Algebra
In simple stop watch
calculation,
One hour is 60 minutes
. . . .is 3600 seconds. . . .
3600000 milliseconds.
But 5 minutes added,
here and there
throughout the 24
in a day,
is Twice that.
I'll ponder That.
Next time,
I'm thinking
of melted snow
in July. . . .
on a sailboat
out the window
in Greenland harbor.
05.28.2023
An hour challenge @JohnAulus
.
I... I wanted to do something... I'm not sure what it was. I was sleepwalking again.
It's happened to me twice before in my life, a truly disconcerting state of awareness at the parapet of dual worlds of perception.
The first time it happened, that I recall, I was 16. I had gotten my own room. I cannot say finally as it was with great reservations. The crumbling of the family had made it possible, after years of happily sharing, or perhaps, clinging. Mother and Father had kept separate chambers for over a decade. Mother in the North wing; Father at the South end of the mansion. Until she broke all ties. Then for six years the room remained a shrine to Family Failure. And when it was precariously decided, by lottery, who of us two children would inherit the room, we partitioned again, and I was left alone with Father. A strange privilege, as I was not the prodigal son. I was the other child.
In the darkness of that time, I found myself one night, searching for something in Mother's closet... I had opened my wardrobe and was proceeding to remove the metal drawers. Mother had had only clothes, heaps of clothes. I had some of course, but a myriad of papers and implements, too. The drawers were heavy and awkward.
I came to waking senses... removing these drawers. I reckoned what I was doing... but not the why. It was apparent that it was the very back of the closet I was trying to find... I was trying to find... I returned to bed and pulled the covers up tight.
It was more alarming than frightening.
This loss of self-control.
The second time, I was in my 20's. I had stopped keeping track of Time... I wanted to do something... I'm not sure what it was. I came to waking senses midway down the long hall between Mother's bedroom and the kitchen. I had been walking and now became aware of the sound of the wall clock, the faint gleam of the metallic hands that crawled at minute intervals with the shadows. I felt the breeze of open windows, a scent of passing summer, and heard the relentless treefrogs, like crickets, calling...
Again I returned to bed, drew up the covers and wondered.
Dismayed at my inattention.
This loss of self-control.
The third time, decades later when all even the mansion had crumbled, I came to waking senses in front of my computer in a small, rented bungalow. I had clicked that Google browser... what's it called? I was staring in the screen, seeing my own reflection and the resulting search history. I became aware of this slim shiny chrome colored implement, a CID cal. 45 Böker Plus Tactical Pen, with pearl grip...
I wanted to do something... I'm not sure what it was... I was...
05.26.2023
...At the Wrong End of a Chrome .45 with Pearl Grip... challenge @Prose
Tick Tock
Villans are made
most definitely
made
without love
cradled in them-self
without another thought
Villans are given
something missing,
an unawareness
for which they
must heedlessly
be over-reaching,
as if to say
what's mine
is yours is
mine for sure
and this
niche
is pocketed
like a watch
for a conscience
that never stops
to talk...
05.25.2023
Villan Twist challenge @ChrisSadhill
Mayflowers
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
```````````````````````````````
```````````````````````````````
````````````````````````````````
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
++++ Many have Fallen +++++
Asterisks that have Blossomed
. . . . You at the Margins . . . .
_______________________
05.24.2023
Mai challenge @KyleSmithLaird
Combination
There are things
that we favor
and things that
we bar
Things upon the
tablecloth
at ready
like in a
perforated jar
a grain
a pinch
a trail
a spill
and we're
tossing it
over the left shoulder
bruising the elbow
on the lip
aboard the yacht
inherited
from grandmama
05.23.2023
Combinations challenge @Ryzaklin
Are We There Yet?
i was Lost
but Darkness
was not.
And the DeviL
met us, both
halfway
05.22.2023
Own private Hell challenge @Prose
In Bows
Tsunamis happen
when there is
argument
among those
Grand Forces of Nature,
my friends;
like when the Sun
and Thunder
are no longer Amis...
Then, worst case scene
all of the Oceans'
waters spiral,
like Toileted
in whirlpools
down the drain...
with nothing to show for,
and no clapper...
...and we wait
for reruns.
We wait for gentler rain,
and pray for silence
of gray blue Soaps
to burst,
to bring back the chitter
of flighted fairytales
from the bent
forest branches
whose drained leaves
are listening,
and dripping
bowed...
in fullness of color.
05.21.2023
Why Tsunamis? challenge @Ola_8
Roll Up & Unplug
❤️Kindred,
...a little luv.note to let you know I've knit the Yurt (*thanks loose canons at Discord!)
As we speak, I'm backpacking it into the Red Woods of Oregon (not at all far from the original official outpost of Prose, no?) ...I'm setting up 400 kilowatts of Solar Power, panel by panel. Excessive you say? ...this is only temporarily a solo op. I'm satelliting the Prose future writer's getaway stitch by stitch, drop by drop, light by light, cup by cup... so that every one of us can retreat out here once upon a time to unplug.
Be ready: 24/7. Every writer deserves a little haven.
Till then,
7v7
ps. Only the ink stains permanent, red. The coffee here makes you invisible. All amenities guaranteed to help the writer... write away.
05.20.2023
Check it out challenge @Prose
As iS
it's not
too late
and no
I'm not
Sorry--
i don't
think we're
broken,
brokenend?
this is
just how
we are:
as is,
complimentary
not needing
a fix--
a fixing!
i mean
Thank You
for A L L
the spare-
parts even
those that
don't fit
fitted---
somehow
05.20.2023
Thanks/Sorry/Late challenge @akitoyu
Where the Hearth Is,
it is neither false, nor flawed.
There are Plenty of Fish,
but the Question persists:
like in unbalanced scales,
because These are increasingly
Dead--- and, clawing Spectra,
contrary to popular Folklore,
gone fishes don't go
belly up!
but drag on, over
the Ocean floor
in the dark
where Nobody
sees...
Except, except,
for Sea Urchin,
and other Orphans
who have let loose
the very floodgate
of wet cold salty tears
drowning the ground,
that is now Basalt
and picked clean,
by scavenger Hags.
05.19.2023
are there really plenty of fish in the sea? challenge @batmaninwuhan