Left Brained Poet
My right brain has lost its way for the past 12 years. It's fighting back.
Black. Black. Black.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
OK, now I’m riding bareback on a brown horse,
a kindred spirit,
hugging its mane.
Take me to that meeting tomorrow so that I can
make that guy understand.
After that, I need to work out. Should I go for a run?
Black. Black. Black.
I’m floating in black nothingness.
Each muscle relaxes in sequence.
My mind is blank.
I am everything and nothing.
Nothing? Shoot, I forgot to fill out that 401(k) rollover form.
Don’t forget that. Must do.
Man, I’m so glad I don’t work there anymore.
That place was a piece of crap.
Speaking of crap, there’s that presentation I have to do Monday.
I bet there’s a good Dilbert cartoon to illustrate my point.
I should poke around for one.
That reminds me of this funny song by the Lonely Island
that I need to get. I wonder if iTunes has it?
Must check iTunes when I wake up so I can listen to it
on the way to work.
OK Enya, do your stuff. Make my mind blank so that I can forget.
How much time do I have for this?
Ugh. 5:30. So just enough time to fall asleep before the alarm.
Since I’m looking at my phone, I might as well see if there are any emails.
Yikes! Stuff is broken.
People are on it. It’s not my problem.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
I can be a waste of time,
electrons dripping into my veins
through my eye socket
assaulting my ear canal
directly into my brains.
When my purpose is stretched
between too many ambitions
it is easily punctured
by the buzz of inboxes,
and mindless online exhibitions.
I gorge on useless tips and viral videos
positioning my open mouth
below the gaping search box
as I pull the lever again and again
and my willpower goes south.
Each stray thought, each nagging question
is an excuse to trade concentration
for an immediate rush,
a canonical climax
of electronic validation.
I pull as hard as I can,
interrupting the current
feeding these diversions.
The network inside my brain lights up,
completing my inner circuit.
Each time we were together,
a new piece was added to the
elaborate porcelain vase.
One day, we saw each other no more
and the vase was thrown to the floor.
Pieces scattered in a mushroom cloud
and flew up to mock me in the face.
Silence rained down.
I solemnly took a broom and swept
the pieces into a trash bin,
which I set gently in a seldom-visited corner
of my mind.
the trash bin is kicked over
and several pieces skate across
the smooth linoleum.
I pick them up, turning them over in my palm,
examining the memories,
and toss them carelessly back
into the bin.
I love turning pens into paintbrushes,
gliding over the canvas of your mind;
then stepping back to see if there’s a picture,
or only a collection of colored strokes.
Some say the glass is half full;
others say it is half empty;
I say it is half full of liquid
and half full of air.
The sheep who adore me
scrape and peel at my lyrics
so I shred some gibberish into a song.
“What does he mean ‘I am the Walrus’?” they ask.
One woman bleats so loud
she doesn’t notice that I’m
politely calling her a “fucking pig.”
When I begin wearing
my repulsive glasses,
I see a pair on every face.
Can’t they afford minds of their own?
“They’re gonna crucify me,” I predict.
Then I tempt fate once more saying “shoot me,”
and one man does.
flash through my
me. I am
imprisoned in a
circle of light,
Forced to give a
speech of body
of the underworld.
The last drop of
life is sucked
out of my now
corpse. With my
strength, I fight
to the end. My
soul breaks free
from the enslaved
body and washes
Written when I was 10 or 11.
Faint songs, riding and twisting on
the wind; distorted melodies ripple in a
pool by the
waterfall. Musty memories rot in
a forgotten room, as my
heart fills the void. A
weightless flight, dimming to
the sun, fading like
spending one summer,
I wrote this when I was 12, so go easy on me.
With each step,
blistered skin slaps against my bare foot
like a 3-day-old band-aid.
The glare of passing headlights
blinds me, and for a few seconds,
I’m clinging to this world only
by the bottoms of my feet
and the air, thick with
remnants of the sweltering day.
Every so often, I dip my ear into the music.
Each time, like a forgetful child
touching a hot stove,
I shrink back.
The comforting rush of passing cars
and the buzz of crickets
will by my symphony.
Suddenly, there is a shadow before me;
a sinister outline in an eerie light.
Looking over my shoulder, I see a
UFO, looking for a place to land.
It has a mysterious protrusion
that is firmly rooted to the ground.
A lamppost that suddenly flicked on.
The shadow, is mine.
These confused thoughts
where is the idea
that threads them
All these words
tile the pool that
floods with meaning.
I start with a backhoe, displacing
brain-sized clumps of earth.
A few fickle particles escape
between the imposing metal teeth.
The mechanized bucket clinks
against a rigid texture.
I grab a shovel, bending my spine
to the task at hand.
Pretty soon the shovel only scoops up
unsatisfying fistfuls of dust.
It is cast aside for the broom,
revealing the smooth shape underneath.
A dingy film is spread around
by the coarse fibers of the broom.
I grab my toothbrush, furiously scrubbing
the chrome-plated formation.
Now all passersby
can bite my shiny metal
Inspired by adopt-a-metaphor experiment (unveil victory)
I am the fire hose,
spraying with full intensity
at the flames of my current obsession.
Sometimes I can hold myself,
until a meager trickle flows in another direction.
With my free hand, I throw a match.
It's only a matter of time before
the nozzle snaps like a magnet to the new blaze.
July 10, 2012
You twist my face
like the stubborn lid of a
jelly jar, until it distorts
into a Picasso.
Sorrow and anger weaken
the walls of my external mask;
burning, until it
drips away like candle wax.
The murder of interest strengthens
your indifference, and silently
its hand boulders into
my flesh like a cannonball through paper.
You wring out my heart, letting
the happiness trickle through your
into a puddle on the grass.
Edit -> Copy your unwavering presence, despite my fears
Insert -> Link our friendship across distance and years
Format -> Align our innermost belief
Insert -> Break to strengthen our friendship in grief
Edit -> Cut your shallow, self-centered blabber
Format -> Bold our impulsive, self-inflicted laughter
Edit -> Undo all the those hurtful things I said
Insert -> Image of endless fun-filled days ahead
Inspired by Adopt a Metaphor
After the sun retracts its harsh tentacles,
I leave the field,
dripping with exhaustion.
falls limply about my ankles,
and with it, the weight of sunrise.
New dreams saturate my ambition;
or perhaps they are old ones,
lapping against tonight’s unfamiliar shores.
My cheek kisses the country cotton sheets,
and I am reminded
that as the past fans out behind me
and the future shrinks ahead,
now is my forever.