Quota Is Eternal

It’s Monday, the calendar is empty,
I need to answer messages sent me,
No consolation could ever tempt me
To see scheduling without enmity.
It’s Tuesday, and my coworkers rally
And fill up these slots without me,
Each counts for their personal tally,
And I assist as I can quite happily.
It’s Wednesday, and I’m no longer tired,
Able to focus on tasks that require
My attention, and there is no dire
Cause for a calendar fire.
It’s Thursday, and the weekend is looming,
An eventual stress that starts blooming,
And I don’t mean to be dooming-and-glooming,
But that weekend is going to screw me.
It’s Friday, and I have lots of meetings,
Time taken from typical proceedings,
So between all these catch-ups and greetings
My serenity is woefully fleeting.

The weekend is here; the days are infernal.
There is no forgetting the quota’s eternal.
And when Sunday closes, there’s nothing that curdles
My blood more than Monday’s return.

Pimple Poem

To all the pimples I’ve ever known:
You’ve never left my face alone.
On my forehead, chin, and cheeks,
Complexion prospects were very bleak,
From achy red bumps I couldn’t pop
To embarrassing ones with white tops.
Scores of blackheads on my nose;
I never could get rid of those.
You sprouted at the worst of times,
Made my appearance a social crime.
No matter what ointments I would use
My facial features seemed to lose.
But for all the shame and misery
At least you kept me company.

Video Game Villanelle

Do not dismiss the video game,
The delight it brings, the joy it inspires.
Truly, your life will be never be the same.

Though some might label it lame,
They underestimate how it sets the soul on fire.
Do not dismiss the video game.

Immersion is key to lighting that flame,
Making gameplay your sole desire.
Truly, your life will never be the same.

Whenever a good game called, I came,
Craving narrative experiences that never tire.
Do not dismiss the video game.

Explore vast open worlds that will never be tamed,
Live through experiences that will take you higher,
Truly, your life will never be the same.

So embrace a title without shame,
Especially when the world at large feels a little dire.
Do not dismiss the video game.
Truly, your life will never be the same.

Froley’s Shower Routine: An Epic

The showerhead spouts forth its stream,
A dusty young cockatiel’s dream,
And as mild heat fills the room
Filth knows it meets its doom.
Sprightly bird paces along curtain rod,
Asking for a bath with a bob and a nod.
He steps onto finger, outstretched wings,
But will only bathe when I start to sing
“Little April Shower,” a happy tune
That hums of raindrops coming soon
And encourages plump Froley
To begin to dip and roll; he
Tries to catch the water’s spray
And clean collected dust away.
A stanky smell wafts from his feathers
But I know he feels better
After boldly flapping through this shower
With all his might and strength and power.
Thus with the watering’s end,
Froley with his regards did send
A slick, wet poop to the floor
To conclude his cleaning forevermore.

The Old House

Trees dappled the sun on the ground.
Dogs frolicked and barked all around.
And we would play too,
In the rain, with the flu,
Till they painted the old house blue.

We played in that backyard for years
With leaves from the trees we held dear.
And we’d be there today
Had we not moved away,
So that blue paint is there to stay.

We drove past the old house last night
Expecting to see walls of white.
But since we’ve been gone
That family’s moved on
And we’ll only see blue in the dawn.

Of Protests and Pandemics

Fractures persist in the criminal justice system.
So we choose to resist.
Meanwhile
An infection spreads,
Using worldwide connections to extend its reach.
The divide has never been wider
(Or Whiter)
Between the haves and have-nots.
This year is clearly
Determined to sear
Itself onto our collective memories.
But perhaps this time of unrest is for the best.
Granted, this trial by virus
Feels like the strike of a viper
Disinclined to let go
Until the flow of venom is spent.
But protests and calls for reform
Bring more than fury and woe.
They bring change.
And changing to better treat the people we meet
Is never a bad thing.

The Social Distancing Limerick

My day-to-day life hasn’t changed
Since quarantine was arranged.
I just work in my house
With no time to grouse
Since life on this Earth turned strange.

And as time goes on in this way
With no friends to hear what I say
Even though I’m not sick
The distance hurts quick
Since we’ve all learned to self-isolate.

But we must stand strong and take heart
To give doctors and nurses a start
We can flatten the curve
If we just have the nerve
To stay home and do our damn part.

In the Eyes of a Dog (a poem)

Purpose in life
Is hard to find,
Yet a need we have to know
What we’re supposed
To do.

Too often I feel
Like a face without a heel;
No one to want
My likes or my thoughts
Or my time.

But this fluffy animal
That sniffs piss and offal
Apparently craves my self all day,
Without hesitation or delay,
Always.

She yearns for my affection,
Attention a delightful confection.
If I am not near,
It’s almost as if she fears
I’ll forget her.

And it’s at moments like these
When in the eyes of a dog I see
There’s at least one reason
For a person like me
To be.

Ode to Oatmeal

What is there to really say about oatmeal?
I suppose I owe it thanks for all
The good it does my cholesterol.

But still, that does not encompass how I feel
While munching that mess in my mouth,
Its fiber sending my stomach’s contents south.

It takes very little to prepare
Beyond small oats and water, plus hot air.
Its texture is what seems unique;
Chewing mush takes some technique.
But though oatmeal my doctor recommends,
To Hell it will my taste buds send.

Happy Haiku

Coffee mug steaming
Headphones playing soft music
My pen never strays