“Strained Noodles”

Photo courtesy of Pixaby https://pixabay.com/get/e133b40e28f31c3e815d400de04b4e93fe76e7d71eb1114695f9c8_1920.jpg

“Strained Noodles”

Steamed, boiled, fried,

so much internalized.

Stir the pot,

nice and hot.

Bubbling, bubbling, bubbling.

Pop, pop, pop!

Thinking thoughts, avoiding others.

Labotomy, if I had my druthers.

Vent the pot, now too hot.

Boiling over, flame kaput.

Bulb lit up, indicates,

ideas good, and full of hate.

Thinking for its own sake.

For what else?

For, what, else?

The basis of reality,

changes on what’s perceived.


Perhaps, aggrieved.

Since we cannot agree.

Is it beyond our reach?

My preference would be,

to be,



Put me back in the matrix.

I’ve cooked long enough.



You’re a ham fisted, nostril puss, put off.

A suffocating, son of a bitch.

A red-eyed, torn membrane, scratchy gulch.

Itchy pyrrhic sandpaper senses,

begetting a breathing tragedy.

Comfort, an oasis, yearning for the first frost of winter.

Dirty seed, blowing to the winds, blowing from the trees.

Blow me!

Grizzly gross green.

Headaches thumping.

Kleenex pumping.

Burst pipe nostrils.

Sinus clog, green-yellow eyeliner.

Sophisticated spores spawning misery.

Crusted, nasal mineshaft vein,

haunted by cemented boogerplasms.

Nose hair tendrils throughout, impossible to retrieve without a monumental effort.

A quick blow, or two,

A Rorschach tableau, if you will?

Winds of seasons change,

a necessity now,

not just a want.

“Proper Lunch”


“Proper Lunch”

As I sit here,

I can’t help but notice the two of you.

You seem to be engaged in a careful social rite.

You are sharing a proper lunch.

I know your secret, though.

Let’s drop the pretenses, shall we?


Every evenly forked morsel carefully guided up under your protecting hand and into your mouths.

You block the sight of your chewing with the unforked hand.

Chewing with precision and wired shut jaws.

Nothing out of place.

Symmetry on target.

No sloshing, grinding, and tearing.

Not yet, anyways.

A right proper lunch.

Propriety observed.

No acknowledgement of animal delights,

or baser natures.

Banal carnality.

No stains, no scents, no sweat.

Elbows off the table.

Gentle, exacting movement.


Ah, but the pressure mounts,

and eventually, the dam will burst.


The tension’s necessity will overcome propriety, and you will eat gluttonously.




Flailing, tears and grunts.

Mouth fulls of salty sustenance.

Gorging, past the point of full.


Then, and truly then, the hands come down, you chew expressively and without regard.

You embrace a baser nature, and become more of yourself, and more of each other.


Eat, drink, and be merry.

Anticipation, a huge building tease.


Let it rip.


Time is of the essence.


When faced with the urgency that later presents itself, there will only be guarded hands over mouths to mute the escaping cries of ecstasy.


Digest that.

“Together Alone”

“Together Alone”


I tend my garden row by row.

You tend yours as well.

I peek the fence to see your growth,

I missed my step and fell.

The fence a boundless boundary,

an unlikely mix of stone.

A fancy noontime reverie,

caught drifting off alone.

Solace in activity,

disparate, but shared.

A bearable captivity,

when someone else is there.

Separate paths now cultivated,

could someday lead to home.

The point would be, they get created,

spending together alone.

“Desert Rose 🌹”

Happy Mother’s Day!


Poem 15 on day 15. A day with personal meaning for me. My mother would have been 65 today, had she not rushed into that burning pet shop to save all the animals from certain death. A salutation to JEB in the Granite State. Your mischievous and clever invoking of U2 imagery helped give this poem wings, petals, and thorns.

wp-image-18363351 Image Courtesy of John Connolly “Desert Rose ”

“Desert Rose 🌹”

How does a desert rose grow?

Does anyone know?

In order to survive,

To live, spawn, and thrive.

Roots deep down inside.

Among soil so dried?

Fierce determination.

Churning fixation.

Power over choice.

Heralding voice.

Leading the march.

Notable heart.

A pinch of spite.

A lifelong fight.

Growing up, upward still.

Fixing stems and leaves at will.

Your color juxtaposed,

In landscaped sepia tones.

Sticking out.

Richly proud.

Stretching roots deep.

Insistent for your seeds.

The chances for them best.

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