It’s in us,
Powers,
We have them,
Natural, organic,
They are there
Waiting to be found,
Actualized, reclaimed.

We need to bring them back,
Kindness,
Hardwork,
Toughness,
Adventurousness,
Honesty, and integrity

We need to believe in us,
Our abilities,
Not sham politicians,
Self-aggrandizing celebrites,
Faux faith leaders.
It’s within us,
Everyone.

Can it get any worse,
The pulling of the purse?

Could it be the orange one lies
All the while hosting foreign spies?

Why can’t his supporters understand
His hypocritical fellatio as also ran

Or are they sucking up so much of his crap
That they’re buying his dance on their laps?

Please let this end, the disaster that is now
Before China joins Russia in owning a presidential sow.

Ambition,
Good or bad?
Career direction,
Rat race,
Get ahead,
Big house,
Big bills,
Crowded social card,

Eff all that.

Ambition,
Good or bad?
Secure,
Challenged,
Safe,
Able,
Comfortable with people I’m around.

True dat.

I’m old,
Not so much so
That I don’t have ambition,
But on this day
When the rumor got around
That I was being considered for a job
I would never interview for,
I got a burr,
One that was angry,
Potentially burning dirty,
Flaming across the fields of whatever plain
I work on,
And then I remembered,

Eff that.

That’s all I said,
Because the career thing
Is something I’m over,
Work is work, I’m as high as I want to be.
I’m more in touch with the base of my brain,
Wanting challenge, accepting things,
Not interested in other people’s perception
Of what humans are supposed to be,
Unless that means human,
Not artificially stimulated by this substance,
That possession, tradition, political affiliation.
I’d rather see what happens
On a long run,
Experience the gratification of expression
Through writing, or the peace during
A quiet meditation.

True dat.

Reading about cold abilities
As my warm seeking sensibilities
Offer little in the way
Of winter adventure motivation.
Later today, I will run
Without the threat of hypothermia
Although, extra weight in the ruck
Will be a good indoor substitute.

Be it therapy
Or be it intoxication,
I don’t know,
But my need to connect things
Gets out of control sometimes.
Each run, each class, each experience
Always seems to have a connection
To something else.

It’s a little ridiculous,
I’ll admit.

Take a run through the slice,
Not the soft drink that my old basketball friend
And a one-time professional player,
Used to mix with his popular Irish stout
To make one or the other go down easier
Which has nothing to do with the bar,
Literally and figuratively around the corner
From my dorm,
No, slice, slushy-ice,
Left on the roads to make for another fake emergency
Causing a little more of our collective human soul
To be sapped
Much in the same way
Cutting Guinness with carbonated sugar water
Steals from the rooster fries, aka Rocky Mountain Oysters,
Balls, Testicles, okay, got it?
No, slice, the stuff we should be tempting and taunting
Because we are meant to survive and to challenge comfort
Even if it means going slowly and complaining the whole way.

Granted, there’s a lot there,
And it’s all ridiculous.

Necessary, too.

Necessary, because sometimes llamas push and pull,
Dogs bark too loudly under the spot of headlights,
And only God knows what happens with chickens in the U
After parties where the consumption goes beyond acting
“Your age and not your shoe size.”
The lesson being that getting older does not have to mean
Adolescence or the college years resurface
Because restraint and maturity are okay,
Just so long as the senior years don’t restrict the development
Of marginal Philadelphia up and coming (llamas?) suburban cities.

You see, running should be fun,
Toiling away
Under the guise of athletic improvement
Might be the deal for some, and I understand,
Why run if you’re not getting better at something,
Especially in the crap that Mother Nature left this morning,
Why can’t she make up her mind,
Snow or rain, not both.
I’ve come to think that the running is more than physical,
The chuckleheads (typed with affection) who keep me going
Might be surprised to know
That my running is about more than the time or distance,
It’s about the connections,
The observations, like why do certain cultures
Run in the fast lane on the track,
But go slowly,
I’m not trying to start a new hashtag thing,
Because as a middle-aged white guy, I am a stereotype, too…

Nope, running brings together all sorts,
Finance, mechanics, security, so many different professions
Are in our group,
That it’s amazing.
We even have a blueberry coat wearing triathlete,
A former spin teaching water polo playing fitness bain of lifeguards,
And me, a guy drawing energy from them all
To make sure that ice, snow, rain, hills, mud, and mostly me
Don’t become an excuse
To become a two-hour delay,
Living in fear,
Afraid of struggle
Who would rather sit life out
Instead of trying battle ropes for the first time.

Ah, the connections,
Vape on those for a while,
Afterwards, destroy the lane markers,
They are nothing but bars stretched across
Open water to make like easier
For some territorial mofo
Who doesn’t have to worry about legs that sink,
Contact lists that get shredded in the laundry,
Or hydroponic farming neighbors.

It was a good one this morning,
Thanks.

portrait of dog
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Snow came down hard,
A couple of inches had already fallen,
Choices had to be made,
To risk the roads
For five at five
Or keep it safe
Under the comfort of modern living.

Who could judge either decision?
To submit to creature comforts
Being the more logical way,
But getting into the fray
Has a romantic and adventuresome appeal.
Neither choice matters much
As the snow falls either way.

Living as a prospective knuckle dragger
Allowed the snow to draw me out of a deep sleep.
Visibility was low,
Plows were just warming up,
Their lights reflecting off the white curtain
Giving my small town
A big city neon feel.

Running in the snow is awesome.
It’s quiet, except for the crunch,
The rustling of my coat, and
A rooster who announces each morning with gusto.
Everything slows in the snow,
Pace, breathing, expectation,
Leaving a mind free to appreciate what is happening.

The wind blows the fresh undisturbed sidewalk snow
Painting a scene that Bob Ross would be proud of,
Brush strokes creating the same look of sand at the beach
That makes for beautiful abstractions.
The sidewalks share their unevenness
Like snow-capped mountains.
The conditions create an aesthetic, mindfulness.

Getting out there is great,
Too often I think I’ve avoided adventure,
Missing out on a bucket full of experiences.
With this group,
At this time,
I know I have to get out there
Seeing all that I missed, appreciating it all.