Not-My-Neighborhood

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems, Poetic Essays5 Comments 
Here, in this not-my-neighborhood,
My new not-neighbors live; 
I'd bring them a fresh-baked pumpkin pie 
If I had one to give -- 

They're rather uninteresting, these folks; 
In fact, they rather bore me; 
For just because we live far away 
They've chosen to ignore me! 

But, I'll show them: I'm going to leave, 
And wave "bye" with this poem --  
For here in this not-my-neighborhood 
I just don't feel 

At home

I haven’t been writing much this year, and it’s left me feeling rather off-kilter. Between my wife’s three surgeries and the new job at work, life has been pretty much just work-family-sleep-work-family-sleep, for days on end… with a fair amount of eating thrown in. And a lot of caffeine.

I’m looking forward to reading and writing again for Nano Poblano, and I’m hoping to feel a little less off-balance by the time the month winds down. Or maybe just a more familiar and comfortable form of off-balanced.

The Spiral Bridge

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment 
now i see batman in the sky: 
the truth, a thing of mind, and eye, 
wraps all around this thing called time 
and leads me to a cooler clime, 

where once was stronger hope (and less) --  
the brave one, full with fecklessness, 
who climbed the spiral bridge to find 
that peace is but a piece of mind -- 

but you, my friend, you know things small: 
that life, while crazy after all, 
is sweet and low and sharp and high, 
and why we're half-parts earth 

and sky

The One That Wasn’t

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment 
She traveled the low, and dreamed of the peaks. 
Searching always her tribe, finding only their cliques, 
She began to think, maybe, the problem was her: 
For solutions just were not as advertised. 

In the heat of the fall, in the cold of the spring, 
She banked nothing and all on almost everything, 
Was she neurodivergent, or just immature? 
For the world seemed a little surprised 

To find her as she was, or perhaps, as she wasn't: 
Our do's and our will's do not fit one who doesn't -- 
And the moon still looks lonely to she-the-unsure, 
The allure of just what wasn't 

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