We are in denial
Life and Time
when we die,
about reality and
Look again, both ways. One more time.
Denial is fantasy.
Gaps undeniably exist. Mind them.
it’s nine o’clock at night again. some are dressing to go out, not me—too tired.
too tired for anything but sleep, yet, here I sit
writing this poem about being too tired to do anything,
including write this fucking ridiculous poem
or prose or whatever the hell it is.
it’s absurd to fight off sleep like this, like a child fighting the inevitable,
but if I give in now, I will wake at two or three in the morning,
in the middle of the night, flummoxed.
I’ll sit here and drink water (after I pee); wishing I was sleeping.
maybe there’s an unused nightmare out there waiting for me,
to give inspiration or whatever nightmares do for us.
why? tell me why. I want to know why it is that I will try for a few more minutes
to pretend that I can…what? what can I do?
is there a world full of people out there who cannot
or will not do what I can do?
bless their hearts as the conceited among us write away
nodding at the overstuffed closet.
who needs competition from hidden talent?
right here and right now, exhausted with limited cognitive ability to crank
one out by jerking off my brain and spewing words to the page and saying,
fuck yah, man! a poet. I write this sputum. so what?
it turns out that how I feel and what I say, I am—
and you are too—holy shit, that is exactly how I feel!
am I pissed off about nothing? just fucked up and angry
for the very reason of no reason. we need help. are we crazy?
it sucks for me and I’m sorry it sucks for you, but it’s so fucking true.
it’s us. not me alone. not you alone. misery love, love, loves company.
that’s how it works to be human. nothing can save us except writing.
Look both ways. It’s the middle of the night and every form of refuge has its prison.
Mind the gaps and the sidewalk cracks for the want to—the reason of no reason.
in the fight?
No skin in the game?
Is it win or lose tonight,
or is it all the same?
Why fret so?
We should not be
in such a stew
of sleepless nights
with what we know
when worries bubble
in brainless brew.
Why lose sleep
over what if thoughts?
Solutions to problems—
none that matter.
Dreams fill empty gaps
where a mind creates mystery;
a dramatic telling
of the heart’s striving,
A reality set apart,
within each dream
suffering its own malady.
Look both ways with sleepless obsession into endless obscure what ifs.
Sleep in the gaps of neurotic tension.
“I am strong, but I am tired, Stephen, tired of always having to be the strong one, of always having to do the right thing.” Brenda Joyce, An Impossible Attraction
I’m not always much of anything.
I’ve been an old white man for a long time,
a branded stereotype with good teeth
and a bad attitude,
apparently not supposed to ask for
some things, cuz I am old and white.
It’s okay. Perhaps they’re fucking right.
Equality is in, unless you happen to be
and have what’s left of an old hard on.
Others were (and still are) treated like shit
by white guys. Nazis were, are, white,
male; no fucking idea how old fits.
Some old men are idiots, non-millennial
impotent bastards who hate everyone,
and everything, especially women.
Stereotyped, hairless shit heads
with nothing to do
but make mankind worse.
It’s a tough world, but we can try
to make it better each day.
To make it last.
©Bill Reynolds, 6/13/2019
Look and listen both ways for real equality. At least, don’t be unkind.
Mind the gaps like lifelines with stories to tell.
I write two kinds of poems. The daily poems are first drafts. The others I try to improve and I post some on this site.
Ideas for poems (and for everything else) pass quickly, and my notes are usually insufficient to reconstruct ideas or inspiration. When I try to use notes, I either loose the true, deeper concept of the poem, or I can’t decipher what I wrote. Thus, I often write out a more complete, but still unfinished and unpolished, work before it flies off like a lost sock.
At the start of May, I was burned out after April’s effort and I struggled to recoup my writing rhythm. I did no Limericks this month as I had hoped, but I’ve not given up.
There once was a lady from Texas…
Here are the titles for May’s 31 daily poems.
- No Pass Given
- They Are People Too
- Goodbye, John
- Little Blue Circle
- Walk in Circles
- Off-key Birds
- The Charge of Thoughts
- The Birds Meet
- Thanks, Moms
- Drunk Poets
- Library Thoughts
- By Saturday
- House Guests
- Dawn of Promise
- Why is it Like This?
- After Midnight
- Retired Too
- Yes, I Drink
- Too Much Nothing
- Channeling Chinaski
- Euphemistic Bull Shit
- Man Up
- Little Mocker
- Monday Morning
- And…Um, but: whatever
- Ain’t It Funny
- A Rare Cat
Have a wonderful and inspired June.
Looking back to May and forward to June is looking both ways.
Mind the gaps, the deep ones can be dangerous
and the shallows hide interesting secrets.
Live, love, and dance; I’ll join you.
Freedom is a place
for minds and bodies,
one where I don’t belong.
It’s not where I am. I’ve never been.
It’s just not me. Can’t be.
And you’re not me.
no masters—no gods?
Am I free when I owe nothing?
Or, perhaps it’s something more;
I’m a life-long indentured servant.
Tell me what is freedom—will you?
Irresponsible of me to ask—but,
if freedom isn’t free, how can it be,
Freedom? Can you see?
Are we ever free?
Completely free, like birds.
A tree is more free
than are you and me.
Is there such a thing as truly free?
Can a society of people be free?
Or can’t you see,
truly, truly free?
Ya know, it don’t matter to me—
we alone know
what it means to be,
or not to be
free. It just don’t matter to me.
Is there happiness in freedom?
How the fuck should I,
or should you, know?
We are a lot of things.
Free is not one of them!
© Bill Reynolds, 5/20/2019
Look both ways and be not slave to follies and deceit.
Heed the gaps for they may be the crevasses of your mind.