Author: lbstowe

Each morning’s existential; living with pain.
It is like moving thru wood…against the grain.

Pushing to wake thru dreams where pain had no hold.
Eyes open upon foggy morn bleak & cold.

There in the midfield of vision without specs…
Galaxies of stardust one light shaft collects.

Half awake in a cosmological thrall.
Then consciousness big bangs pangs of rust thru all.

I turn on the news of the world; pain, soothe pain.
I shake off its grip & live this day again.

Some seem to think they’re hundy P…not a single doubt.
Never knowing challenges, they don’t look for new routes.

If one has seen two score winters with zero critique…
They’re way overdue to account for what others seek.

These people think they’re the center of their entire world.
They pay no attention to those they’ve left fetal curled.

I know a secret about bullies who barge through life.
They’re blinded & smothered by insecurities rife.

Unable to see or make change for personal growth…
They blame the helpers, not self, & thus break solemn troth.

There is no soothing balm, or song, to calm cornered beasts.
So…now we protect ourselves by expecting the least.

Some revel in their own mediocrity.
Loving their “big fish, little pond” sovereignty.

Fully satisfied in the tiniest lanes.
The grey of the middle where ugly can reign.

Hoping to blend in & that no souls will notice…
Your broad daylight blame; on the wrong things focused.

Unworthy & unowed a family crown.
You’re slow & you’re heavy & starting to drown.

All has been laid bare & the clock’s running out.
False blame & false claim can no more lend you clout.

For myself, I’d say, “It’s about fucking time.”
“Now I know I am owed for this place’s crime.”

Pieces ahead may contain the word “you”.
I write down words & they do what they do.

You’s a pronoun that could be anyone.
It could be none or all under the sun.

When one’s seeing the word in public view;
It is a leap assuming the “you” means you.

It is paranoid & narcissistic.
It is self-centered & egotistic.

I blend books, people, art, life & the news.
Pronouns are not names…& that includes yous.

Hey, marathon point makers, read the room.
Look in rapt eyes & see their answer bloom.

Maybe take a slow breath or count to five.
Leave some runway where responses do thrive.

Some empty dead air is nothing to fear.
Your listener’s considering your words here.

Neither whisper, nor mumble in your turn.
Who you feel hears you well, watch & learn.

For, conversation’s a two person sport…
It’s call & response where ideas consort.

To be aloof is to be confidently shy.
I know this to be the answer to many “whys”.

I need not to be perpetually engaged.
In silent observation opinions are gauged.

The whys aloof answers are rarely put to me.
I see whys in eyes; but their outlook seems gloomy.

While curious enough to formate their theories…
I sigh & my vibe nips the buds of all queries.

So, assumption & pride often carry the day.
We see each other; & still…we’ve nothing to say.

Sometimes outlaws punish the innocent.
We loose temper that for ourselves is meant.

It is a human thing of base instinct.
We lash out to hide that our fine mess stinks.

Yes, it’s easier to punch out than in.
Rage sighs at unsolved original sin.

Ire is ugly…so can we afford it?
Resolutions to change are rewarded.

If bitchy curmudgeons are status quo…
Then there’s nowhere left but Upwards to grow.

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions.
All things started will reach conclusions.

So, I nudge the prayer wheel in passing.
Pedals to the floor, engines gassing.

Keep up what you’re doing…Life, go on.
Keep its line between the shears unsawn.

The fates will ultimately call time.
Unless, you cut your line still in prime.

We’re strung along to that threadbare day.
Just resolve to live your life your way.

Here we go now! I am on hiatus.
Time to recalibrate my afflatus.

I’m now taking space for my sanity.
A month or two off to enjoy some free.

Not one missed day since inauguration…
I hope I’ve scathed this administration.

Aired my laundry & done the talking cure.
While not out of gas; I need rest for sure.

Soon, I will be back with much more to say.
So…come one, come all; after New Year’s Day.

Make peace with change; or else, it runs you over.
Progress rides on clouds of metallic odor.

Sparks, shavings, filaments, plastic & wires.
Grinding obstacles; unless we are drivers.

Drivers, clearers, or fuel; consumption’s growth pains.
Futures shake off the rust of our tearful rains.

No amount of fight, or whining, or outcry…
Can stop growth’s wheels, when determined to drive by.

So, max out fashionable technology…
Or be footnotes in old archaeology.