Today
I woke up

With
something strange
under my skin

Deep in the core
moving around
confused

Could not tell
what it was

Like it did not
know its purpose

Wondering around

Looking for
a purpose
or meaning

Just
like
me

oh how i wished the sun would stop shining for
just
one
moment
but the darkness never came
every day grew to be the same
like playing a game
of chess, of cards
go fish, but dont swim too far

id start a new religion if i could
insane, unimaginable
people dont pray anymore
i dont know why they should
you dont need a god
to tell you to behave

its a ludicrous lust for love
if you ask me
a meaningless mingling of lost souls
who wish for nothing more
than a star to call their own

Very, Very & Fantastic

She struggles with each verb and noun,
Adjective, conjunction, article and even
Pronoun.
All to better brain:
Maintain
The art parts, smart parts,
A la carte parts.

There are leaders:
Chairmen of the boards who stay
Long adolescent in some way.
Ambitious, never swaying
From their standpoints, outlooks and perspective.  Oy!
A very, very Oy yoy yoy!

“I am best!  Don’t mess with me,
Don’t carp or bleat.
My words unquestionably
                                         right
And those who choose to disagree…
Are rendered useless usefully.
My deeds, and all I nominate
Are very, very, very great!
I live on very un-elastic,
Very, very and fantastic!

Very, Very & Fantastic 7.29.2017
A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Our Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin

When I was young,
I was so carefree,
At least that’s how
It seems to me,
Isn’t it strange,
How things turn out to be?

Full of hope,
Full of passionate dreams,
A thrilling new world
Lay right before me,
Isn’t it strange,
How things turn out to be?

Glass half full,
Then it’s half empty,
My mood can change
So very unpredictably,
Isn’t it strange,
How things turn out to be?

Sharp sighs and the smell of coffee,
It filled the cold morning air
Of my small room in the apartment.
Grey filled the shadows of my face,
As I hugged myself on the spring bed.

I hadn't been feeling well that morning.
Maybe it was because the old woman
That lived beside me was smoking,
Slowly filling her apartment with tobacco
Instead of cats that meowed gently.

I didn't feel like going out.
Maybe it was because room 7 was open
And out came the strong figure of a man;
A man that'd left his children and wife
I was scared that I'd hear the sobs
Of his little young'uns and his wife
Again for the 5th time, and I'd break.

I didn't want to open my blinds.
Perhaps it was because my apartment was right across room 10,
Housed by a lone boy in his teens.
And maybe if I had open my blinds,
I might have seen his blue glassy eyes
That sobbed for the warmth of
The childhood he had missed and lost.
I swear I heard him howl last night.

I didn't even bother to dress up.
I knew I wasn't going anywhere,
Especially when it was room 5's time,
To remove her dainty mask and honour the drunken sailor's days
By cussing out her only child
And leaving scars in his heart
That no amount of candy would fix.

Don't get me started on room 1.
Oh, room 1, a poète maudit.
There she lays all day in her gown,
Sipping coffee and listening to bicker,
Scooping ideas to weep on paper.
Room 1 had problems of her own,
But she wouldn't dare to confront them.
Not today, at least, room 1 was tired.
Nonetheless, today, room 1 was very observant.

It was a strange small apartment.
It specialized in crazed sane people,
People that didn't grow up too well.
People that weren't quite broken,
But weren't quite fixed either.
They were often cracking under
The own weight of their sins and flaws
But they managed to wake up everyday
And maybe.. Just maybe think
"Today, I'm going to fix myself."

Maybe tomorrow, the old lady would decide to get a bit of fresh air.
Maybe next week, room 7's door will close shut again and ooze with love.
Maybe next month, the kid would've decided to make use of his mouth
And scream "I've had enough!"
He'd bring his mother to tears -
Because that's what she wanted;
For him to stand up for himself.
Maybe next year,  the young teen would pick up his school bag and live his life.
Maybe a month after that year, the poet would've shared a masterpiece.
Maybe by then we'd all have lived better lives and left the apartment.

But today was not the day.
Today nobody had thought to fix themselves.
Today everybody clung to this strange place.

-M.M