In the Microscope
We looked closely...
having struck dynamo
an excitement scientific
among all the laboratorian
Aha...finally! a spirit
stuck...
in slide!!
an authentic sampling
cross section, aye
between glass
its parts wriggling
and jiggling
we see turning around
as little space allows
for what seem
like hands
face, feet!
a nose it has
elbows and
it kneels
it kneels!
deaf and mute
and we are also
in the microscope
gapping...
dumbstruck
09.17.2024
Grey area challenge @AJAY9979
Creative Hooker
I love to create. I picked up a pencil when I was 3 years old and started to draw my world. As soon as I knew how to make words, I created them too. I made up stories and fantasy worlds and made-up languages for those worlds. I wrote sad poems and filled up journal pages with all the words that made me want to cry. All the words I wanted so badly to scream.
I still create today, too. Not as much as when times were slower. Quieter. Simpler. Now I have to fit in short bursts of creativity between virtual meetings and doctor's appointments. Sometimes I'll find that I've run out of words to say after a long day of work. I've said them all in small talk and emails. My identity as an artist stops where my career begins.
Some people insist there's a way I can have it all. Have I looked into monetizing my graphic design? Have I put my illustrations on Etsy? Ultimately, what they're asking is: is it making you money?
In their eyes, it only counts if you monetize it. You can't be allowed to just enjoy something. You can't want to create for yourself. You have to give yourself away to be valuable.
A creative hooker. Someone who strips their ego and bares their soul on the page for the enjoyment of others, with a token dollar thrown at them. They hate it now. They remember when they started, blinded by the prospect of getting paid to do what they love. Now they sit disillusioned in front of a laptop. They're on their fourth coffee of the day — whatever it takes to meet those deadlines. They haven't done it for pleasure in months.
I didn't want that to be me. I didn't want to hate what I once loved. I didn't want to grow to resent my passion. By separating my two lives, I protect it. I allow it to ebb and flow and grow alongside me. There are some things you just can't force. And there are some things I'm just not willing to give away.
Butter My Bread
Oh...so many poor, lost souls
My baby, you really did not know?
When you eat toast with jam
As the sun rises in the east
Birds chirping and twittering
Flitting about
In the hedge of a Rhododendron
The slice of bread must always be warm and toasted
On both sides
And butter liberally applied
Upon the surface intended
For a deposit of Kerrygold
Land O’Lakes
Butter…
Then, and only then
May jam be spooned and slathered
Lathered, spread
Upon the surface of the bread
And my dear
Did you not hear?
Should you desire a special sort of toast
The type that is round as the rising sun
Bagel they do call it
It must also be toasted
Though only on the two interior surfaces
And cheese that has been creamed
Must be applied to both those surfaces
Before the addition of smoked salmon
Tomato, onion
Caper berries…perhaps a grind or two of black pepper
If you so choose.
If a breakfast that is cold
Is more to your liking
Perhaps a bowl of sweetened cereals
With milk of the bovine ilk
But be forewarned…
The cereal must enter the bowl dry
Before milk is lovingly poured from the pitcher
To cause it to crackle and rise to the rim
How else are you to know
Exactly how much milk the cereal requires?
Each mark is different
Corn pops, Cheerios, Crispix
Some take more, some take less
How reckless it would be
To serve a bowl of milk to the wayward traveler
Asking him to add cereals upon it!
My G-d they could drown!
Floating upon that cold sea
Helpless, soggy
Never able to fulfill their perfect destiny
Crunchy yet wet and milky sweet
Such a tragedy
Forgive them my Lord
They know not what they do…
Dragons
Many people think humans adopt dragons
But they’re wrong.
There is something crazily, insanely, terrifyingly powerful about dragons.
And there is something hauntingly forbidding about the fact that they might almost, exist.
The one thing I know about dragons is that they are protective of what they call home.
In tales they burn down villages to take their sheep and break into castles for the treasures they seek.
In truth, we don’t know any of this. Maybe dragons are the little lizards we find on the ground and nothing more.
But I do know, that there is something hauntingly forbidding about the fact that might, almost exist.
I know that they might not guard treasures or slaves, but something tells me they never left their grave.
That they are soaring above the clouds. Just out of reach, amidst thunder showers.
There is something so hauntingly forbidding that’s it’s almost real, about the fact that dragons might be real.
There are some things that prove us wrong. Like that no bones or fossils are ever found.
But, there’s something else like an itch in my brain, that we might almost, one day, see them again.