#synapses - Hello Poetry

I once saw a poster: “Are your dendrites dying”? The poster was for alcoholism And a help line. But, do our dendrites regenerate? Or, are we born with a certain amount That less and less signals go off—synapses—with age? “Maybe we’re born with it?” Maybe less synapses are made with age? Does that mean less dendrites? My Pop-Pop once asked me what to do To keep his brain functioning, Because he was sick of sudoku. I told him: “Write”. And, so, he wrote his life-story In a few essays. And we are all on the run To keep our dendrites from dying. ©2025EllenFinn

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Nov 14, 2025

Nov 14, 2025 at 4:07 PM UTC

ellen-finn

“Are your dendrites dying?”

I once saw a poster: “Are your dendrites dying”? The poster was for alcoholism And a help line. But, do our dendrites regenerate? Or, are we born with a certain amount That less and less signals go off—synapses—with age? “Maybe we’re born with it?” Maybe less synapses are made with age? Does that mean less dendrites? My Pop-Pop once asked me what to do To keep his brain functioning, Because he was sick of sudoku. I told him: “Write”. And, so, he wrote his life-story In a few essays. And we are all on the run To keep our dendrites from dying. ©2025EllenFinn

18

Riding the air In dark morning A steady current of rain Descends Upon everything The fir tree The house roof My dogs fur The empty Ash tree The fallen leaves Brown, red, yellow, orange The bird feeder catches the water As does the bird bath The puddles The street The cement My head My ears hear each Multitude of patterned drops In apparent chaos Reminds me of the The synapses in my brain Circuitry, each drop a connection from Dendrite to dentride Messages of the unknown Of falling to earth Of vulnerable life Unprotected. The unhoused, in the cool soaked air of December. Will you remain blessed? Will you spread your joy in the patter of rain to those who bare the rain in their skin, on their dampened clothes? Adding a chill. Will today you find some without a home Bringing tarps, blankets, source of heat, to those who listen To the same rain While they shiver And you stay in your glow with your tidy wood burning fireplace. Stay comfortable? Risk giving for giving sake. What floods of love can you share in December rather than giving to Your precious family, the left overs, the excesses And give to charity that make each day another day for breath in rain from the heavens. I choose the rain. I could be the one in The open now, soaking as I pen these words. Hoping words of love, neutrality, non-judgement and altruism be the "church" we reside in. Drop by drop. Over a hundred different sounds of rain brought to earth by gravity, in my receiving ears, and the tiny sparkles of light reflected upon the light from the street lamp shining upon concrete saturated by this extended morning rain.

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Dec 3, 2023

Dec 3, 2023 at 9:10 AM UTC

Highwireart

Rain Synapse

Riding the air In dark morning A steady current of rain Descends Upon everything The fir tree The house roof My dogs fur The empty Ash tree The fallen leaves Brown, red, yellow, orange The bird feeder catches the water As does the bird bath The puddles The street The cement My head My ears hear each Multitude of patterned drops In apparent chaos Reminds me of the The synapses in my brain Circuitry, each drop a connection from Dendrite to dentride Messages of the unknown Of falling to earth Of vulnerable life Unprotected. The unhoused, in the cool soaked air of December. Will you remain blessed? Will you spread your joy in the patter of rain to those who bare the rain in their skin, on their dampened clothes? Adding a chill. Will today you find some without a home Bringing tarps, blankets, source of heat, to those who listen To the same rain While they shiver And you stay in your glow with your tidy wood burning fireplace. Stay comfortable? Risk giving for giving sake. What floods of love can you share in December rather than giving to Your precious family, the left overs, the excesses And give to charity that make each day another day for breath in rain from the heavens. I choose the rain. I could be the one in The open now, soaking as I pen these words. Hoping words of love, neutrality, non-judgement and altruism be the "church" we reside in. Drop by drop. Over a hundred different sounds of rain brought to earth by gravity, in my receiving ears, and the tiny sparkles of light reflected upon the light from the street lamp shining upon concrete saturated by this extended morning rain.

39

Are you my muse? Well, are You? Every time we talk ideas crop up Sometimes crazy sometimes not so much But little flicks of light appear like a runway signalling along the synapses of my frontal lobe Or a light bulb might show up in a bubble above my head No matter how No matter where They insist on follow through even though some fizzle and some just outright die ~~~~~~~~~~ So are you my muse? I need someone to blame!

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Apr 18, 2018

Apr 18, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC

WingedPoet

Accidental Muse

Are you my muse? Well, are You? Every time we talk ideas crop up Sometimes crazy sometimes not so much But little flicks of light appear like a runway signalling along the synapses of my frontal lobe Or a light bulb might show up in a bubble above my head No matter how No matter where They insist on follow through even though some fizzle and some just outright die ~~~~~~~~~~ So are you my muse? I need someone to blame!

25

Synapses roll off the tongue, Stutter and glitch Stut-t-t-ter and glitch Repeat....Re...p-p-peat Misfired. You a broken doll With your bright brilliance.

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Mar 23, 2018

Mar 23, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC

SilverLaughter

Half a Brain

Synapses roll off the tongue, Stutter and glitch Stut-t-t-ter and glitch Repeat....Re...p-p-peat Misfired. You a broken doll With your bright brilliance.

7

As punctuation goes it pauses me, I know simple words should flow just like melting snow Every one reminds thought, that's left behind the pieces ill defined as remnants in my mind I'll strive to keep it down the comma's bouncing round mentally run aground and mechanically unsound A crutch I've over used and yes, totally abused so you can be amused as guilty, the accused

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Jan 10, 2018

Jan 10, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC

TemporalFugue

Comma-ca-lly disposed

As punctuation goes it pauses me, I know simple words should flow just like melting snow Every one reminds thought, that's left behind the pieces ill defined as remnants in my mind I'll strive to keep it down the comma's bouncing round mentally run aground and mechanically unsound A crutch I've over used and yes, totally abused so you can be amused as guilty, the accused

16

Whenever my perception gets attached to your image, Little flowers blossom from infinite branches of my neurons.

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Feb 6, 2016

Feb 6, 2016 at 2:50 AM UTC

l-algaravia

Synapses of you

Whenever my perception gets attached to your image, Little flowers blossom from infinite branches of my neurons.

7

Which part of me would choose? For it is cold in my mind and warm in my heart If only I knew what goes on within your mind So perfectly flawed I could crawl into your brain... The simple masterpiece of all I've seen- " pure beauty" is a mere insult to the magnitude of its indescribable wonder Peering through the amygdala I'll see your past in awe- At how it's brought you here, A creature so wonderfully subtle with tongue And bold in nature: Sui generis. I'd love to journey through the thoughts of you Through and through I'd wander And wander always turns to wonder To be electrified by your synapses And burnt into oblivion- A million pieces of me Becoming blended within Something wholly powerful Is but a dream Locked behind The gazing brown puddles Reflecting the moonbeam

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Nov 20, 2015

Nov 20, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC

GracePickard

"Like waves within you drown me, shouting"

Which part of me would choose? For it is cold in my mind and warm in my heart If only I knew what goes on within your mind So perfectly flawed I could crawl into your brain... The simple masterpiece of all I've seen- " pure beauty" is a mere insult to the magnitude of its indescribable wonder Peering through the amygdala I'll see your past in awe- At how it's brought you here, A creature so wonderfully subtle with tongue And bold in nature: Sui generis. I'd love to journey through the thoughts of you Through and through I'd wander And wander always turns to wonder To be electrified by your synapses And burnt into oblivion- A million pieces of me Becoming blended within Something wholly powerful Is but a dream Locked behind The gazing brown puddles Reflecting the moonbeam

25