Balanced on my bench
Swaying like a cobra
Unsure if I am awake or asleep
When a neurological quake
Hits my system and I sit up
Straight and still.
Was I nodding out?
Was I in a deep state?
Can’t tell, but it was good.

Prison,
School,
Cubicle,
Assembly line,
Whatever,
The institutionalized boredom
Saps all caring from an individual
Leaving them a tapped out breast
Expressing toxic milk.

Not sure what that means
Because I’ve been teaching about stuff
We were supposed to have learned
Already.
My attitude dragging,
My will fading,
My belief that I mean anything to my job
So distant that the Hubble couldn’t find it.

Boredom.

The days off
Might just be the best.
Work can drag a man down
But thank goodness for Sundays and rest.

So why not go for a long run
Watch a bunch of football
Sneak in a nap or two
Then wait for nightfall.

And work tomorrow.

Are changing priorities signs,
Signs that suggest apathy,
For all of the stuff left behind?

If so, is that all bad?

Today, with the resolutions starting,
I doubt all those weight loss armies
Are thinking it’s bad to be apathetic about gluttony.

And what’s wrong if they do?

The rub is that apathy is for real,
Not a word to be tossed around without caution,
Kind of like depressed and addicted.

See what I mean?

The words we choose have meaning,
Express yourself well and rest assured that
Priorities can change without apathy being the cause.

Cracking an almond between strong teeth
Brought out the best flavor,
Smokey, full, robust…
I love a trail mix desert at lunch,
Almonds, pecans, some seeds, and the sweetest raisins,
They are damn good, bringing a lightness to balance the almonds’ heft.
With just the right amount of coaxing from my tongue,
My cheeks and gums will give up one last bite.

Delicious.

New is the deal,
New car,
New house,
New friends,
New job,
New is where it’s at!

Better, though,
Is a new way of thinking,
Where simple is best,
Where effort matters,
Where the journey beats the stuff.
That’s a true new deal.

art background brick brick texture
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Funny how a day goes,
This one where I ran while
Thinking of taking the soul
Of the wall just past
The end of my treadmill.
I stared into the yellow stripe
Calling myself all sorts of names
When the running got tough,
Then, through some act of the endurance gods
I got a second wind,
Briefly thinking I could see deeper into the yellow,
Beyond what the cinder block was forming, far
Into that wall’s soul.
That’s when I took it, Goggins style, made it my own
And finished the run.

That moment of intensity
Is the joke right now.
I just finished finding my soul,
Sitting on my knees,
Eyes closed, and
Being open to whatever.
Thoughts ran across my mental theater
Staying just as long as it took
To acknowledge their presence.
The bios tell me my heart rate was low,
My watch tells me fifteen minutes passed,
My groove tells me I took good care of my soul
As the keys aren’t getting banged
And the words are massaging my simple quest with peace.
Funny how a day goes…

The Wood Brothers are playing,
I’m back in Williamsburg
In the heat of a swampy Tidewater day.

It’s raining outside,
A cool Pennsylvania New Year’s Eve rain
And that delta blues groove is drawing me in.

I could be sitting next to the James
With the wind blowing lightly,
The spirit of Carter’s Grove as conflicted as ever.

The land fit for a king,
Supported on the forced servitude of slaves,
Evolved into a sanctuary for me.

And The Wood Brothers are tapping into that energy
Sending my soul to that place where I care
The one where I wish I could wave my hands to erase history

The history of slavery,
The history of doubt,
The one where my head spins without reason.

Truth is those cool breezes spoke to me,
I knew they were telling me things could be better
For us, for me

That people could get along,
That I could be cool with me,
That New Year’s Eve could be sober.

Those breezes are still with me,
They blow a little stiffer now,
Especially, the warm one about caring and purpose

For I’m traveling,
With the energy of the new year,
And maybe I’ll wind up in Williamsburg for real, maybe not,

But one thing is sure,
I’m open to messages everywhere,
Apathy has no shot.