acererak

poem

Day 36

When life gets rough I close my eyes Then I wake here

Sitting cross legged I feel the waterfall on my back The warm sun and brilliant sky before me

The weight of each droplet hurts A thrumming pummeling wave Travels over my head neck Slamming down my back

I don't try to end the torrent Breathing slowly, letting go I embrace this

Pieces of my body start to chip away Slow at first, then quicker and quicker Collapsing into the water

Soon I am nothing Just colors swirling in a pool below a waterfall

Somehow I can still feel Somehow I can still see Somehow I can grow and so I do

I let myself reach out Let myself find warmth Following that heat Until I find the source

There at the hot spring I relax and let myself coalesce until I form into something like me again

Not the broken mass struggling under a torrent But A new person having survived it


I don't do that visualization as much as I used to. But so many times I would be in board rooms or giving a talk. The eyes of people looking or when I misspoke seeing how my words missed the mark. Id go back to a cube or an open space, my small designated corner of the world. I'd put my head in my hands and I would see the above poem.

Life can be so hard sometimes and I know it could always be worse but I have this nagging feeling. That this life isn't how things should be. You shouldn't work years for the privilege of baseline economic security.

Why can't I just become a doctor or poet or artist because I want to. Where is my time and choice? Why does it always have to be so one sided.

People are kaleidoscopes In a world that frowns on colors

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Day 35

Tom walked through the glade of trees His footfalls breaking dry timber His cadence awkward but not labored Slowly, looking out through eyeless sockets He spotted the massive castle

Row after row greyer colored rock

Tom closed within inches of the walls Allowed his finger to stretch Then walking, trailed an outline across the rock

“Help”

The voice again, he looked up far far up was an opening And so Tom began to climb


Another busy day of helping my oldest figure out how to communicate virtually. Really makes me feel for her since I can remember just hating to directly ask my teacher for help. Now, its so damn important since every assignment is funneled through google classroom.

Also having used gcp in the past I can happily say that the UI designers tried their best but missed the mark.

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Day 34

A timid voice floated out of the great grey castle words which melted with cries carried then by the wind through the surrounding forest into the bonemeal ears of a skeleton

“Help”

The skeleton, named Tom, rose

His last memory was by a necromancer who, after summoning him had died quite suddenly

Tom had suspected a heart attack

But for the newly reanimated skeleton that event was pretty awful, because without a word or phrase to bind meaning for his locomotion it meant laying against a tree for a very very very long time.

So Tom, very thankful, stood began to walk through the trees and approach the castle


Thinking this one is going to be a two parter

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Day 33

I remember you mentioning once the reason you hadn't killed yourself

I thought that reason was odd at the time

But over the years like ivy falling, wrapping itself down a pillar

your answer was enough

though it never fueled comfort that answer never lied the way other truths would

So after a time I took it into myself this burnt ember of truth

that each day is tough that it is frustrating

you told me

“Holding that knife I felt like an imposter – not me id rather be a sad me than a killer”


Bleh, got off the writing horse again. Stupid crazy life

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Day 32

Easily ignored and forgotten Tiny moments Of not honking your horn not yelling not cursing restrained Being at peace Letting others that swim – go around

Not because your weak or lame or passive because life is better

when you look deep into each other acknowledging were in this together


Its Wednesday and I spent so long today getting utf-8 encoding to work properly from xls –> csv that im going to sleep now

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Day 31

The room slowly lost its heat A rock cooling down after sunset Music gone, the vacuum of air hums Party cups, fallen friends

The party was over

Have to keep the poem small today, just been a crazy week.

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Day 30

An icicle forming above at the caves entrance slowly as water from some unseen lake had overrun and slithered the water droplets followed one after another falling just past each brother, each sister each clung and held as they fell over the mouth of the cave, holding frozen to top staring downward holding more came tumbling each over the others head until at last no more siblings came and all was still, winter reigned

days in and out each droplet remembered the blue sky, the warm succulent air, those tumbling white clouds each remembered the long falling the joy of finding each other finding a home in the lake full of life fish splashing, flowers lazily doing backstroke grass reeds waving in sober wind then one remembered the spill the cold race down the hill praying not to stop but now its prayer was different

the frozen droplet missed the sky days recycled nights and back again yet each brother and sister held firm as the last until finally one morning

the clouds that hid the sun repented each droplet looked out and remembered the orange the warm glow, the radiant sunlight each felt their bodies warm felt their tired hold release

splick splick splat

each sibling let go laying before the cave the sun rose

each dissipated floating back to the sky together


I hold back a lot of what my mind see's just because I never know what sounds like art and what sounds ill. Even in saying that I don't know what art is. What poetry really is. The words above mean something to me. They help me. But it just feels self serving.

If money is used to quantify skill – I have never made much from writing. It isn't what pays for a subscription to this blog.

Writing feels like an outlet and in that I guess it must be it's own reward

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Day 28

There is a blizzard in my kitchen I don't know how it started

yellow wallpaper whitewashed powder

tiled floor, an ice rink

my sink ejecting snow in torrents

The wind whips nastily as i march to make my way into the pantry

Someone put penguins in the pantry They don't look surprised In fact they look irritated that the franks red hot is placed so high

Crawling – my eyes stinging from frost I make my way to the fridge Almost a wrong turn, almost lost Frozen shut, I'm pulling

Inside I see the storm Inside a jar of mayo tender artic heart beating

I reach out, a snowball grazes me breaking the jar just in time to see a snowman running eyes of coal ablaze right before impact water

Everywhere

I'm kinda thirsty


Hot day requires a cool poem. Or at least that's what I was going for :)

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Day 27

The color red tastes like watermelon during a ninety degree summer day each bite; wonderfully quenching heat falling upwards from an overcooked sidewalk

red, is the warmth on your cheek when you were too embarrassed to speak, so instead, you took my hand

red is passion that tastes like a fresh apple sugary tears falling from your lips


Thought I would do a poem prompt that asked you to describe your favorite colors taste. I hadn't ever thought of that. Like how green can taste like a honeysuckle or a lime at the same time. I wonder if that composites over time. When you think of what green tastes, is it all the green melons you've ever eaten. Or more all the mint ice cream.

That was a really fun prompt

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Day 26

The skateboard wheel met a tiny rock In graduation garb I fell skinned elbow – my drink in hand cursing I got back on the board pushing off flying - the morning before I graduated high school


When I was 18, I really thought it couldn't get any better. I had three very close friends, lots of exciting drugs and independence right around the corner. Little did I know that that independence wasnt what I thought it would be. Only a week after I graduated I would be dropped off in the desert. At a transitional housing apartment. With a huge klonopin hangover.

That place gave me time to “sober” up. Alone, in a studio apartment with a black and white television. A greened leather couch. I remember doing nothing. Writing a little bit in a journal realizing for the first time in my life. I was 'free'. I tried to take everything in.

The cars that went by. I hadnt realized the smoke inhalation would be so bad from an active street.

The sounds of my upstairs neighbor getting plowed because she took in guys from the aforementioned active street.

The older man who would sit outside my apartment, waiting for me to come out so he could bum a smoke.

It was the transition I loved and miss.

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