Little did I suspect that seeming normal morning,
That sunny summer I awoke, or is it still a nightmare?
In my nightclothes I pop into my desk chair thinking nothing,
Doing my normal routine: coffee steaming, weather report to tell me what’s going on outside my window, contemplating what sort of day I’ll have, whether I should return to my recliner and sleep the morning and solve one question on my mind. When suddenly I find , below the pile on bills and correspondence, correspondence about bills, I discover a pile of envelopes, official looking,window peeking, long envelopes. Some had FROM then lines as if the receiver knew from whom the letter came, open it or throw it away, Some are pre-stamped. Some politely tell me to PLACE STAMP HERE, as if I was new to the routine. I never thought of it but many there are some pre-comatose people out there who would put the stamp on the flap.- inside! I start to match the said missives with their carriers, no window for this one and this one only sends it back to me, window for that letter matches! but I still haven’t made a check! Wow! I’m in luck. This envelope is already addressed. But I can’t find a letter.Oh, well! I’ll just put these unmatched letters with the unmatched envelopes and work it out tomorrow. I promised you something was alive. Well, over night the evil envelopes must have done the terrible deed and this morning there are more than ever! They ARE ALIVE and threaten to drown me in my sleep. Or maybe I’ll find myself in a manilla envelope!



Too many papers on my desk,
Too many heartaches in my chest.
Sleepless nights and phony laughs,
Twists my selfies to fool the mass.

Boundless rain tears earth away,
But is tame amongst my tears.
Endless days are sacked so high,
Stacks of troubles to the sky!

An end is always out of reach.
My fingers feel the claws.
“Fear not,” I’m told by those that don’t know!
“Be at peace within the soul.”
I can only hope between the tears, that Hope is really there.



The hordes are at the gates!
Scaling walls, probing unlocked doors,
While on the streets and in the shops,
While complacency melts away the fear.
Myopic eyes colors line drawings,
And sips the wine so cleverly poisoned.

~JasperSay’s: Age old questions about a men doing laundry:


1. When I put T-shirts in the washer, why are most turned inside out when I go to fold them? Even if I start out turning them inside out, they stay that way.

2. Why can’t men fold fitted sheets?

3. Will forgotten car keys hurt my milage?

4. I need something to calm me down after wash day. Which is better, gin or joint? Would it be better if I do them before?

5. Can I use bleach on the dogs?

Any comments would be appreciated!


If Congress were robots,

  1. Who would change the batteries?

2. Who are their constituents”
A. gas station pumps, (sponsers- big oil)
B. home appliances, (heavy industry)
C. computers, (Intel)
D. autos, (Teamsters)

The people would be ignored. Actually, everything would be the same.



My poems are much like olive oil,
Or symphonies unfinished.
They’re much like any mold and spoil,
And not altogether unblemished!

Olive oil’s replaced by Blue Emu,
Symphonies are slow Blue Danube.
The mold has long crawled away,
But still poems remain impaired.

Pain now rules arthritic fingers,
Emotions tether the brain.
I now prefer the things that could have been,
To scary things that are.

( The first stanza was written in College, 1964.
Stanzas two & three were written in 2017.)



I’m a fool, and have fooled many.
But worse I’ve fooled myself!
As to how I stand in strain of me.

The mirror’s blank I pause before,
Reflecting only pulse: suggesting life,
Perhaps a little mist, no more!

“I do not belong,” I cry.
A tear rolls down the glass.
From inside worlds it manifests.

Am I that false; do I exist?
Does not my breath reflect too.
Or is it foolish rhetoric,
From fools for fools to see?