Early Awakening

Sleep will come,
And sleep will go,
But mother please
Don’t make it so,
With your early alarms
And wanderings for tea,
Letting them go off
To awaken me
With a repetitive tone
That has no end,
Subliminally hinting
That sleep’s no friend.
That might be so,
And if it’s bound to be,
I’ll defend my hours
Of unfriendly sleep,
Until it comes that I must go
And always without morning glee,
With a mood that needs a mend,
And dangerous thoughts inside of me.

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Focus

I can’t force my focus
Like a lens on a camera.
It comes and goes
In a flash
And I’m left waiting
To capture the moment again.

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Homecoming

The countdown has started,
I wait by my phone,
For the message to come
That you’re finally home,

So that we can unite
Like we used to, before,
Over coffee, my friend,
Whom I always adore.

Homecoming is happening,
It’s oh-so-close,
After way too long
Of missing you most.

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Nothing Like It

There’s nothing like waking to a screaming baby,
The same one who says your name with delight,
Or crawls over to you to speak some gibberish,
Or who sits in your lap to break wind,  mid-play.
Your whole body springs to life, ears splitting,
And you want to be annoyed, except for that time,
You know, when she ran to you for comfort,
Or tried to share get crackers and water,
Or sang along to your favourite song, the first one she loved.
There’s nothing like any of it,
And that makes it okay.

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Life Through the Lens

The focus will never be on everything,
And the lighting won’t always be perfect,
It may not always be what you want,
And will doubtfully be what you need,
But here’s the kicker:

Life through the lens is powerful.
An object of my desire is my everything,
Whether it’s dim or brilliant,
And whether the feelings are mutual.
I choose my focus.

It is mine to desire,
The memory mine to keep,
The reality of it distorted,
But it is my truth,
Framed by the limited of life through the lens.

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How to Adult

Trust me when I say this:
Being an adult is fucking hard.
There are no easy answers.
Everyone just plays their part,
The bin man, the tax man, the mail man,
The green grocer, the teacher,
The builder, the electrician,
The servant, the preacher,
Whatever their gifts,
And whatever their roles,
Whether it’s life affirming
Or destroying their souls,
Because they have to.
They have to pretend,
To husbands and wives,
Children and friends,
That they’ve got it under control,
That their dreams haven’t gone to pulp,,
Because the truth is simple:
No one is born who knows how to adult.

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A Semi-Final Plea

I’ve been thinking about the times
When we said we would meet,
For a simple cup of coffee
Or for something to eat,
And how it’s been so long
Since we even last spoke,
And I worry if I call that
I’ll be bound to choke.
That, and the cost, which
I, of course, must pay
Every time we speak, to
Keep the silence away,
Something that’s worth it
To hear your little tales;
Please, don’t say no, lest
This old ship will sail.
We have one more chance
Before all of this ends,
And a dozen or more
To try make amends.
Just answer affirmative
To my frequent pleas
For coffee or food
Or a small cup of tea.

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Click

Hide behind your lens
And your flash
And click your grand visions,
If they are all click you have,
If they click click are everything.
If I click mean… click
Nothing.
Forget it. click
Forget I brought it up. click
click
Forget about it, I said. click
click
click
Just… get my good side.
click
Like this never… click

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Requisition of the Recognition of the State Exam

In three hours or less you are required,
In accordance with tradition,
To produce a lengthy manuscript
Of material beyond recognition
About topics you once studied
Too long ago to mention,
Based on continuous lessons
As that was our intention.
You will be marked accordingly,
Despite our ludicrous admission,
That remembering this all perfectly
Might require a new rendition
Of facts and figures from you studies,
Assuming you will not suffer contrition
From certain dubious acts of fraud.
To this there is an addition
That failure is guaranteed
For flaws or for omission
Of work of important details.
We await, patiently, your exhibition.
Begin.

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‘i before e’

Can you weigh in on this
Ancient custom of feigned
Linguistic logic herein
Voided and outweighed
By more weird exceptions
Than primarily fancied?
The leisure of language
For society is neither
Easy nor sufficient
To explain the inefficiencies
Of rules deigned to make
Communication with our species
Less plebeian and more scientific
In neighbourly nature.
Either we avoid useless rules
As we discard old deities,
Or we unveil the truth,
That we are heirs to a system
Of failing surveillance.
We must end the reign
Of the surfeit ‘i before e’,
In all good linguistic conscience.

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