Things Peter is doing, interested in, or otherwise feels like posting
The flower's bloom is frosted white, The sky now cloaked with gray, Frigid air came with the night, And stayed on through the day. Warmth has paused to take a rest, Giving winter one last fling, Putting people to the test, Before the summer conquers spring.
WORDS AS FALSE LABELS FOR EXISTENCE TUMBLING JUMBLED SLOW-COOKER STYLE TASTE ONE AND SEE TENTACLED SALTY AND SWEET PLAY WITH THEM, SWALLOW THEM, SPIT THEM BACK OUT FISH 'TILL THE PERFECT WORD IS CAUGHT LEGITIMIZING AND MANACLING LIFE OUT OF EXISTENCE -Yvonne Juarez
Grandpa is an awesome guy To all us little tykes. Gives us candies, soda too And all the treats we like. But momma on the other hand Seems to disagree. Darting angry glances when He gives that stuff to me.
Cannot stop and fingers fly, Mind is spinning round, Heart is racing, hands are shaking, Novel thoughts abound. Looking 'round my cubicle, The reason seems quite clear, Soda cans and coffee cups, Are piled to my ears. But tomorrow looking back, I'm sure that I will find, Caffeine had confused my thoughts, And distorted my mind.
In Santa Fe the only way Is everything with green In San Anton' my one-time home Mesquite smoke takes the throne Ketchup mixed with mayo Is a Utah kind of thing Sausage made of Caribou The Fairbanks waiter brings Cincinnati chili Is Ohio's favorite dish Po-boys stuffed with crawfish Make Louisiana rich Food defines the taste of life 'Bout everywhere we go Adding different flavors To the path on which we go.
The well refills at a trickling flow, Though steady and sure it's painfully slow. When allowed to recharge and refill complete, It's waters are cold and clear and sweet. It refreshes and wets the dustiest thirst, To hydrate and quench from last to first. But draw out too often in quantities great, The recharging waters will flow in too late. And grasping for more sirs up silt and mud, Which makes the dark water thicker than blood. Losing its power to refresh and cool, Nothing remains but a fetid dark pool.
High off the ground at the end of my rope, Swaying in wind and clinging to hope Questioning whether to hold till the last, Or just let it go and come down with a crash.
Cloaked in spines just under skin Ready to break out at the slightest touch Itching to break free from below. Frigid with hard bony edges Other's touch highlights the cold Recoil at feeling the warmth. Knowing that touch is important That others need to feel me Suppress the urge to withdraw. Know too that I need to be touched To be human, to be happy To keep the spines under the skin.
The clank and clatter of steel on steel, The squeak and squeal of heavy wheels, The muttered curses of tired young men, The rumbling engines fill silence and then, The thud of explosions just up ahead, The unspoken fear that friends are now dead, The cackle of rifles so very close by, Men screaming for corpsmen in agony cry, With no real idea what it's all for, Beyond a vague notion we've done this before, Results that profoundly were painful back then, Resurface and teach the same lessons again, We came here to liberate and to make free, Naivest of… Read the rest
The saddest man I've ever found Is probably the circus clown Who wanders round from town to town Seeking praise and world renown. Acting playful happiness Giving crowds an hour of bliss Pretending nothing is amiss Blowing kids a goofy​ kiss. But when the crowds have ceased to shout His inward-self starts coming out He wonders what he's all about Giving space to long held doubt. Once alone there's naught remains No joyful kids or family pain No loving wife who helps sustain Just fellow travelers on the train. Gypsy wandering drags him down Another night, another town A stable… Read the rest
