From an infant to a child, growing into an adult,
Then working every day, planning for retirement,
Never thinking, it could be one of the hardest parts,
You act out, in this life, as you know it today.
Even if you financially planned, your home, bills are paid,
Changes in society, the loss of family members,
All of mine have passed, along with, many special friends,
That were close, and others who migrated another way.
Often for a smile, you think of memories, of lost past days,
Scanning records, you cherish, stored, in your hippocampus,
In your brains temporal lobe, it would now take twenty four hours,
To just arrange and plan, what you use to accomplish, in one day,
Reminiscing, of old cars, clothes, events, or that special game,
Now realizing, they were pieces, of your puzzle, to where you are today.
Next time you look in a mirror, those lines on your face, you earned,
From tough decisions, to the memories of enjoyment, from days & nights,
When you just could not stop grinning, ear, to ear. Changes to control,
Many man made distractions, in life today, most modern day children,
Could not think of following, the footsteps, you traveled in past days.
For those you love, and those who do you, food for you soul, the part,
Of you, that will survive. Old and young souls around you every day,
There is no way to separate them by age. Born philosopher’s & prophets,
Are still among us, delivering messages, you have many directors as you,
Act out your part, in this life, on planet Earth, which is your stage.
                                                                                                                        The original: Tom Maxwell © 03/27/2025 AD

When it came to love
I had no real plan
I know I wanted to connect in an intimate way
with experimentation and playfulness

I was short on experience
there was a pandemic
I’d had few ‘at-bats’
that’s a sports metaphor

Much of it seemed surreal and abstract
like we’d entered another realm of everyday places
there was a subtle unpredictability
that was unfiltered, instinctive and unapologetically unhinged

freedom permeated every element
still, our collaboration allowed for honest conversation
I remember asking, “What are we doing?”
Thinking back, It underlined how vastly different our two experiences were
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Songs for this:
Overtime (pt 1) by Mk.gee  [E]
Blur by embrs & astralcurrent

The first time around,
We didn't plan,
We talked in tomorrows,
Because we knew it would end.

Yet on our second go,
We planned it all out,
Now we talk in years,
Because I only have to wait seven more,
Before I can put a ring on your pretty finger,
Though for now that's fantasy.

Timing couldn't be any worse
We were living in a makeshift flat
While barely making ends meet
But we always wanted a baby
So we were thrilled anyway

Yet life had other plans
Of loss and unbearable pain
As it does over and over again

My roommates and I
always have something to say.
We talk incessantly, like chirping birds.

We’re all reading the same large print here, and It suggests that college is almost over.
We’re bleeding time and there are dreams in need of scheming.
It’s time to stack our chips with transactional relationships and hoard the things that matter most.

I have to admire the sheer attitude and bravado of these girls—their defiant strides,
as they face the invisible indignities and constant obstacles of job hunting.
(Where they’re required to behave while they’re observed and evaluated).

They have their resumes and they’re complaisantly ready to flex their appealing gregariousness.
All of the major playas are passing through—from established giants like (Amgen, Bayer and Genentech)
to biotech startups and research Institutes—to cull through the herd of Yale biomedical graduates.

I don’t get to play (interview) this time and it’s rough just watching the signs and plays from the sidelines.
I can’t help the feeling that I’m underperforming—even though my ‘Master of Public Health (MPH)’ program starts 10 days after we graduate. ‘Baby, I was born to run’— to steal a line from Bruce Springsteen.

Despite our separate paths—we’re like cats getting ready to jump in all directions—a bouillabaisse of intoxicating and terrifying excitement for the future is brewing, and we still have the constrictions of our current curriculum to deal with—like a snake, it still wraps around every aspect of our lives.
.
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Songs for this:
born to run by Bruce Springstein
Time by Tom Waits
.
Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December!:
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_03.mp3

I have a couple of ‘research for credit’ classes this semester and I’m spending a lot of time with my TAs. Teaching Assistants (grad students) are essentially approachable professors with longer office hours, faster response times and a willingness to spend a little time walking me through options, so I understand the material and don’t charge-off in some crazy direction. I have a flawless record of wasting time on the wrong things at the wrong times, so I never feel silly or dumb asking questions.
AM I having fun yet? Yeah, I am.

A bell dings. Let the fighters enter the ring.
There’s a gathering of things, then we rush for the wings.
Students are bolting from classes, like riders out of rodeo shoots.
Focused faces, off to the races, phones appear from a hundred places.

Outside, a cool, brisk breeze moves paper-mâché clouds, across the blue-dome sky.
Squirrels freeze from their thieving, and watch this sudden, noisy invasion of their world.  
There’s a bee-like buzz of conversations, from ahead, behind and in doppler passing.
“Question six - was that right - what are you wearing to the thing tonight?”

My tummy growls for some lunch time relief - a plea for a snack - or coffee’s appeasement.
I glance at my watch, there’s no time. I leave the path for the grass;
I have an immediate class! Why are people so slow?
I get heinous looks - it’s grass people - kiss my *** people.

I squeeze sideways in the crush to enter the Kline Biology Tower, atop science hill.
In the hallway I find Lisa, we share the next class. “Do you have a granola bar?” I ask.
“I’ve got two,” she brags, fishing one out, as we drop our bookbags.
As I moan with pleasure, she chuckles at the relief on my face.
The TA announces, ”You should have papers, pass ‘em, please.”
.
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Songs for this:
Home by Luke Chiang
No Other Plans by Sunny Levine

Story tellers
Authors
Bards
Weavers of word
Poets
Heralds
Criers and friars
All on a mission
A goal in the front of mind
To tell the stories of all mankind
To teach the lessons learned and past
To those in the future so they may last

What If?
Brian never thought he would work in a call centre
When he lived in Germany he was unemployed
And while looking for a job he was forced to go
Work in a call centre and refused creating a fuss
I’m not selling insurance or loft insulation!
Put me on fork lift truck training it’s my job
Not some **** call centre 2 towns away

The stupid ***** running the training place
Offered to buy Brian a bicycle and he laughed!
You silly ******* cow retrain me on fork lifts
I need to renew my outdated licence
Not work taking calls like a fool robot
Half a decade passed and Brian
Ate his words working in a call centre!