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Wm Joe McDonald Jul 2015
PROCRASTINATION
By
Joe McDonald

Part I:

How often can I keep putting off everything in life that must be done to the point of frustration and despair?  

How often will my work sit and stare at me with the eyes of hungry children always whining their demands for my attention to each task always wanting my full being beyond my own inner abilities and doubt?

How often can I walk past the damaged concrete step on my own house that sneers at me everyday as I walk up to my front door?

How often can I make promises to old friends to get together, celebrate life, and not expect them to wait on my return call of cancelation because of illusionary diseases?

How often can I feign in my backyard the beauty of my roses, sipping white grape while the grass under my bare feet remains brown, coarse, and over grown with dandelions stifling all vegetation?

How often can I pledge my good faith to a worthy cause by ending up watching from the back row as the needs prosper or fail regardless of my lack of motivation?

How often will constant kicking of the can down the yellow brick road be considered the excellence of a long line of Shakespearean resumes?

How often will my lack of courage blind me to opportunities of abundance and force my family to a life of stagnant economic asperity?

How often will I consent to others disrespect of my mastery of skills to the verge of closing my mind to all that is important to dwell in a soup of anger, self-doubts, and ache?

How often will the peeling paint, blistering off of my house like shards of cheese at my wedding feast, augment my anguished indifference finding every physical, spiritual, and any other of a multitude  of “…Why not’s…” festering in my dome of “..Do it tomorrow’s…”?

How often can I rattle my saber of position, roar my battle cry of “Tomorrow” to postpone today’s tasks? Bundling them all into neat piles of future promise completions. All the time smiling a grin of a used car salesman.


How often can I sit on my couch on sunny Saturday mornings enjoying the sun rise? Its beams slowly sliding across the finished oak; warming my unkempt hovel to the boiling point that tuffs of unwanted cat fur dancing over the varnished grain like tumbleweeds in a Sam Pechinpah film. Yet, I sip my morning brew, acknowledging their existence but, my head movies are of other unattended illusions.

How often can my inability to act or respond be accepted by those who expect perfection in all things?

How often can I permit the disappointment of a moment fire the indifference toward the needs of the here and now?

How often will my journey up my front walk be changed from the joy of daffodils and hyacinths filling the air with aromas of lung cleansing delights only to rediscover the pine foliage  are still dressed in the lights of Christmas past?

How often will I put off leading because of failure of seeing the needs of those who need leadership? They cry out for direction but, plead for independence. I use the pleas to drown out the cries.

How often will I have the epiphany of a lifetime only to have inaction and fear
drag it down to the bowels of an enlighten brain ****?



Part II:

I keep plugging in the mechanism of delay to power the animal of the moment.

I blind myself over and over and over and over again again again again to my abilities of now in favor of promises of later.

I smell success in the air every time I do the nows but, the stench of celebration’s to come is easer, sweater, more in line with who I am and not who I want to be.

I hear the praise and accolades of present victories and in time I’ll drag my triumphs out over the gravel road of time until they have lost their luster.

I’ll blindly stare at the tube of adult babysitting, at images of various eye candies trying to escape my own drive to do and yet failing in this as well.

I can’t spit out the bitter taste of the act of putting everything off nor drown it in the wine of determination without repeated reminder that I am drinking from the same cup of vintage to come.

I spend much needed dollars and valued hours gorging myself on self-help aids and assistance. Only they too become part of the beast’s feast of my misused time.

I awake every Monday with dreams of a new but, I’m so accessible to countless distractions. By Friday I face the inevitable doom of looking back over the landscape of a week gone up in the flames of the undone.

I try to grab each day by its throat. Choke out the desired results. Only it offers the slights resistance and I let it go to torment me from its lair growling “…not now, not now, not now…”

I’ll spend time with my mate for life. Half of me is relishing the moments with her. Half is wandering over the tablets of what I haven’t done.

I have mismanaged, misused, balled up, blundered, fouled up, mishandled, muddled, muffed, spoiled, and fumbled the footballs of my life again and again avoiding all that has to be done now driven farther down the boulevard. Constantly stopping at any insignificant store front; staring at juvenile trinkets of distraction.

I have sinned over and over again. I offer prayers to anyone who will listen. Begging for the enlightenment to solve my weakness. “… quia pecccavi nimis cogitatione verbo et in cogitations, et in hoc opera, quod ego facere non, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa…”



Part III:

Who else do I have to make suffer in confused patience waiting for the promised end results of my superficial excellence?

What has to be done to make me arise from the ash of self doubt, indecision, and fear to conquer this demon within my psyche?

Where are the answers I seek in my time of apathy?

Why has this inferior deity have such a grasp on me?

When! Again, when!!! When will I face this issue and start to find the peace of timely attainment?






(“… that I have sinned through my own fault in my thoughts and my words, in what I have done and what I have failed to do, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault…”)
Part IV:

I have lived with this for over a half century.
Trying to climb out of the hole of misused time.
Falling back into my penitentiary.
Serving a sentence of intimate crime.


The venting is complete, pity-pats written down.
My confession exposed for all to share, witness.
If this public sacrament exposes me a clown.
Mock away; have your jest. For I could care less.


My Ginsberg rant is to open doors of avowals.
To aid in my cure; in hope start my salvation.
To trust myself; to believe in oneself. I am all.
To look into the morning glass willing a reincarnation.


Only I can face the beast and make it heel.
Down inside I have to find the straight for each day.
Try a new, lighter approach; a new Don Marquis feel.
“…procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday…”




April 2014
Charles McCue Aug 2016
Growing destuction from creation
Forgoing the art of appreciation
Not watching, no participation
Ignoring my own emancipation

Pulling the plug on my own demise
Ignoring the painful distant cries
Oh, how the world yearns for lies
Its honesty they will despise

Calling out for vallidation
Alienating my own nation
Walking without trepidation
Not questioning this amputation

Cutting all familiar ties
Hiding from my soul that flies
Only till the time it dies
Oh, how i would open my cold eyes

Building peace with agitation
Waiting for my cancelation
Wishing none would feel abrasion
Leaving most with palpitation
Ken Pepiton Sep 2023
Remake the photocrapsh, you have it,
edit, make the moment be that moment

and we redo the steps, the dance
in the process of time come to pass…

Breathe, be a bit aware, the air,
that essential other than I, is there,

all around us, one gaseous natural
substance us and all the other actual
air breathers,
some in constant meditation,
seeking mediation between spirit and

truth that life tests if I can perceive,
the suffocation of a story, conceived
in side my suit of fingers and toes and
bones and blood and meat and sinyew.
--------


Worth any reader's taken time, to make up
for enticing any one to follow a child
in search of lost time, I'd say none taken, none
left to find
usefull, filling a certain vacuum uses fructus
we yoost to take as needed granted. As cheese
from butter blessed with a meaty rancid taste.

Pre-posed, as supposed, positioned
up, above your head, above our eyes looking
up, into the thinning air beyond the morning fog.

Hear a jet plane, and think that noise unignorable,
then remember not hearing it for days, in the desert.

The ignorability established, test if I missed a sense
shut down class, perhaps I am the audience,
in silent meditation becoming one in time difference,
my peace,
I give,
not as the material reality gives, or is the world,
not all the material reality gives?

Wondering wonderfullness, full double el full,

necessary respiring, reselecting next moment
to breathe, re-in-ex-aspir'tual inter mingling me

and thee, the e, in all out joint efforting t'i
to fructify and die to leave seed soil cannot
suffocate.

Suffer it to be so now, thinking imagined touch,
the breath you take and replace with modified air,
humanized winds waft away the stench of our city,

our only physical existence place time sequence,
relative to mysteries too esoteric, by reputation,

if one never learns to use the good, to make good
a hope, a hook, with mystery, a sur-prize, un earned,

posed to be essential experience, once, for you alone,
the prize of personal recoknowsis acknowledged,

it's your party,
you can cry if you want to, but the art involved's
below you now,

as we took your breath away.
-------------

Fun with functionality, feeling your wish
to feel included, fecundity of same sour dough
higher minds than mine let be in thee
some how sure your part's done,
passed, missed cue, or
not.
The entertained remain, unaware… only knowing

the show must go on, and on,
and people,
on the whole, be having life
in the midst of life supporting

reality, recogentle, wise
teach
as trees teach, learn as nuts do. One
touch, one mind, one time to grow old in…

----------------

The daily ef'
fort ification va
vacation
cancelation …
looking away
at you, I think, at you,
I aim a wish, a joyish wish
wisht at a once,

upon which all stories dangle,
awaiting your attention, caught.

In the spirit of honesty, snared,
are we honestly acting strangely
similar,
similar tastes acquired, tasting
-----------

Echo rock effect stone groaning
-digital echo effect edit if you care, imagine
Peculiar order
own self first idiom, I am
become first ideal me, being
as good as
my word, and nothing more
esoteric than a reading mind's
recollection of a beauty envisaged

as an instant too brief to measure,
¿
instance,
in contextuality
stopped, and sensed
as a fly-by why, loosed for use
in curious arts, acadamized, apt
to wink at reasons feeding war,
to prove worthiness, what rule
gives order authorship legality,

in the scattered cosmos, who
orders each star to form from
?-
Point potential pose- d
to be
energy, itself mysterious, as to d
source and precognitionation put to work
as the works of God, the creator spirit entity,
put dhe PIE- put'erthere, core cognizance
in me, my child reminds me, for the duration.
Go is an order not a game.
Dare blame the temple servants, dare
cast aspersions at the spirit speaking,

gibberish, you wisht was peculiar, your query
run with your parameters set,
so your query
pulls from the spirit of timeless truth, a quest,
a duty,
a call to you, personally fit for your benefit,

maleficence despised sufficiently
to pass as white noise under signal. Go.

----------

generic me, reacting temper-mentally,
- getting to the crescendo way on
- down the line

to form a personality, a person like me,
emotionally tied to my character, my role

in your life, I see,
the other in the air out there, at the other
end of this wind

breath of life itself, certainly not all mine,
but I did add a touch of exhalent chaos,
in a laugh,
at recognition,
gnosis lies esoteric more within,
adipisci as if adept apt
at marking old regions lost to religion
- parrot headed afternoon paradisiacal
intentional, estate realization, holy place keeper,
mental, fundaments
minimum augments
happy old form gaseous wedom form,

beholder of beauty shown to set the meme,
look into my eyes, think mere words make minds

adversarial, as proverbial order impositioning,

in your brain, the ***** holding your will, if you
will, imagine another mind, with a habit in effect,

set to alarm me, when you see
the back of my head, and I do not turn to see you,

there you are any way, any in the official plethora
of thinkable ways around the obstacle
ambition definitely a needed virtue,
the will to know there is a good way,
the will to not steal, **** or destroy to make it
true
work applying patient perfection
to your tasked self, assigned early on to pursue, this bit
bait, curious bait, as scentual instunk ready, ready
ambitious ends means in minds, imagined done
is good as done,
Jesus said…

Two or more, you and me, endlessly
actual mental agreement, gentle, peacish
way beyond groovin', we be entering coknowing

eaching out, under our stars, we all know
what they are, they are near enough to feel

we each get this one big judgement day win, once…

ready to rock on, sit in witness position, watching
time pass, feeling memories sprout recollected laughs,
take the time, use your own, it never matters

looking back, from your self awareness instant, slo-most,

snap shot scene manurable, yep, gnoshit, that smell,

bucolic, fancy pants word, for real live process smell,
earth in cogitation, using a cast of billions of cloven hoof,
cud chewers fit to a stall and a milk ******* giant calf,

holy cow, each cow contentedly cogitates, how holy
am I to live in constant motherly bliss, and no
bogus science to make me feel lowly, mere meat maker,

for the sausage eaters needed to clean the windows,
so we all can look in on each other and say hello, did

you know this reality was here,
did you appear on purpose, or were you pre
supposed to be, so be ye do be.
Done.
Or don't, being as how here you are.

The end.
Now we wait. The point being made, when we feel it

really realizably so real holy cow, wow, milch for minds,
blowing past reasons for war, what would a holy city do?

----------------
Make a milkshake and use raw eggs.
Don't die.
Here, contemplation, using your knowing to construct
a shelter for a spirit,
a heart shrine, in memorium,
an avatar, that's the word, now, image made in mind,
non projected, kept bound under covering rules, why,

Gorgons are adapting to our air, as we all imagine
monstorous men leading conspiracies, breathing in teams,

fighting like hell to push back the peace cannabis brings
the furrowed fretful brow, high, low or middle, now,
- pushing back opening cannabinoid reception link
- thinking we all tuned in, is not true,
- the sixties I dropped out of,
- some boomers lived in, to this very day.

we all imagine the excess success allows, and the weight,
we all imagine the schedule, and the cameras, and think,

what, me worry? Will you take the esoterica to task, you

imagine life reset
to win the reasoning contentiousness,
with defined ambits being wills used
to lieve be the truth that Jesus said if
he is, believe it or not, leave go you know, if it were not so,

truth itself wills you know… you asked

let thy will be done, mine, I hold in place, conserving
certain truths fed me as a child, pledged in aliegiance.

Some values from when this world was lit by fire,
some of those eternal flames, never let it go out,
lessons used to arrange children on the pyramid,

few were told by their granddaddies
to laugh ten times today, and take
the long way around the mountains, find a stream
and keep its pace, time through space at any speed,

mellow is mental, mind frames are, as well. We think
we see the world one way, but we see it always good,

inherently good, inside the air we breathe and have
our being in, mind and brain barriers imagined,
fallen
long before the reasons for the ritual, right structur-al
to form as a temple made not by hand in mental form

living stones, I presume, am I standing on your toes?
Redone dances long left go be a fantasy from the cave wall.

- tips in times of self rejection, madness of art
devoted sons, once taken to an alter by a broken father,

God, take him, I'll break him, I'll make him like me,
don't let that be thy will, I'll walk with this limp,

but I'll not lie and claim Jacob's well ran dry.

The sack of values a poor man uses to stay alive, sur-
realize reason for being fine with sufficient suffering,

enough, to let me know, it is part of the process of time,
as recorded to be remembered, once
a prophet told you to pay attention, and as it appears,
to me, from here, my entire wedom did,

pay attention, with passionate joy, no lie, not even
to get by,
get past the poison
through the gifted, take life as granted found in a
willingness to whistle while you work, like a little tea ***,

here's my handle,
here's my spout,
tip me over and pour me out… do recall, do, once, redoness

dance on rare either real or otherwise, riverdancing ductility,

until I run out of breath.
And rest.
Riverwise on the seaside, going down.

When you get old life is as complicated as can be…
so- I fforget some things.
So, they had a saying, in the early day of open nicotine and caffeine,

put that in your pipe, and smoke it. Just let be the function. Peace
happens, seemingly by chance, often in Septembers,

made intentionally memorable for a good reason. We smile,
inner chuckle counts for laughing.
"Surely Feynman was not joking"

Let that be a lesson in legalizing enjoyed ennui, put to good use.
Practicing a perfect cast, a certain hue in time...
Creepstar Apr 2016
Both blessed and stressed
On the road to be the best
You'll be hard pressed
From last minute designs
To last minute cancelation
And the relentless perpetuation
Of traveling across a nation
Classy J Nov 2023
Quick stepping, hold the breath in.
Nesquick bunny am I hoping or hopping?
Amongst these land mines that means certain death.
Just one wrong step, what do I have left?

Positive Change is trauma unlearning,
Gotta be the role model I was always yearning.
Cause I know what it’s like when my canoe was sinking.
Vicarious victim drinking with sharks,
Was never the best at swimming.
Or confronting my problems,
For awhile I was sitting.
For awhile I was drowning.
At the back of the bus with the rest of the goblins.
Until I stood my ground like Rosa Parks,
Straight spitting.
Speaking truth even if I’m portrayed as the **** villain!
After all, I’m used to it cause I’m a **** ***** Indian!
A savage in need of sterilization.
Today we just call it cancelation.
Cause snowflakes both left and right can’t handle a native with education.
No wonder we are so underfunded cause they don’t want restoration.
They don’t want truth nor reconciliation.
They want us to keep us starved so we rely on their salvation.
Ooh ****! Better start…

Quick stepping, hold the breath in.
Nesquick bunny am I hoping or hopping?
Amongst these land mines that means certain death.
Just one wrong step, what do I have left?

Feels like I’m trying to swim upstream,
When for the longest time residential schools,
Were treated as ponzi schemes.
Or as justifiable things.
And I can’t lie that growing up that **** did sting!
Was silenced and punished by the authorities.
And I ain’t just talking police,
I’m talking anyone that held power over folks like me.
Hell I Can’t even go shopping without being assaulted and asked for my receipt!
Cause after all I’m the thief, a snotty nose Rez kid that needs to go back to his tepee!
Where health and safety is decreased,
But yawl don’t care or share mercy.
To us Street beasts.
You know what? **** these land mines,
I don’t care if ya triggered!
Better prepare yourself to be decolonized,
By your friendly neighbour hood prairie…
Ken Pepiton Apr 2020
Have you noticed? Stocks are up. Some big bets paid off.

All the little, sub-ten-mil annual gross, bets...
all of those sold for a dime on the dollar,

betcha dollar to a donut,

'go y'one betta, if y'got the nerve

le's race all the way to

the vaugus nerve curve under the aortal arche

and splash

sea of senseless geek gobble dee ****, the actual stuff,

wondering if we, me and you dear reader,
we are in this thing together

DEFINE THIS
then define thing and forgive my shouting, in a two d realm

we have two - near ly two gazillion but we made adifferentiantion error
shunning was stunning and so on
messed up
references, became re-fer inferences and our code was banned as potscum.

When a non human entity owns all the data,
that non-human entity owns all the distribution of goods conducive to growth

algorithms risc'ing simple simon mother may I for long long long strings
theorectically
dangling post cancelation

anomo anomo ono anamo arizen is secret poet code, moly,
drop a lode
mother

may I, remind, re-mind, re
mind you,
may is your word now. Since April, 2020. Use it well.
Another shockingly wonderful day, when I wish I could hug some body.
Classy J Dec 2022
Don’t give a **** if ya into me,
Imma send ya snowflakes to therapy,
I am raw like Ren and Stimpy.
Drunk off the Yak and the Hennessy.
Skate around cancelation like I’m Wayne Gretzky.
Imma punch ya wiggers out faster than Mike Tyson.
*****, I’m more sinister than M.Bison.
Just ask your ***** bout the time I shattered her *****!
Yeah, I made her more wet than Poseidon.
****, Classy J is a demon!
Wonder what this Cree ruffian be planning?
How can we combat a savage without reason?
For he is like Galactus to us hatchlings.
The devours of souls, so wake up! Stop napping!
Classy J ain’t got time for your yapping!
Like an anime protagonist, my limits;
I will soon be surpassing!
While others be trailing,
Spiralling down worse than Kanye!
Sorry not sorry!
****, imma bout to go off on a rampage like Tony Khan, Hey…
Ye as you losing billions I’ll be sitting back drinking Grand Marnier!
Perhaps ya just need your head bashed in again,
In order to regain some sense of sanity!

****… I’m feeling outta control!
Darkness consumes me,
I’m feeling it’s pull!
But unlike E.T., it’s too late to phone home!
I was broke, even before my credit card got declined!
The glass has shattered,
And so has my mind!
James Dye Apr 2020
2
What catharsis is this that feels so plagiarized, I mistep, misquote, this thing you call hope. Do not mistake the mistakes made up at what I thought was the goddess's feet, it was only just a threshold to pass over.


    and you'll tell me that I was wrong an that living is dreaming but what is this teeming feeling of tranquility seamlessly seeming full to bursting like a symbolic version of fertility this cancelation of emotions rocking us through the motions of what people say is the end.


    I saw the church, I saw the altar, I didn't see the lie behind your eyes, as you faltered to say yes, it was then I climbed the steeple and rang the bell, outside it rang and the people saw, and in my fall I welcomed death.
Tom Shields Jan 2021
I have been joking about suicide in conversation lately
as though to hyperbolize despair for comedy;
I think about the front-face of my personage and begin to hate me
the attempt I made was no laughing matter,
where is the karma, belated cancelation by the speech-policing PC society
I'm no good, I might be half crazy, they credit me with trauma, documented history
it sounds like I actually signed a paper for a NDE
the trick to trigger warnings are wasted on me,
you don't yell "Fire!" in a crowded theater before you turn off your TV

Sometimes, lately, I wonder if it's a red flag flying from my teeth
like my tongue, freshly squeezed stinging cuts from my gums
anxious laughter, am  I    just    pulling on the leg of my legacy,
by behaving questionably, a poet or a lunar misunderstanding,
eyes wide like two new moons, an hourglass with sand outstanding
talking to myself to be heard by someone else, a prideful soliloquy of lunacy,
ergo the ego bends my silver spoon,
and I'll be digging through these glass walls with it soon
entranced to a tune, dancing like a loon, this window-pain, you don't know,
trust is such a boon and bane,
I swoon for a swain, a drop of admiration is tanks of fuel in motivation
a kind word, risk the sonic pendulum that separates my lane
to a bitter attention getter, doused with dense sweat in winter
get this steam-storm off my brain
condensed intensity contained, I want to explode; restrain
into the chest, deep winds drawn
the humid reflux, insomnia, a long yawn

I think too often of how I'll be remembered
when there's far too much life to live
how or if I settle into any memory is in this awareness, to make not of my concern
for I have kept alive too many I resented and reviled
on a pyre of hatred that I alone fed to burn
the smoke choked my thoughts all the while
to let it go from inferno, to embers, to ashes I had to learn
patience and defiance of a forced perception
that to be nothing is equality,
everything you are seen to be is a corruption
lenses of opinion that obscure purity
oddly, the punchline shares each conception,
and given the destination, why don't more people laugh at the journey?
write
please read and enjoy
Ryan O'Leary Jan 21
In theatres of perpetual                                        

performance, morning

    encores endlessly.


Repetitious renditions,

        rote audience

         curtain calls.

    
       ‘ Cancelation ‘


        Blinds closed,

       head covered,

         gone foetal.




Ryan O'Leary

The Proscribed Poet.

21 Jan 2024.


Ps.

Imagine not having a

window or curtains to

draw across its stage.


Imagine not being able

phone in and say that

you’ve got depression.


Imagine not having the

luxury of lighting night or

finding refuge from day.


Imagine passively observing

the murdering of 100 days

by evil Jews in Gaza.


Imagine looking back at

this atrocious carnage and

thinking, what did I say or do?


                  <>


             Imagine

     When time is killed,

   the witness is always

      a prime suspect!

— The End —