Sick

Empty of feelings emotions are dead
Sitting here softly naught in my head
Wishing I wasn’t here and could go to bed
Rest on my desk I feel like lead
Has filled every limb except those aching
And bruises come with no real making
If I’d been fighting it would make sense
But nothing in my body could be tense
Empty bereft I live with regret
This day offers no hope
Despair is all
Sickness and fatigue have come to call
Just can’t leave too much to do
Life is suffering is all too true
No alleviation writing brings frustration
More work more consternation

emails

Where’re I come, where’re I go
A dabbling steam of emails flow
In and out, to friend and foe
Ads for pills and weight loss all come in a lump
Hasten the deletion of all such junk
Twisting the ways of routers so trained
Delivering delightful and disastrous note
From loading out to the world wide
web they weave their way
Wending to the inbox end
But if reply then back out they fly
In journey ne’er complete
They talk to all they meet
But letters burned correspondence condemned
No saving, eventually all forgot
Deleted without a thought
So our lives on email rely
Yet fade too on digital ocean of time
Fleeting all, naught to turn sublime

Pilot Precise V5 Rolling Ball Extra Fine

Flowing so smooth
Ink staining paper
In elegant grooves
Slightly serious the line
Leaves meaning behind
Becoming solely
Sensuous in its winding
Meandering gush
Letting words go
Letters now simple designs
From pen tip to
Draw the language
With infinite finesse
The pen takes over
As words I craft

My loving poem to Wednesdays

Winding hopelessly until waking
Sunlight my spirit slowly breaking
Into hopeless monotony of making
A living with no hope of redemption
IRS will give me no exemption
Kill me now as a preemption
Catastrophe comes all clumped
Bleakness of life has me stumped
All that’s left is to get dumped
Why can’t the end come soon
Drown the office in a monsoon
Waiting for Friday night or noon
Time weighing down the living
Death a cheerful grin giving
Resentment for work unforgiving
Feeling downtrodden disheartened depressed
Always stuck in the Midwest
Living on caffeine and still stressed
Without money, dispossessed
Too tired to mount a large protest
I have a plan. Have you guessed?
To escape work week I detest
It involves poison and a large arrest
It’s only Wednesday with too much to go
When it’s over maybe I won’t feel so low
It’s only the hump and it’s going to blow

Calculator

Beautiful buttons
Spread under screen
Numbers come out
Don’t mean a thing
Adding subtracting
My mind doesn’t follow
Pencil and pad?
Step into tomorrow
People don’t add
It’s all done by machine
Mental math is
A phrase obscene
Multiplication division
A torture so mean
Without calculator
I can’t do my math
Ask me sine cosine
Behold my wrath
Without calculator
I’m really dumb
Take it away and
My mind goes numb
It no longer turns on
Thinking seems wrong
Wonder what I’ll do
Maybe ask you

Rubber band ball

Rolling forward without regret
The rubber band ball will be caught in no net
With fearsome color and elasticity
Will never be a conductor of electricity
Bouncing on its merry way through office left and right
With hundreds of bands pulled and stretched so tight
Without purpose or compulsion, rolling forward motion
With nothing to do but roll or sit with no notion
Nothing but contempt useful objects have for
Ball with never a plan after or before
Never contributing or accomplishing chores
Rolling simply in colorful bouncy abandon
Happy in its useless joy
Like a bouncing baby boy
Too happy for the life it leads
No glimmer of cynicism or greed
Simply rolling though there is no need
Living gloriously without direction or aim
Sitting on my desk wanting to play a game

Trash Can

Trying to completely escape
All untimely messes we make
Throwing away plastic, paper and tape
Cans, bottles, bags, empty folder tabs
Too-old cake
Gathered all in a tub plastic lined
Filled with treasures we’ll never again find
Making plains into mountains, never mined
To the future our eyes are blind
Eventually the trash will break out
No longer confined
To generations coming, uncaring unkind
Too much to do, we don’t think they’ll mind
So filled again to the rim every other day
Tossing into the can junk that cannot stay
Making my world clean, an immaculate cliché
Filling mountains, so easy lives can stay and play
Cans overflowing with no thought of who will pay
I wonder if my trash will be taken out today