Tucked in and precise.
It is nice when uniformity is the norm.
No fire storm can come close
to creeping under something so close
to the mattress. My guess is it could be worse
than taking a turn for the nurse.

Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge – Day 4 – _____ Sheet


Fighting a battle often lost in the darkness
of a weary mind. There is no rest there.
Cursing the single candle lit to offer
its illumination; to infiltrate this
mental stagnation. Accursed slumber
why do you wage against my will?
Will you release me like the leaves
of October’s colorful flurry, left
to scatter in the cool winds from place
to place; a migration to discover the peace
that I crave. You have found me, October.
You have extended your lifeline in fine fashion,
a saving assist for one clamoring for control
over heart and soul,
over heart and mind.
I clutch your hand as I am flung over
the edge of reason. Your season is here.
You want me near, October, where I belong.
Anything else would be just wrong.


                Late summer in                  NY. A day like
                any other;  New                  Yorkers   loved
                days such as th                    ese.  The   sky
                was clear; the air                was crisp  and
                life went on as it                 usually did.Taxi
                cabs jammed in                  traffic, and some
                commuters were                too. Pedestrians
                on the pavement                heading to  their
                nine-to-5 enslave               ment. A sense of
                urgency had gone              unnoticed but that
                was business  as                  it usually was. Men
                and Women head               ed to work, or to
                drop the children               off at daycare. Today
                is September 11th              2001 and all is right
                with the world. The            sun rises, casting
                the Statue of Liberty          in  seductive  and
                glorious silhouette;             a shadowed sentinel
                set in the harbor to              greet all travelers to
                the “Land of the Free”.       Like those folks on
                that inbound jet and         others like it. It holds
  the hopes and dreams of all aboard, as it does for all below. The airplane’s
 shadow is cast ominously across the expanse of concrete, metal and glass;
a close pass to the constructed mountains above. Most unusual on this usual
day. Nothing changes on usual days. Usually, but not today late summer in NY.


Masses with their packages
Christmas cards galore,
Simple folk who pick and poke
on the bargain basement floor,
Holiday music fills the airways,
Jingle peace in a midnight Santa manger,
people couldn’t act any stranger
than they usually do, but
it’s Christmastime, and
anything is possible.
There is no time to stand in line,
but lines still do overflow,
especially on this Monday,
ten days before “the show”
Sending packages to Aunt Flo,
cards to cousin Mary Jo,
certificates to I don’t know,
and miles to weep before I go.
A Postal Inspector at wits end,
stamping, pasting, weighing
waiting for the end of day,
heading home in a one horse open sleigh,
torn between showing for work
for more of this madness tomorrow,
or hitting the roof with the
Magnum. “Merry Christmas this!”
punctuated by ricochet sounds
and the fluff of large snowflakes
and body count hitting the pavement.
But, suppressing a sneer,
he’ll be right here to guide you,
getting your presents there on time.
But over at UPS, “Going Parcel”
will be a real certainty.