It's that time of year again, The Sketchbook Project deadline has come and gone and I have parted with yet another sketchbook after hours of planning and hours of making...this year I melded my painting process with one of my poems...it's a bright yellow mini-tome, a bittersweet creation...yet,
I had so much fun doing it! I really needed this burst of creativity during these cold months...
|I dedicated this one for my one dog named Max...what can I say? I miss him...|
I am vexed. It is all commonplace at first glance—
as it should be—
The sky is blue—
or gray, depending on the weather—
there is snownow—grass will come later—
I could wake up screaming some times,
but I don’t.
Screaming solves nothing.
What will be—
will be. Indeed.
Where do I dare to look?
There or there. No—wait—
wait for it—maybe?
Ah, no, I’m wrong.
It’s a photograph of trauma—
the latest life drama
right there on the front page—
right there on the televisionand there on the latest gadget screen.
Where to look first?
Don’t look away.
Dang, it’s another train wreck of yet
blowing their wad—
constituted misery—making a mess for others to clean up.
So much loss happened long
before the aftermath.
Someone dropped the ball
between here and there.
Shit, they didn’t look both ways.
Don’t you know by now?
Stop – Look—Listen
for the two sides of the story.
Don’t you see? Can’t you see?
in keeping with the situation.
Running around putting out fires,
it’s all gone before you know it—before you knew you had it.
or you’ll miss it.
Just a moment—
a moment of being.
I wonder ‘how come’.
What the fuck, right?
Some days I feel like I’m running amarathon while standing still.
The cold Winter wind that lingers on
the Spring equinox breath
is disheartening. My feet are chilled, but
I’ll get over it—it
being such a small thing.There are worse things than cold feet.
Some are sure it’s just a phase we’re in—
The world is appalling to me—
I am vexed
by it all. Tired. Dead dog tired
of the latest ‘it’ thing.
It is—it was—it will be—
It and the many things ‘it’ is—
My head can just about pop off
my body from thinking—
listening to it all. Whose side are you on—
Right or left—
wrong or right.My country ‘tis of thee—
What happened to my sweet land of liberty?
Of thee I—
Of thee... See?
I can’t even sing the words—
my vexation runs deep.
So I chose to laugh at the way things are—
shake my head
in wonder of it all. Disbelief—
how come—how now,
dear old brown cow.
I hope to be safe
here on my acre of the world—
my home sweet home—
the one place I can call my own—
there are no guarantees of that either—
no matter what I do—
staying out of it while being in the middle of it all.No wonder I’m so vexed.
|I thought it would be interesting to add the definition of Vex, Vexed, and Vexation...|