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October 12, 2016

The electronic glare says 12:01,
And my eyes are wide
To the ceiling. She, tiny,
And quiet at last, asleep

In the bassinet at our feet.
He sleeps, peacefully, as I
Replay Fox 25 newscasts
In my head. Domestic

Violence. Assault. The latest
Homicide in Holyoke. A noise
Downstairs and it is over.

I remind myself
Of the four cats, but my imagination
Creates a tall, gaunt man, pale

From drugs or drinking;
He is not alone - but he has

Jimmied the door open
For a night of terror
For all. We've got no money

For his coffers. Cam,
Asleep across the hallway,
"How could we leave him,
alone in there?" I

Do not wake anyone else
As the imaginary home invasion
Plays out in my paranoid
Experience. Tortured,

I will myself to sleep.
Night terrors and purple walls,
The bright summer sky
Outside the full view glass.

I imagine my own death.
Maybe it is okay.

This is Poem #180 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

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October 10, 2016

have           a
vac uum heart.

Nothing, there, can break
down and digest food

made of hate and ignorance
or self
sat is fied pats
on one's own back.

Joy
leaps
but a force

field deflects like
the Death Star spiraling and

exploding and

gone.

This is Poem #179 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

This one drew on an expansion of some lines from #178 “Joy.”

October 10, 2016

We're often asked
What brings it to us.
How does that emotion

That makes mornings welcome
Leak from reading a book,
A playful kitten, our own

Beautiful children? Even
Work can bring it when
We've found the right path

And are allowed to choose
The turns we'll take
Or when to pause in the road.

Some have a vacuum heart -
Where nothing can break
Down hate or ignorance

Or self-satisfied pats
On one's own back - Joy
Leaps toward but a force

Field deflects like
The Death Star spiraling,
And exploding, and gone.


This is Poem #178 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

October 9, 20616

They say it just takes one
Bad apple to spoil it all.
And one micromanager -
To make us all applesauce.

Anger penetrates the otherwise
Still day of joy and connection.
How can one person be so
Harmful to so many?

I made these years out,
Above the sludge,
And now have to learn
To swim in it and get

Out of a pool of cess.


This is Poem #177 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

October 8, 2016

At three a.m. the bed becomes
A trampoline and calisthenics ensue.
Cats prowl in the night.

It is their way.

We rescue, feed, pet, and love.
They attack our hands
In vicious, savage play.
(Tiny tigers practicing for the hunt.)

Triangle-velvet ears are perked,
And round eyes lock with yours.
Sleep can come at another time.


This is Poem #176 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

October 4, 2016

Where is the line, where Mother
Steps back and lets the serious
Mistakes alone? Are we supposed to
Intervene when the mess is catastrophe?

You watch, now from the audience,
Kicked off the stage, long past
Your role as director, as blind
Love leads your son toward torment

And places where he is squashed
Into decisions he never wanted to make.

This is Poem #175 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

October 2, 2016

It's a monster. We're all
Carrying it around -
But at some point,
The stall offense is bound to be called.

How do we keep traveling
Forward - when vital
Voices leave the conversation?
Dribble to the end

Of the court, shoot,
Score. The champions
Always come out on top.

This is Poem #174 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

September 30, 2016

Ozymandias
Sometimes your wings won't work,
And it's simply not worth risking
All you've built -homes by the ocean,

(That's rising fast) and jobs
(The ones that still
exist, unedited.)
Relationships are not expendable,
(No matter what he thinks.)

A tiny Ozymandias in the office
Won't prevent his buildings,
Towers, crumbling into the desert.
The climate is changing -

Do not count on deep
Waters to welcome's your body
Once she falls. (There is no

lifeguard on duty at
the side of a canyon
where you risked all
on a dare.)


This is Poem #173 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

September 27, 2016

Our time is too claimed these days;
We are busier than men before.
With digital demands, under-staffed jobs,
And bills pilling up at the door.

We wake and write lists and schedules,
The things we must do in a day,
Then fret as the hours pass quickly,
And we never catch up, must delay.

At night exhausted, we try
To watch TV, take a nip,
But the pressures of life overwhelm,
And into early death we all slip.

This is Poem #172 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

September 26, 2016

Find the best Poohstick bridges in England


Pooh stands over water
On a sturdy stone bridge -

Poohsticks on a fall
Afternoon. In the morning,
The day had so much promise.

Windy rain could drive
Us back indoors to watch
Disney movies, eat
Microwave popcorn. But,

The world evolves quickly,
And seasons loop
Through our lives.

It's too hot, then
Too cold. Will we
Depend on anything

Anymore when blizzards
White out July and sun
Blazes down on Christmas?

Keep at it, world.
Leaders will debate
Things they've no business

Doubting and we'll
Watch the South
Sink and the West
Continue up in a blaze

Of fury.

This is Poem #171 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

I clearly had climate change on my mind during this most recent offering of verse.

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