In Math Class... Again

-
(Day 5: A Plus Poem)
Won't someone stop her talking
because sleep is slowly stalking
and I've reached the end of caring
for algebraic thought.

She stands in front of whiteboard
not realizing we're all bored,
squawking her marker ever forward
into the deep and dark mind rot.

I've fallen in and out for hours;
I've lost all my super powers.
I should take lots of cold showers
because I'm not feeling hot.

Then, she finally ends her barrage
of quotients, dividends, and average,
and bespeaks her old adage:
Subtract and plus not.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Creativity, and the Pursuit of Happiness

-
I don't know when the change happened. Seriously. It used to be that people would work, and they would do so without constant carping or waging war on their bosses. People would travel miles underground in soot and filth, emerge completely covered in charcoal, go home and sleep, and wake up the next day to do it all over again. Were they happy? Sure. But, was this happiness a result of comfortable complacency, or did people truly, honestly love their livelihood? It seems to me that people in those old, iconic photographs are smiling most often when they are engaged in their lives. They laugh when they have been completely and utterly submerged in the company of creativity. Sorry for the alliteration. Creativity is a sticky wicket. We have a tendency to look at solutions to major problems and say, "my that was a creative solution. Howsoever did you concoct such a unique answer?" We also will look at a painting and say to ourselves (because it's bad form to speak
Read more

A short poem dedicated to my daughter in the womb

-
TIDAL WAVE They say, in March, my life will be a tidal wave. But, I don’t know if they know how tidal waves behave. The water recedes from the shoreline, laying bare the ghost of its silence, showing us the upset coral of thousands of stranded souls who never quite made it. Then, off in the distance, the penitent potentiality rises up to the sky in prayer, and hurtles itself, with all abandon, against the rocks and muck and grime as if shouting will never work the same way it had in the past. Its hammer-fist renders the cliffs to melting metronomes, the beach becomes an avalanche. Floundering, staccato becomes the life, and the line between earth and salt and water is erased by the hands of an angry toddler, who, incidentally, is crying to be held only to be shushed by a spinning, lighted mobile (the one with the soothing sound effects that could never replace, nor should ever replace, the beauty in the lullaby). If there were people, there aren’t now,
Read more

Coffee and Space, A Play in One Scene

-
Curtain opens on single spotlight point on stage. Within the spotlight is a small shuttle cockpit and two people sitting in chairs behind it. Both are wearing helmets with reflective material and suits so that their faces cannot be seen and bodies are obscured. To the right of the dashboard is a suspended window.   1: It’s been a while. 2: nods 1: Something about the dark of space, though, that makes it all seem like a while. It’s as if we’ve become part of it ourselves, stretched from here to the other end. 2: You think you’re space? 1: In some small way. 2: There’s no small way when talking about space. 1: goes quiet 2: I only meant that space is huge. 1: No. No, you’re right. I don’t know why I got quiet. Sorry. 2: I guess I don’t get it. 1: I know, sorry. I’m just saying words. I guess I mean that you can either feel small and insignificant or let yourself fill in the space… or maybe let the space fill you. 2: Huh. 1: I don’t know. Sorry. beat 2: H
Read more