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Anais Vionet Feb 9
The alarm interrupted my sleep with the urgency of lust
or sudden inheritance - only to end up being neither.

“Alexa, good morning,” I say, as I stretch. My room lights illuminate - in red mode - like a submarine lit for night routine and my Keurig springs to life.

How could someone living my dull, slow, academic life be so walking-dead tired in the morning? After all I got - trying to focus on my tiny Apple watch - 4 hours sleep. I rubbed my dry eyes and auroras traveled across my lids.

When I pull open my drapes, all I see is a waning moon suggesting light to a dark world. I step around abandoned clothes, lying where they fell like soldiers.

Aggk! I recoil when I see a three-day-old corpse in the mirror.
Ugh, gross, I fell asleep wearing my ****** detox mask.

My clock reads 5:40am. I whisper to my AI, “Alexa, what’s today’s forecast?” “Currently, It’s 21°, today will be sunny with a high of 27°” she whispers back.

In a moment of non assignment related forethought, while tooth brushing, I strip my pillowcase, tossing it on a pile of ***** clothes next to the full hamper of equally ***** clothes.

MattyBRaps begins throbbing “Little Bit” in the room next door. That means Leong’s awake - she’s obsessed with a 15 year old boy-singer on Youtube.

I wiggle into my spandex, grab my iPad and water bottle, then head down to the basement gym. I can replay my chemistry class while walking on the treadmill.

Good morning.
Anais Vionet Jan 25
It’s a rainy, snowy Tuesday morning, so I headed to our fitness center (in the basement) to walk on a treadmill. On arrival there were four or five guys there. There was a time when that would have been reason enough for me to not go in - if I was alone - I’d skip it, but I feel more at home now.

Late one Sunday night I decided to treadmill. A few guys were there on the weight-cable-machines at the far end of the room (it’s huge) and I decided give it a try anyway.

As I was setting up to walk, this one string-bean of a guy did a funny, exaggerated flex in my direction, saying loudly, “I’m the man of your DREAMS!”  

To which I quipped back, “The man of MY dreams would do my chemistry fact-sheet.” (homework)

Which got a laugh from the guys who went back to their workout - ignoring me. That’s when I began to relax.
BLT word of the day challenge: Quip, a a clever remark or a witty or funny observation or response
Darel Rex Finley Dec 2021
Tornado sirens’ firin’
Gives your runnin’ shoes the news
That stay’n inside is such a slide
To be fit you pay your dues

Feel the ground a-poundin’
’Neath those skies of green so mean
Inclement weather lives forever
But you will quit, like a machine

Slanted rain’s a pain
Soaks you to your skin so thin
In this world, so brave unfurled
Only bright for those who win

You get no bornin’ warnin’
Of the times to come so glum
’Tis a mission for magician
Strike with lightning, then succumb
Elaenor Aisling Sep 2021
dress yourself in all black
no bright colors
that draw wandering eyes.
Wear the only baseball cap you own
position your pony tail
so the brim shields most of your face
but you still have enough peripheral vision
to look over your shoulder.
Move the ring you have worn on your right hand
since you were 16,
to the left ring finger.
You cannot tell the difference
between those who will leave
when there is a shadow of another man
and those who will see it as a challenge.

arm yourself.
Tie your small pocket knife into the waistband of your shorts,
last resort first.
Clip your keys to your bra
and tuck your mace canister
in the space between your *******
along with all the promises
of men who have loved you
and promised to protect you.

text your sister
tell her where you are going
and ask her to check on you
if you have not replied in an hour.
Keep one earbud out,
and do not get lost in the strains
of Tracy Chapman's voice, no matter how beautiful.
***** up your ears
the way you have seen a deer's twitch in twilight,
You both know what it is to be prey.

In your apartment complex
as you run across the green space,
there are children laughing,
and you feel safe enough.
Do not let this last.
When you reach the road
feel the power of your thighs beneath you
as you sprint across,
controlled sinew and muscle
you always wanted them to be strong enough
to kick a hole in brick.

slip your mace out of your bra
and into your fist
while you sprint through the wooded drive.
In your mind, practice screaming
until your vocal chords are in imagined shreds.

Pace yourself.
You know if you are too tired,
you cannot outrun someone.
Your lungs will give out before your legs do,
breathe deep, and pull your shoulders back.
You have never swung a punch
at another human
but you imagine what it would be like,
the bones of your knuckles
breaking across a zygomatic arch.

When you pass others
do not meet their eyes, do not smile.
Under the imagined safety of your hat brim
keep your eyes on the sidewalk and their feet,
in case they turn toward you.
Remember where the parents with children are walking
because they will be a safe haven to run to.
When there is no one in front of you,
look over your shoulder.

On your way back through the wooded drive
when Judges 19:25
the news reports of gang rapes on buses,
Kitty Genovese, and the voices of all the women you know
who have been harassed and *****, flash through your mind
run faster.

text your sister that you are safe
only when you are back in your apartment
and the door is locked,
and you are sure no one has come in
while you were out.
Kiss the salt from your skin
and thank your body
for its
Ken Pepiton Aug 2021
you see me imagining you
imagining you
believing a lie I told,
a lie about knowing good and evil
and that I can imagine
William Blake's little
lamb was once me,
in thee
I am yet, not a jot or tittle of child
fool-ibility, I am a thought you caught in your
default mode me-andering mode, a modality oft

left idle. A rest for weary idle words bouncing
in browns from amber to ochre, dry
light leaking from piles
of idle thought meandering thoughts piling up behind
goddamliarcheatertheiftake take
take, rewind and replay, keep the takes ignor

the sequence...

Margaret Atwood knows how to build worlds of words.
I blow bubbles.
kiss em a will in a whisp
haps a single

becomes this one we hide in, not from evil, for goodness
sakes, we be
peace making,
hidden, safe
as any ancient sapient's sacred secret
knowledge, hidden, useless.

-ah, no. right use of peace is the rest, after the heroes
and wizards and witches and priests and humble teachers,

after the recognition of old ideas, tics
the talking point and we, once more, see our selves,
we see ourselves as the passengers on the autopiloted
biosphere, terraforming itself for us, since

the first idea you knew was from beyond you,
began to bubble in your soul...

-- rest my soul in the bosum of abraham, whoa ain't woe,

but no is no. be wise or wish you was.

An old man's wisdom hides here in stasis.
Horded as weal and woe,
and debts owed to a foe
xtatic urgent
voice stages a starting boom, in the empty room,

our exspansive space
where peace is made in wisdom used for knowing,

wisdom, a place, a quest
launched, aimless yet
we be, and we do not comprehend gripping being life
for any preconceived gnotion

I asked for the living water, I was the receptor, the door
to within me,

where the kingdom of marybabydaddy lay.
wait. "within you", ever'body say Jesus said... some heavyshit,

maiden formed milksop grown to full warrior maturity,

(laid, by god, can you imagine that feeling? Wow, right?}

basic a gift so basic a power to employ at will

This medium, this horde of lines we have to hold as truths or dares, shall be the wind where the answers form de novo... old is not a mortal reality, comically speaking... old thoughts are new next time, I think.
Ken Pepiton Jul 2021
and, gone it does
all it was
deedly deed of doing being
determined to add means to ends
designed to signal turn or lose
destined to end,
all it was gone to be
on a breath before the final one
Lawrence Hall Jul 2021
Lawrence Hall

                       Bob Newhart and the Treadmill of Sisyphus

                                                    “Hi­, Bob!”

                        Exercising While Watching BOB NEWHART

Several times each day I roll myself up
The torturous treadmill of Sisyphus
I am more of a marshmallow than a rock
Which is the point of this tiresome endeavor

Several times each day I find myself back
At the foot of the devilish device
To wheeze myself wheeze step wheeze step wheeze step
To promised abs of steel at the rainbow’s end

Dr. Hartley is on line one because
Sometimes you need
A telephone call from your driving instructor
Bob Newhart is yet another proof that God loves us.
Ken Pepiton Jun 2021
Accepting quantum fuzziness and discreteness,

u-h-d allows the idea of seeing one thing is not the other,
über aber ich weis nicht

focus, this is spiritual, not religious, this is inner-bubble space,
pick a hat, here's a Dumbo feather

… "and called it macaroni."

A line forms an ancient meme, in the Spirit of America,
dancing children singing and waving tri-colors,
performing grammar school maypole pageants
in conjunction with the ashtorothean rites called passion,
feeling earth warm to the dance of our
sowing of the seed, celebrate, the coming of the sun
to the appointed time as time is measured
on the stone that bhers witness to our we formed spirit.

We are walkers along the spiral, twisting this way then
to that once,
you felt me make a point you felt was your tic to on point,
predictions pile in unverifiable belivable, but easy to believe,
life is good, in terms of essential being, elemental preceptions

glimpse of something super-semantic tic super symmetrick

not having seen hell, from the perspective of the conqueror,
leaves any weapon fit to fight the reality hell forms
unlike any weapon as yet imagined better, truth as a concept
any mind may form to hold,
from holding nothing, as a thought, then in a word caught
as thought
think this is the trick to quantum being, be
a bit.

See how it does feel to be real, ah, as in Wings of Desire,
I knew I did not suffer through that film in vain.

Anthro-poor-morphed angels imagined as unread messages,
felt where good is the only thing ever
felt real,
as real as any angel's kiss, but just a kind word heard, as thought.
Not until the end did I discover why I watched the film, a true exercise in patience which is a virtue, thus zoning clearminded staring through mechanical eyes attempting to write between the lines and change your mind.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2021
in a line,
standing alone like this
is your own fine, sorted out, seen, thing,
not mine, it
mean more than we can know.
That's okeh.
As a word, love is here, awaiting our use
any time,
as more.


Three shots,
in rapid succession, not auto, just
in rapid succession.

Signals something, but I forget what.
Maybe some fool got lost
in those woods looking for my trail…

three shots,
then silence until now, then a sense,
a knowing, deeper than we thought.


It's a new day, not brand new, just raw new,
we never been this far
so early before, never did hear three shots like this.

--------- Rise and shine…

Throw out the trash,
bring down the garbage,
here come
the garbagement come to take it all away.

Govern my breath, intent contentment,
hold it and say,
It's a new day, no brand, plain raw new,
not modeled on another,
no worse for wear than before,
no habit tracks to mark the course.

First thing, after a pause to wonder,
if I should see how this came to be,
pause to wonder what
was I thinking when
I came this far,
with no sense of you being here before.

It could be, may be…

Some songs need no singers.
I don't remember learning that, so
you only have my word to go on.
Exercise in godliness, how  we have failed to define the command lines... kindness reflects, war rejects, reason makes the whole mess better. Love lets us know, if we stop and think...  reality is friendly, to my kind.
Johnson Oyeniran Feb 2021
Pitched thy tent upon the clouds,
And dwelt beneath our dome sky
To bring us snowy tribulation to
Spite our lives.

Mine Anger burns against
For thou hast halted my
Elected days
Devoted to exercise by
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