"if it is not on the calendar,
it cannot be, it exists not!"
nml

yes, my words, oft recited,
in my defense,
when issues and extants of importance,
evade, go unremarked, alas, uncelebrated

this man~made device,
now an essence of essentials,
an app,
before apps were ubiquitous,
mundane, quotidian, prosaic, and banal,
no longer a diary, a journal more a scarf
capable of being wrapped about multiple necks,
a device of connectivity and
the unwelcome public isolation,
(why was I not invited to that event?)

it can be a savory,
used sparingly for the dates that must never be forgot,
anniversaries of birth &  deaths,
of events assumed to be unforgettable
(where & when was I, upon giving birth
to this poem particular),
the why of the words well recalled,
the triggering, less so,
perhaps, deliberately so...

or it can be a chronology of the mundane,
The hour I awoke,
the timeline of my perfunctoriness,
those things that extend life!
but are somehow so oft overlooked,
(did I take my meds?)
the stuff of life,
or the stuffing of living,
and the desired time to enter into the critical
state of restful sleep,
which is provided and reminded solely
for your own 
amusement

due. dates,
to do assignations & assassinations, in date order,
even motivational ticklers
to breathe,

to be mindful of thyself

it will not record the precise time a fly,
buzzed me as I scripted this,
what emotes I spoke when he predeceased me,
if any,

so I give my calendar a salutation most impressive,
My Imperial Calendar,
the only, most royale,
"personage"
we know who never forgets!
who cannot be denied,
and when it tickles me gently at 6:08aM,
with a daily perennial.
'Got any new poem abrewing?"

it cannot be ignored, for imperial
is rooted in the non~impishness of  the
!i m p e r a t i v e!

Repeat Every Year! No End Date


a birthday reminder created;
lapsing memory necessitates
a firm calendar entry;

a reminder, with a proffered choice
every year without end
is a stark choice

for the body messages rapidly
a modest daily deterioration;
that sunrises will cease,
while sunsets not;
the smell of everything
fresh is familiar and therefore
stale in its own way

the five senses announce:
lazy man what did you expect?
why, my just desserts, which
is my tears behind rueful laughter

nearer my god than thee

𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜
𝚃𝚘 𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐,
𝙰𝚜 𝚜𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎;

𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚔𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎,
𝙴𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘-𝚍𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝,
𝙼𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚜;

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕,
.
.
.
𝙰 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎
.
.
.
𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢.