A New New Wave

I have learned I can't blog. I can use Facebook to write a random note or two about some awesome album. Instead, I am just going to use this to post things I write. Some will be good, some will be unfinished, some will be my nightly 27 seconds of writing exercise. Most will be unedited and malleable.

Oh the indulgence.

Two poems, and some stream of consciousness.

Run or Your Upstairs Neighbor

Run,
Never been a runner,
not away,
not too,
not around the block.
I tried for a while.
The constant plodding bored me.
Hurt me.
Ruined my rhythm.
I am not smooth.
Stampede.
Always been a stampede.
No direction,
no aim,
but destroying the underbrush,
to get somewhere.
A mobile performance of stomp,
no plot,
but a kicked over garbage can,
and a standing ovation.



Goofy Wet Smile


I rejoice in my inner 12 year old,
as I ride my bike with no hands,
In a downpour,
at dusk,
daring to reach my arm,
deeper,
deeper,
into my coat pocket,
to pull out the perfect
handful of gummy bears.


Chuckle, Umbrella, Jackass.

I laugh at you and your umbrella. It’s sad you’re scared of a little rain. People dry, it’s one of our innate talents. Close it. Feel your hair matting to your head. Wipe your eyes like you’re in a shower. You are. A big, cleansing, public shower. I know it’s not an original, but sing in the rain. Use your umbrella as a dancing prop. If it gets too hard or cold, go inside and huddle up. If you’re clothes can’t get wet, buy new clothes. We need a new society, where being dirty doesn’t mean you’re not appropriate for work, and being wet is business appropriate. If I can’t get you to get rid of the umbrella, can you at least get a fun one. Black umbrellas are only allowed at funerals. One of life’s great thrills is crossing a bridge in the rain on foot or on a bike. Water beneath you, above you, around you, but you’re sheltered and feel bad because I’m wet. Let’s go have some coffee.


Thank you.