NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 9 Catch-Up + April PAD Challenge Catch-Up Day 9 + April PAD Challenge Countdown Catch-Up Day 1: Time Leak

Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay

Well, Folks, truth be told, I was going to write
A meaningful poem about the never-ending
Cycle of reincarnation, life and life again
But then life caught up to me, you see
And ran me over like a vicious cycle
And there went that idea because
I couldn't remember what I was
Going to say, you see, and so
I thought I'd write a poem
Shaped like an hourglass
But I never could make
Any shape except 
diamonds or
words
flow
in
g
d
o
w
n

~cie~

NaPoWriMo: Write a concrete/shape poem. 

April PAD Challenge Day 9: 

Write an Ekphrastic poem. I was going to make an hourglass, but I suck at shape poems. So I just made a poem about time running out.

April PAD Count-Down Catch-Up Day 1: Write a cycle poem. Like the poem says, I was going to write about the cycle of reincarnation, but then time ran out. I'll probably still be trying to catch up with everything in my next life. At least I'm all done with the countdown catch-ups. Now I need to catch up, period!

OctPoWriMo 2019: Day 16: Harried to the Grave

Image by fancycrave1 from Pixabay

it does not matter

matter one measure if

if you measure your time

time on an Apple watch

watch your time on an old

old beat-up analog tick-tick 

tick-tick the sound

sound as time is running out

out of your wasting life

life where triumphs come

come slowly and don't seem

seem to stick around at all

all the while your life is wasting

wasting away fast as a wish

wish you would stop

stop giving away 

away all your me time

time to see time as

as a commodity time

time does not come free

free time does not align

align with being a successful

successful mess who never

never ever stops

stops to wind her old watch

watch time slip away 

away until one day 

day when there are

are no more days

days are numbered from the first

first moment you take a breath

breath that leads to death

death comes for us all

all of us must fall

fall back into the time

time when time didn't matter 

matter meant nothing

nothing meant anything

anything was possible

possible dreams

dreams become schemes

schemes become obsession

obsession consumes life

life becomes lie

lie down and die

die and become

become as you were before earth

earth before your birth 

birth

earth

~Cie~

Note:

I was always one of those "I'll sleep when I'm dead" kinds of people. I worked long hours at physically taxing jobs. I worked long weeks filled with long hours. I was proud of being able to push myself well past the limits. 

My diabetes got worse, I had a small stroke, and I had a severe injury to the median nerve in my left arm. My ability to work long hours at physically difficult jobs was gone forever. At the point when I had a small stroke, I was fired from my job as a home health nurse.

I live with fairly frequent suicide ideation, but the actual planning levels are pretty low as a rule. After I was fired, I started making plans to commit suicide because I felt like the world's worst fuck-up, like without my job I was nothing. 

This is not going to be one of those "oh, but I'm so glad I didn't because I found God, got down to a single-digit pants size, somehow started looking half my age, married GQ Cover Model Guy, and now my life is a Hallmark Channel movie" stories. 

Nah.

Still a crabby, fat, romanceless, agnostic, middle-aged, broke-ass curmudgeon. Still would be homeless if it wasn't for my son's kindness. 

But I am glad I didn't commit suicide because if I had I wouldn't have been able to help my son get this house, and I wouldn't have found me.

Me is kind of an asshole, but we're on better terms these days now that I've had the time to get to know her a little.

Also, I have a feeling that sometimes those Hallmark Channel happy crappy stories about pretty people hooking up and living happily ever after might even make some people depressed. Like, you know, me. I think some people may need to know that an old crabby fat bitch learned that old, crabby, fat bitches have something to offer too without changing one fucking thing about themselves.

Concepts: The Passage of Time