I've been wearing socks for 3 days straight
Icky, sticky socks make me irate
There's just something freeing about feeling the ground beneath you...
I feel you!
The flow of energy
The boost of adrenaline you get—
Heart beat quickens
Breath in breath out
Breath in breath out
Breath in breath out
Faster, faster, faster,
And then
STOP
I'm smiling— beautiful adrenaline rush...

Poem 1 — Self Preservation

(whence empty nest syndrome gnawed emotionally raw,
the tender sore gum chafing absence of lovely lasses –
on the straight and true – heading toward a horizon of their own chew zing.

That contractual obligation tubby selfless no longer applicable.

Stillness brings roaring back the routine activities, that seemed
to distort time by plodding along, until one day aye awake
to soundless of young girls mirth.

Because this papa doth love each offspring, the irony of parenthood
warrants forsaking being a vigilante.

They must needs go outward and upward, and such difficult
parting pained particularly poignant part and parcel of the role
of dutiful NON GMO gluten free fatherhood.
----------------------------------------------------------------­--
this then december twenty forth,
i felt an inner compunction
how tara became re: born
whereby this pop -
bleary eye lids ready to droop
with his tired bones snapping
and popping like jimmy crack corn
an immediate need to succumb to sleep

found me transfixed
how blessings did add horn
mine attention riveted at the then
early twenty something vanished self of mine

(where oh where did young Matthew Scott Harris go)?
stricken n fore lorn
though the hour well nigh
closing in on six in the morn
whereby the sage within mine psyche

waving a finger - tsk tsk - with mild scorn
for forgoing to bed, yet...
a powerful tsunami like force arose up
when viewing the account of how tara - blank -

became rent asunder and torn
from an terrible accident of fate -
though a miraculous recovery now worn.

an exercise regimen of running plus lifting weights -
perhaps so many reps of a curl
finds me applauding and praising efforts...
so you go girl
and hurl
with all inner strength pell mell into fitness -

testing your limits to the max
whether across busy urban streets or...
where landscape offers open space with pearl
jam skies - in outlying less populated tracts -
giving freedom 2 dance n twirl.

ye r so lucky tubby alive
cuz immediate family, friends, relatives
and now...this stranger gives u high five
without asking anything in return -
since inspiration courses thru me

inducing thyself 2 strive
and/ or if when fate decrees,
thee will make an awesome counterpart
who this older papa bloke would envy
as ye possess inxs of strength to re:vive.
----------------------------------
blessing for sound health ™

upon waking every morning I offer silent benediction
for the ability to revel with full faculty of this aging body
still going strong where ability enjoying simple pleasures
available thru bodily senses plus cavorting via memories
with daughters in my nonsensical mien worth more than
money can buy, yet of course if I did happen to be a lucky
lottery winner that could definitely relief anxiety and allow
me to breathe easy yet could never do justice pitted against
sear ring roe buck body, mind and spirit triage.

The end is near so they speak. The end is truly near for this year. Everyday we rushed into things. We take a time of one duty to fullfill another . We feel the day is long if we did allot of things but its the opposite. We rushed into things thats isnt its due time we think about the future but barely grasping what is in the present. Living our daily lives like an upgraded robot. Doing things in a rushed manner. We forgot to cherished the present the work we are doing because we are looking into the future the product of our work. How many minutes, hours and days we lost because we are to eager to see the future when the present matters most.

Dont rush
Emmanc Dec 2017

I hate the way
your eyes reveal,
The way they sparkle and talk.

I hate the curve,
The laugh of your smile
As it tries not to grin.

I hate them.
I like them.
I hate that I like them.
I hate that i like you,

And I don't know why.
Perhaps
Because we don't have a chance?
Because I found you too late.
It's not you that I hate,
It's the false hope
given by time
Time that I don't have.
I don't expect we'll meet again.
Derailed Nov 2017

I was late,
Frantically running in hopes I'd make it to the meeting on time.

I was distracted,
Not worried where I was going, but worried about when I'd get there.

I was careless,
I stepped on the flower in the crack of the sidewalk I so carefully appreciated in days past.

After the meeting, I was released on a lunch break.
There, I ran into him.
A man of broad appearance, yet short structure.
A man from work who had a meeting proceeding lunch.
As we talked, time seemed to slip from our grasp.
I took the journey back to work on foot, while he operated his motor vehicle and realized:

He was late,
Frantically driving, swerving in an out of lanes, exceeding speed limits in hopes he'd make it in time.

He was distracted,
Checking his phone for updates on his current situation, he ceased to notice he was headed into the crosswalk.

He was careless,
His seconds of fatuity caused a mistake that could never be withdrawn.

The smile he carried just moments ago was now contained by the gentle housing of his lips.
Creases dawned from the furrow of his brow, caused by the saturated eyes he wore beneath his languid eyelids.
As the time between his inhalation crescendoed, mine slowed to a stop.
He stole my breath.

I was late,
Frantically gasping in hopes they'd arrive promply.

I was distracted,
Not worried about who was coming, but when they'd show.

I was careless,
Here I lay as the flower, once alive in a dreadful place.

Trying something new.
Steve Page Nov 2017

Don't push to take off the poppies
Don't rush to remove the wreaths
I know you long for Christmas cheer
But take time to give thanks and to grieve.

November.  Each year we seem to herald Christmas that much sooner. Much to our detriment.
Brent Kincaid Oct 2017

Cars so close together
You can count their middle fingers,
Horns honking everywhere
Traffic is like an urban bomb scare.
People just don't know how to drive.
It's a wonder how they can survive.  

Tooting and beeping,
The human brain is sleeping,
It looks like, by and large
Lizard brains are in charge.
There are no cops around;
They’re in another part of town
Policing those who feel they need
To smoke that evil devil weed.

Meanwhile traffic does it's thing,
Increasing daily suffering.
It's part of what it means to be
Alive in today's society,
Driving hell bent like it matters
Leaving peace of mind in tatters.
Rush hour traffic is what is wrought
Like a bad cold the earth has caught.

You can’t avoid it altogether.
It’s like Twain said of weather.
You can talk about it every day
And do nothing about it either way.
So maybe not have everyone at once
Hitting the road like a silly dunce.
Couldn’t the employers take a clue;
Change their schedule an hour or two?

Maybe some would think it great
To start their journey hours late?
Some could go now and some then
And wait hours, then begin again,
The next batch could be on their way
And start out having a good mood day.
Or maybe we could all stay home
And leave the rest of the world alone

Mikayla Smith Oct 2017

If he were the peak of a mountain,
I would have fallen headfirst into the air just to feel the sweet rush of not knowing where I'm going to land,
they call this losing your mind,
but I call it the one taste of ethereal euphoria that is one moment away from being called heaven,
and if heaven existed,
it'd be right in his eyes.

I met someone.
Maria Etre Oct 2017

There is
a certain kind of
rush
my body feels
when I pull
my heart out of my chest
and place it
in front of you

Frank DeRose Oct 2017

Jumped out of a plane today.
Willingly, knowingly, and confidently.

Climbed 14,000 feet in a plane with two benches and 20 people
Up
  u
    p
    
      u
  

         p!

Waddled out to the garage door
A gaping hole in a metal tube hurtling through the sky

j
      u



             m
      





                           p





                                         e






                                                              d.


Free fell, 120 miles an hour toward the unforgiving earth.

Sometimes I wonder about God.
He made us dumb enough to want to do this,
For his laughs? Or ours?
Of my own volition (and at a high velocity) I plummet to what could easily be my death and last memory on this earth.

I give zero fucks.

It was the most exhilarating feeling in the world.

The parachute deploys,
I am tugged upwards.

My instructor spirals us downward,
Allows me to pull and steer.

I have no clue what exactly to do and try to follow his cues,
But I know one thing

This shit is fun

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