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the years

Being an optimist (except when my paranoid paradoxic pessimistic side kicks in), I am starting this year determined to accomplish great things.  That is generally how I start any year, by hoping it will be the year.  Not the year to end all years.  Or even the best year ever.  It's nice to leave something to look forward to.  Perhaps merely the beginning of a golden era of happiness and good fortune.

The thing is, this could be that year.  It definitely could.  Which sounds pretty crazy after all of the other years that I thought could be that year.  But it really could, couldn't it?  I mean, who's to say it isn't?

If it were up to me, it would be that year because I've waited long enough, I truly have.  No more waiting.  I can decide that much at least, can't I?  Yes I can!  So this is it.  I'm not going to sit around waiting for that year to find me.  I'm going to make this year that year no matter what!  I'm determined.  Did I mention that?  If so, please disregard the earlier reference since I don't like to repeat myself.  It's such a waste of time and words that could be better applied to fresh thoughts and ideas.  Which is part of my plan.  To write a lot.  A whole lot.  And then to write some more.  That's the other part of my plan.  Good plan, huh?

Last year wasn't the year.  And yet it seemed I was getting closer to that year.  But close doesn't count except in Horseshoes.  And I'm not playing Horseshoes.  I haven't played Horseshoes in ages.  Hmmm, perhaps that's the problem.  No no, I'm sure it has nothing to do with playing Horseshoes.  I must stick to the subject, even though this is going to be a terribly busy month which makes my mind start to spin, or is it my head?  Hmmm, it does indeed make a difference whether it's my head or mind.  I hope it's the mind not the head or I'd probably get dizzy and topple over and then I wouldn't get very much done, which would cause me to get behind and that would really make my head spin!

So you can see my dilemma.

Well, it's more of a predicament, I suppose.  Even if the spinning is purely in my mind, I might still become dizzy and wind up on the floor, my equilibrium so off-balanced that I can't do anything but lie there in a daze and attempt to get a grip!  It could thus be extremely difficult to accomplish these great things I intend to achieve . . . if this is that year and not merely another year that wasn't the year at last.  Yes, it is quite a predicament.  It may even be a dilemma as well.  I'm sure you can appreciate my point.

Although, now that I think about it, I'm not sure myself what my point is anymore.  I almost think I had one to begin with, a vague premise, but you can never be too sure about that either.  I often start writing without making the slightest bit of sense, and by the end the only thing I'm sure of is that I am not sure of anything!

I can tell you one thing for sure:  I need to stop using "sure".  There are far too many.  Alas, my Delete key is stuck at the moment and until I get it unjammed, I am helpless to —

I know (she exclaims with a snap of her fingers), I'll use Backspace!

Too late.  I've moved on.  I am so busy this month, I don't have the time to go back and edit.  In addition to pointless, this will just have to be riddled with redundance.  I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.  I'm not sure that I can.

Stop saying "sure"!

Oh, I'd better go write some poems.  And try not to use that word.

 

 

 

    the years

 

Their current is relentless

Dashing forth to seize the dawn

A tide that bears eternal dust

Like silt to scatter on

These lands that border right and left

Floodwaters to be swam

Unstopping like a river

Till some beaver builds a dam

 

They leave us always wanting

And waiting, it would seem

For morrows and for evers

For waking from a dream

The sweep of hands, the rush of time

With fortitude embraced

To contemplate unknowns and naughts

The hardships that we faced

 

They lead us to conclusions

And blundrous judgements gaveled

With chances to amend our wrongs

And mourn the roads not traveled

Yet every day the sheen of hope

Can light another avenue

The choices are abundant

In what we say or do

 

For the years unfold both soft and firm

To be shaped as to be suffered

Some perils can be overcome

Avoided, even buffered

But each year rings with promise

The future spread before our feet

Consider all turns wisely

That you'll like the end you meet.

 

 

    SURE

 

Being sure that you're unsure

Can be a troublesome condition

When you can't uncross your legs

From a seated disposition

The uncertainty is doubtful

To be clearly understood

If you cut yourself some slack

It's a bit like chopping wood

And may lead to drafty wonders

With some serious confusion

As you sit and baftly ponder

Whether life was an illusion

But your feet will surely follow

Without thinking first each step

If your brain begins to wander

Jungle trails of weemo-wep

That is when it's time to gather

Every courage you can find

Stack them up like blocks of tinder

Strike a match and light your mind

For it's darkness where we stumble

There less confident tread we

If you wish to be more certain

And unlost assuredly

Shine a torch against the gloom

And march proudly through the rain

Whilst your flame will surely fizzle

You can count on going sane.

 

 

    THE WRETCH

 

Outlined within a lunar glint

He slirks enshrouded by the dark

Too horrid of a countenance

To stroll the sunlit park

Existing far and yet so near

Beside the cultured and genteel

His social graces too uncouth

We think he does not feel

This wretch we shun with hearts so weak

Disgust upon our faces

Who frightens those that notice him

On the earth, though, leaves few traces

An outcast and a monster, he

May seem beneath our trust

As he loots the lofty refuse heaps

And collects a pile of rust

Upsprung from shady poisonings

A too-grim imagination

Some potion, notion, ocean deep

Has spawned this malcreation

Who creeps about in dusken gloam

Amidst the markers of the dead

In fog, the bog, through murk and grog

Duck the bristles of his head

Tiptoeing past our windowed pains

He stalks the night in wretchedry

His poor lost soul engulfed in shame

His life a killing spree

The victim of revulsion

Reacting to their taunts and blows

He lashes out in self-defense

For wrath is all he knows.

 

 

    Daybreak

 

Dew dropped a brick

And morning broke

It happened in a sudden

The day was off

To a fractured start

Which caused my mood to mudden

I tried to trill

But merely coughed

Out flew a wildebee

Who whistled to summon

A furious horde

Of bumbles from a tree

The swarmers chased me

Far and wide

I jumped into a pond

Where carp were coyly

Eyeing me

Like their tastebuds might be fond

The wildebees were

Hungry too

And licked their tiny fangs

The pair of flocks

While salivating

Fought like rival gangs

It's here I had

A chance to sneak

Away from the melee

And drip straight to

Another doom

I'm dumb, what can I say?

A bear was snoring

Mouth agape

I ran inside her maw

Then turned about

And darted free

From the depths of a grisly craw

The rest of the day

Was spent in hiding

Afraid to draw a breath

My face went blue

I was gasping too

On the verge of my own death

When at last I gulped

A drink of air

I knew what I must do

Go back to sleep

Until it's safe

No ice in the mountain dew.

Authors: 
Trilllogic Entertainment: 

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Lori R. Lopez

Rafael Lopez

Noel Lopez