’m sure you must be wondering what I mean by the title up there. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I’ll let you know once I do. You see, I was beset by ideas for a variety of verse, as if a storm blew in and showered me — instead of droplets, with letters that collected into puddles of words on my mental parchment. As I sit here drying off, tapping keys to convey and capture the essence of the deluge, I have been attempting to glean some thread of grand design that binds them all together. A theme of sorts that I could slap up there and prattle about at succinct length to introduce these jumbled thoughts that will hopefully spell out poems.

All I could come up with, I’m afraid, was “scrambled”. These notions seem to have naught but differences. No common ground. They are as random and unrelated as snowflake patterns; the faces in a crowd. Unless it’s a family reunion, I suppose. Or a circus of fleas performing stunts on the back of a hound. (Fleas all pretty much look alike, don’t you think? Or is that a misconception? I certainly don’t mean to make prejudicial statements, even about insects.)

Where on earth am I going with this?

I wish I knew.

I wish you knew.

I wish somebody knew something and would let me know!

I really appreciate you for reading this. And any of my other convoluted disconcerting miss-conceits, if you were so kind. Yes, I really appreciate that. You don’t know how much. How many people would tolerate such ramblings and rumblings and unwieldy rampages across the page? Very few, I am sure. So I appreciate you enormously. Just thought I’d mention it since I am speaking so frankly about everything and nothing in particular!

Which, come to think of it, may be the theme of this column. What do you know? And don’t pretend you did know, because you didn’t! Not that I’m insulting your intelligence, because that is a cardinal rule in writing. Never insult the reader. Although I would if I felt like it, if I had a very good reason, because I take delight in bending or breaking literary rules. In case you’ve forgotten.

Just thought I’d throw that in too, while I’m at it.

Now that I’ve discussed the significance of “scrambled”, I suppose I should get on with the actual verse end of this month’s extravaganza. Hmm, I’m afraid I’ve run out of inspiration! Can I get away with one-word poems this time? Probably not. Someone would notice. Or would they? What if the readers are really not that intelligent, and that’s why they’re reading this? Oh, there I go! I just had to do it, didn’t I? Now you’ll never read my words again and I will lose what few followers I had because I can’t resist, I just can’t resist, defying conventions! It’s a serious flaw that has caused me nothing but grief and frustration and dejection and rejection. But why am I telling you this when you’re already gone?

Perfect. Now I’m writing for myself. Which is how this whole mess started in the first place! If I want to succeed, I have to write for others, right? Isn’t that how it works?

When will I learn?

That was a rhetorical question, yet I suppose I should answer it anyway because that’s how I am. And there’s no one else here to answer it, so here goes . . . Ahem!

Drat, I can’t think of a clever response. Oh well. Now that my brain is thoroughly drained of wit or whim and as empty as my pockets (being a struggling-artist worst-selling author), I guess I’ll go figuratively pen a flurry of poems. It’s the best time — when I’m least likely to say anything sensible.


I shook my head too hard

And now it’s scrambled

My brain just won’t cooperate at all

If only I could think

Straighter than a circle

I’d refrain from speculation of the wall


It was an accident, I swear

I didn’t mean to

But intentions matter little in this case

Once gray matter is a muddle

There is little left to do

Aside from marching like an idiot in place


So here I’ll be until it settles

Or I shake my head again

Biding time in this lost cadence of despair

It’s my own fault I’m a dolt

And cannot control my actions

I got rattled, now I can’t get anywhere


At least I’m not the only one

There are more fools in a row

Faces to the wall, stepping forward fruitlessly

In unison we strive to step

Beyond the barriers

Taking leaps to reach what others cannot see


If I get to there from here

And coherence is restored

I’ll be sure to tell you all about the weather

For now I simply must

Continue treading thus

As an expert on minutities of nether.


Arisen out of an aching dread

My heart reaches, a sapling turned blood-red

That tendrils out of the ashen dust

Of spaded earth, freshly upturned must

Akin to deadwood acrackle with pinings

Enwrapt by viny thorn-fraught twinings

Aerialists waft absent safety nets

As my spirits loft free from appalling regrets

For here lies the ghostless alabaster remains

Of a corpse just shed marble-lined with veins

Flower stems brittle, the plot so bare

A cemetery imposed by the lack of care

Decades past I lived and was once whole

Then laid to rest here, a riddled soul

Yet I’ve separated from that broken life

I can dance again, oe’r the grave of my strife

No more will I molder and rot with disease

I have risen to conquer that fetid freeze

I’ll not falter, lain fallow, shall skip anew

It’s phantastic what wonders some rain can do

For the tears long shed and the pain let go

Nourish the soil till my heart can grow

And cease to dwell in an awful tomb

Emerged from still-death as if the womb

If these words seem unpleasant, they’re all I’ve got

To describe what I’ve been through, my sordid lot

For my story is shared by too many in need

And is something which all must heed.


waiting is the hard part

when it flows the majesty envelops

or can slam me like a wave

that rips my breath right from my chest

yet fills with exaltation


too fleet to grasp at times

but I cannot complain

I am grateful for each murmur

every enigmatic revelation

for the tidal mass of messages

of an expansive universe

taking time to impact me

I feel inspired to move a mountain

of tepid indifference

compelled to promote grand gestures

yet find meaning in the smallest

I am whelmed to travel over, also under

overcoming vapid ignorance

understanding rampant fear

and then again I’m left to hope

that when the glory ebbs

this is not the end

I will be thunderstruck anew

with fresh creations



That throatful wail

A howling surge

The plaintive query

And mournful purge

Ranting, raving

Amidst the night

Can truly give

A lovely fright




With vocal tremor

And haught well hailed

In swirling dazzlement

Of cleansing wrath

Wind’s funnel genie

Will clear the path


A fleetest whisper

The softest touch

A salty breath

Can be worth much

Relief from heat

A torrid bake

Her sultry sigh

Can calm a snake


A stir of dancing

Dust or sand

The rattly thrustle

Of breeze in hand

Strong limbs will chatter

Stout backs will bend

As if in pain

Yet most will mend


This whirring force

Propelled by magic

Can fade away

Leave sailors tragic

None rules the wind

She comes and goes

We can but glimpse

Her mighty throes


Yet she has long

Been used by man

From ships at sea

To a windmill’s fan

If we are wise

We will thank the gust

For blowing faithful

Instilling trust


Before more damage

Can be done

Embrace the wind

And catch the sun

This is the road

From which they digress

Earth gave us elements

We made the mess.


I am told I wear it well

though I can feel a bit undressed

it is tough to hide the flaws

on someone overstressed

the sun-kissed spots of cheeks

despite the smoothness of my face

youth wasted without truth

can never be replaced

but there will be good days

for I am doing what I love

at this age I’ve finally found

that this can be enough

though my back protests too much

and I hear a constant ring

like a high-pitched dial tone

which can make it hard to sing

my eyes are duller too

hazel-green yet not as keen

so if I step on toes

that isn’t what I mean


the days feel numbered now

a Mayan countdown to extinction

and it isn’t myth or legend

let me just make that distinction

will it herald a new age

in the dawning mists of Time

or will we meet elsewhere

another poem, another rhyme?

will there be the total dark

of a mindless universe

that I wrote of at fifteen

while trapped within a curse?

I can offer only guesses

yours as good as mine

we can wait around for answers

or live fully in the shine

let us make the most of light

for the night will come too soon

in this age of turbulence

it’s time to burst from our cocoon


I imagined I was a bouncing ball

Rolling onward till I fit in

Skipping stairs, hugging curves

Searching places I hadn’t been

To be a round and round the globe

Skating ice floes to catch the tide

Bumping up mountains, forging new trails

Floating rapids, enjoying the ride

The gilded splendor we tend to ignore

Such amplitude we’re surrounded by

Yet we give little thought in our passing day

To the bounty out there so nigh

Giddy and spinning, tumbling along

I was seeking the wisp of a once-upon dream

Wend’ring, wondering, where I belong

Until my momentum ran out of steam

I next fancied myself a coconut

Hanging happily in a spindly tree

On a distant beach unsullied by steps

A desert island lost at sea

No traffic or drama, no twisted smiles

Where I could be placid, my mind content

It may sound idyllic yet wouldn’t last

Somehow, some way, inevitably sent

A storm would shake me to the ground

I’d hit a rock and split apart

Bleeding, leaking the sap of life

Vultures would come to pick at my heart

My meat exposed to the midday sun

And the crabs who feed on tortured souls

That isn’t the life I was meant to live

Smashed and ruined, a ship upon shoals

I thought of myself as a glossen pearl

Spewed from a smirking mouth of luster

Little did I know I’d be reft again

Drilled and strung in a beaded cluster

Blinking thrice, I excused myself

To drop condensely on a leaf as dew

A piece of cloud heavenly descended

Where a tree toad slurped me up askew

Then spat me to the bumble eye of a bee

Who carried me far and shed one tear

I was cried into a blob of fuzz

That drifted to the stratosphere

From there I poured into a vat

A boiling frothy smelly bowl

Then shaped and cooled and shipped back home

A square peg in a hole.

~ Published ~
July 12, 2010

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