place your grace adorns.I can neither aver my aversion to good fortuneNor…