Daily Poetry Blog

I met my closest friend 25 years ago
At a “They Might Be Giants” Concert.

He stood out like a sore thumb
Among the crowd because his appearance
Resembled that of an extraterrestrial
With a lanky gaunt body and an
Unusually large head,

Which housed a rather
Brilliant Cranium.

It became apparent to me
After meeting him several times that
He was one of the strangest and most
Eccentric individuals I
Ever met,

So we immediately became friends.

He enjoyed collecting things
From an early age and had
All sorts oddities scattered
Around his house

Including a life size
Han Solo in carbonite,

But it wasn’t until he started collecting
Magic the Gathering Cards that he
Found his true passion in life.

He was drunk on those things
And owned Thousands of them.

Eventually he ended up
Becoming the world’s most
Renowned expert on
Misprinted Magic Cards,

He even had his own
Misprint Youtube Channel with
Thousands of subscribers,

We would go to Gaming Conventions together
Gencon, Origins and others,

Him with his briefcase of Magic Cards
And me as his bodyguard
Because those cards he carried
Around with him were worth thousands
Of dollars.

We’d walk inside these large gaming conventions
And everyone would treat the guy like a
King and ask him
What cool crazy misprinted cards
He was carrying around with him.

I’d sit around and watch as he
Sold his Power Nine Alpha Lotus’s and
Timetwisters
To wealthy customers hooked on
This psychologically addictive game
With a crazed look in their eyes
Because all those geeks and nerds had to
“Collect Them All”
And get their fix on.

A while back we drove out
To meet a game designer
Where he made the
“Deal of a Lifetime”

And we drove out of
That joint with
A Quarter Million in
Cardboard Crack.

Keith the Misprint Guy,
Loyal Friend of mine
Drug lord of the modern age,
The El Chapo
Of Nerds
And a great icon
In the gaming world.

20 years ago
I had no place to call home
And was “Filth on the street”.

People would walk by
Not understanding
Why
A young man so seemingly
Vibrant could end up
With no place of his own.

Much later
I would find myself employed
With my own domicile
A seemingly impossible task.

Now I
See the so-called
“Vagrants” on the street as
Former shadows of myself
“What could have been”
I see myself
In each of them.

Over the years this
City has evolved
From a place of
Homogeneity and
Censorship
Into an eclectic blend of
People of all types and
Backgrounds.

You change neighborhoods
And it’s
A whole new people
A whole new mentality,
From the Hipsters of Northside
To the Homeboys of West Side to
The Business Types of Hyde Park and
The Artists of OTR.

Sometimes we have
Big City transplants
Arrive here from
San Francisco and New York City,
Excommunicated from these
Mega Cities because
They aren’t tied into
A mega-corporation
And they don’t want to sell all their
Precious time to
The Man.

They want to make art and love and
Drink and Dine and
LIVE
Because their time is too precious a
Commodity to waste on
Rent money and overpriced
Coffee

Now that the pandemic is dying down
I’ve been talking with a lot of
Various people who seem to be
In agreement that Covid is the
Worst thing that’s ever happened
To them,

And I can’t help but think
That Covid-19 isn’t even
On my “Top 3 List” of
Awful things.

Don’t get me wrong,
The pandemic was
Different for everyone.

For some people it was
100 hundred times worse than
Others,

Especially those who were damaged
As a result of the virus,
But personally
Covid didn’t seem that awful.

Perhaps my introverted nature and
Disdain for humanity gave me an
Advantage during the pandemic.

Perhaps the extreme nature of
Past tragedies and my
Familiarity with my own mortality
Dulled the blow of the virus.

After surviving two
Medical catastrophes
Both of which should have left me
Either insane or dead,

Covid feels a bit more
Like a speed bump.

Three floors of books located in
Downtown Cincinnati
On Main Street
Filled to the brim with thoughts and
Knowledge.

Shelf after shelf
Page after page
Of words and letters
In various combinations

Expressing thoughts and
Exploring ideas.

One can spend days there
In a trance
Mesmerized
By the various
Books to be found.

Immortals speaking to us
From the other side ready
To be discovered again.

My anger towards Mental Health
Services has been a bag of
Bricks weighing my poetry down
For the last 10 years.

It’s time to cut the string
And let my poetry soar.

I’ve decided to work on my
Anger problems and
Not let it
Infect my writing.

10 Years is too long
To hold a grudge
Against disability services
So I’ve decided to leave
The past in the past
And concentrate on the
Future.

The sun will shine brighter
On those who no longer dwell
On past wrongdoings.

Ever since I was brought back
From a psychotic frame of my mind
By my Psychiatrist
Fifteen Years ago
There has been this intense
Rage in my heart and soul,

It contaminates my poems from
Time to time

I write things in a state of rage
Only to delete them days
Later

Maybe I should wait
And mull over my poems
Before publishing them…

I fell apart into
A thousand pieces
Twenty years ago
And it’s taken almost that long to
Sew myself back together.

Piece by piece

Part by part

Brainwaves being rerouted
Into their proper places and
Neurons being soothed into
A serene state of being through

Medication
Exercise
Diet and
An honest job.

It’s been a
Monumental task
That exhibits how
Self improvement is
An endeavor worth pursuing
For even the most flawed
Human being.

I got my first covid vaccination
A few weeks ago,

And I feel…

Bliss.

For a year now I’ve dodged that
Virus through mask wearing
And hand washing.

I’ve been coughed and sneezed
On at work countless times by
Careless individuals,

But alas luck and science
Have triumphed and I now
Live my life
Undamaged by the
Virus

Other than a rather
Boring year spent on
Self-reflection.

Delivering food during Covid
As a courier
I saw a lot of ambulances
Everywhere,

Unseen
Behind their metallic walls
Covid patients were
Gasping for breathe.

It makes you realize how
Cruel and uneven
The world is

A disease that
Targets the elderly and
Disabled,

And leaves the young
And healthy untouched.

I’m still in my forties
And have taken to task
The job of delivering food
To those
Who dare not step outside.

I go from place to place
Watching the destruction
Around me;

Sirens blaring
People scared
Driving here
Driving there
Picking up food
Delivering it to empty
Doorsteps

Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.

Though I have not
Been psychotic
For years

Though I currently
Am Employed
With a Job

Though my rationality
Has increased

Though my pocketbooks
Are more full

Though my mind
Has mended

Though I can almost pass
As “Normal”

Their are
Still scars from
When I was
Insane.

Phantoms from my past.

I feel distant
And detached,

Not from Reality
As I once was,

But from people.

I have grown cold
And numb
To their presence

People feel
Foreign and
Far off in a distant land,

Where the normals
Reside

Doing normal things
With normal worries
And normal values.

Their patterns
Predictable and
Benign.

Their experiences
Mostly
Common.

When you have
Tread a
Different path

And charted off
Into forbidden
Waters

You see
Strange things,
Phantoms and
Monsters,

From unseen lands

And the demons
From these places
Have followed me home.

And though I
No longer
Believe in them

They have forever
Changed me
And still
Contaminate
My memories

Making me feel like
A stranger
In a foreign world
And giving me
Nightmares.

Memories
From a real life
Horror Show,

That I have
Found impossible
To forget.

I’ve been called a Commie
Before
But the truth is that
I think of myself as
A Henry David Thoreau
Follower.

The idea that
Equality and justice
Can be achieved solely
Through the redistribution
Of wealth,

Is a farce
In my opinion.

The reason being that
Most poverty
Exists outside of the
Human Eye,

Inside the immaterial
Realm.

Spiritual
Health and
Mental
Poverty can be

More hellish
Than you
Can imagine.

I am no MLK or Gandhi
Or leader or saint.

I am no model of
Chivalry or virtue,

And I am definitely
Not a therapist
Or harbinger of
Hope.

Poetry
For me is a
Selfish endeavor.

I do it because I
Love it
And because
I am addicted to it.

If my words have brought
You comfort or hope
Then I am happy for you…
But I do it
For myself.

I am in love with
The attention
The fame
The adoration
The power of persuasion
The power of expression
The power of manipulation

If you are looking for
Moral leadership
Then you best look
Elsewhere,

But be wary
Most of the self described
“Do-Gooders” and “Saints”
I’ve met
Are actually wolves in
Sheep’s clothing

Hanging out at coffee shops
On a Saturday night during a
Pandemic might sound like
Russian Roulette for some people

But when you have lived in the hell
Called “Psychosis”
A deadly virus sounds like
A walk in the park.

I’m sitting in a crowded coffee shop
Filled with college students
Who don’t give a damn
About this pandemic
And I can almost touch the Covid
In the air.

After a year of distancing and
Driving myself insane through
Self isolation I decided to
Live life again
Write poetry and

Let God decide
The rest.

When you lose a
Hundred and Twenty pounds
You start to notice small
Changes in your life
Like

Winks and smiles
That weren’t there before
From pretty gals who never
Knew you existed.

People start to notice who
The hell you are
When you walk in the
Door

And that you
Aren’t just some
Large mass
Occupying an empty space,

That you are an
Actual person.

Then you realize that
All the Quest Bars and
Low Calorie Smoothies,

And all the long Trails
That you hiked on
Mile after mile

Where worth
Every damn minute.

Nothing symbolizes
Political Crackpots and
2020 misinformation
Better than
The Qanon Shaman.

This supporter and
Conspiracy theorist
Stormed the Capitol
Building
On January 6th 2021,

Covered in Red, White and Blue
Face paint,
Dressed in a Horned Buffalo Costume
And waving
The American Flag.

He posed for the cameras
As he went about desecrating
A vessel of Democracy
For all the world to see,

And risked his life for
Baseless internet
Buffooneries.

After he
Is released from prison
He will forever be infamous as

The Qanon Shaman.

A so called “patriot”
In the age of insanity

A little over a year ago I was
Told I would likely die
From an inoperable hernia.

Instead of “Giving Up”
I ate protein shakes
Quest bars and walked
An hour or two every day
For 16 months.

I lost 115 lbs,

Enough weight so
That the Doctors
Would attempt to
Operate on me.

The day of reckoning
Arrived
Last week,

After a year of
Hard and arduous
Work.

I showed up at
The hospital early
And went
To the pre-op room
Where I placed myself on a gurney
So that the nurses could
Shave
My abdomen.

I made small talk about
My recent vacation
To help calm
My nerves as
They fed me pills and
Antibiotics through an
IV.

Above my bed was a cross
And I started humming hymns
In a drug induced stupor
As I drifted in and out
Of consciousness.

Eventually they rolled me into
The cutting room
Where I found
A dozen or so
Highly trained
Surgeons.

I gave them a thumbs up
And thanked them,
As they placed a mask
Over my face
And then
Darkness.

I woke up in
Blood soaked
Abdominal wrappings
And was told that
The surgery had gone
Remarkably well.

Three days later I was still
Taking Oxycodone
Tylenol, Ibuprofen
Muscle relaxers and
Nova-cane,

And am thankful
That I am alive
And will one day
Be fully recovered.

 

I remember taking a cryptography course
Back in 2000
And the professor spoke of various
Algorithms used to scramble
Information and keep our data
Private
On the internet.

These algorithms
When utilized properly are
Considered
Unbreakable,

But can be
Circumnavigated
Using backdoors.

Years later
A computer analyst
Named Edward Snowden
Came forward with thousands
Of classified documents
About government
Surveillance.

We now realize
That all of our online activities
Are being monitored
And analyzed by
NSA Supercomputers.

Our privacy is
An illusion.

Its enough to make
The most sane
Person
Paranoid.

It ends up
That
They really are
Watching us
After all.