Making Waffles In The Living Room
(a day in the life of an eccentric)

With no one home to say a thing,
She lives out her free spirit.
Not a misfit,
Simply unconventional.

She’s making waffles,
But she wants to watch TV –
A favorite program on on Sunday.
Which will take priority?
Must one take priority?
Why not do them simultaneously.

She grabs a stool
And drags it to the living room.
Step one.
Carrying the still cold iron
Without fear of burn, she sets it
On the stool and plugs the iron in.
Old appliance it goes on,
No On Off switch therein.
Step two.
Bearing bowl brim-filled with batter,
Setting it on stool where it
                            fits snugly in and on its step,
Spoon in hand she spoons the batter
Onto iron piping hot;
Shuts the top and starts to wait.
One, two, three and on to plate,
All while watching TV’s favorite!
What subject for a poem!
Happy that there’s no one home
                                 to say a thing.
Fifteen waffles later,
Piled high and fully sated,
Iron back in place
Not a drop or drip to waste
And no one is the wiser.

from the Greek ekkentros, from ‘ek ‘out of’ + kentron ‘center’.

Making Waffles In The Living Room 3.19.2017
A Sense Of The Ridiculous II; I Is Always You Is We;
Arlene Corwin

Backstreet, open doors,
Small town, empty pockets for the poor:
That's where they go
When they linger on the last shred of hope;
Only flying toward a blank journal page
When the writer's have lost all passion in their artistic haze.

Closed minds, wings that were not meant to soar,
Tired eyes, broken hearts falling to the floor:
That's where they go
While they ingest sorrow on a withering soul
And they march on weary feet
To a battlefield drenched in defeat.

Puffy faces, starving stomachs demanding more,
Feeding hatred, love dying like never before:
That's where they go
As the wind blows
To a place of shattered picture frames
And tombstones carved with their names.

But, where do they go
When the judgment begins to *****
And they're left on the last shred of hope?

They say that laughter's the best medicine

They say big feet on man means big ****

They say Donald Trump's going to end the world

They say when life gives lemons, make lemonade

They say hope breeds eternal misery

They say happy wife happy life, happy girl happy world

They say you don't know what you got till it's gone

I say, who the heck is they?

Bottle with color keys..
Shallow ocean breeze..
Songs of tomorrow..
Lyrics of the past..
Sad shade and shadows..
At the center of light..
And the edge of darkness.
Swirls the twilight..
The colors said hello..
From a dark shadow child..
Only way to speak..
To a being of the light matter.
And so the world opens..
Inside and out.
In all directions I go..
At the end where I begin..
An expanse of colors..
Awaits my eyes..
White light flower pedals..
Spin around me in the night..
They know I am here...

Why do we inflict pain on others
Just to do it
Just to see them cry
Why do you beat mommy up and then the next day act all sorry
Why do you keep doing it
If you are really sorry you would stop
Why do you threaten me if I try to tell someone
You said it is a game
I don't like this game daddy
Why don't you take me to ball games
And take me out for ice cream
And play games like all the other dads do?
Why do you laugh when you make me cry
Why are you never there for me
Why do you do this
Daddy this has gone on for years
Years and years enough for too many tears
5 years pass and a million tears fall
Clothes in shreds
And I have no bed
Seeing stars in my eyes
While your grinning devilishly
You raise your hand
And I can't stand
You say sorry
But sorry is not enough
I've learned to be tough
And I don't buy your crap apologies anymore
This has gone on for more than a years
12 too many years
This needs to stop
I can't escape
Why can't you stop
I'm dying can't you see
daddy Stop
Your hurting me
Daddy I'm dying
Daddy God loves you
Why don't you understand that
Daddy war has harden your heart
Daddy stop
I never go anywhere
I'm always in dingy house with badly worn furniture
Daddy where's mommy
I saw the police discovered a ****** body in the dumpster
Daddy crys stop
Daddy I hate you
Go where you belong in hell

We're told to be careful of the monsters under our bed,
To be aware of the darkness.

And as we grow, we're taught that they're aren't real,
Just product of our minds,
Our childish imagination.
Products of the thoughts of little kids after a scary movie,
A door semi opened.

But they didn't warn us of the monsters on the streets,
The monsters behind the jewelry,
Behind the fancy clothes, and pockets full of money.

They didn't tell you about the creatures on disguise,
The ones with words sharper than knifes, with fists harder than walls. Hearts as cold and hard as steel.

They didn't tell you because they're the claws, making you bleed,
The glowing eyes in the darkness causing you to shiver.
The growling sounds making you cry.

They're the monsters,
Don't worry.
You'll become one of them, too.

They're digging up the cobbles in our street,
moving them to a classier area.
We'll be given tarmac, black and soft in the sun.

Yes, even here it shines - on men's vests.
They're red faced, drinking from lager cans,
while their women finger scarved curlers.
At least, that's what others think they see.

But neighbours do talk with us.
There's a code of decency,
though Mum says, 'some have hearts
as black as the tarmac'.

There's a hierarchy,
in minds and heads,
if not in pockets.

Some day the toffs will turf us out,
gentrify our street. We'll be moved,
filed vertically, pigeon lofts in the sky.
Then they'll bring our cobbles back.