wow when one begins the chopping of prose, man it’s hard to stop-stop-stop-chop-chop-chop

The casual years. Those he recalled
because he could recall a few
and he was glad he had those few for his
recollection because he could use
what he could recollect for the instruction
to the system that got installed but those born
there didn’t know exactly what to do
with all the machinery; machine
operators deep within waiting
for instructions and trying to get the message
to them to not get too worked up over

too many things; not to worry about
what went on outside themselves, just keep
their eyes on the gears and the wheels
and the belts; keep things moving but no need
to rush – be the river that languidly
rolls or slides instead of the fast
and tumbling so a mind couldn’t meditate
on the serene painting being painted
by sunlight and shadows. Every time
he remembered to do that, to get that message
to them and to handle the reminders

in person, it was like a homecoming
for he knew it was his real home. Always was.
As much a home as a home which front porch
waits for a decade for the adventurer
to return and maybe apply a coat
of paint here and there and do something
about the multitude of sparrows
who’d overdeveloped a few eaves;
and the gutters might be full of oak leaves.
Still the work would be casual
and sensorial causes

for getting out there to commune
with those tangible and intangible
attributes. Casual was home
and he was at home in casual
attire so it wouldn’t matter if he’d hole
in his turret – it’s what he fancied,
fancied his pad a turret. If he’d head
down the road; if he visited
a foreign city; as long as he
could maintain the casual air
about and around, yes, he called it home.

Well forces exist that are opposed
to the casual. They lurk behind walls.
They fill gaps where sunny oranges
dance and make merry because merriment
no matter how wide her canvas or how
roomy her tent promises to be,
and no matter how inviting her flaps

to her tent promise hospitable
hostess experiences. These forces
get pleasure when stirring up peace;
when contention can be created;
messing up peace and easy sex
prevails. It so happened that
a revitalized force had taken shape

in a realm unseen by most all people
except those few who were recruited
and who buckled to the pressures to take
an oath of secrecy until they’d gained
enough followers and could step forth
in unveiling their plans without
fearing failure or reprisal.

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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