come one–come all–come and check it out!

weird’s a word

of connotation,

an abstract term

that needs translation,

its complex construct

denotation,

the subject of

today’s narration.

it’s kinky, sure,

and kooky, too,

a frizzy, dizzy

loosened screw,

an awesome, haunting

world view,

eschewing ghost,

but full of “boo”.

mysterious–

its meaning’s mount,

fantastic, yes,

and flung far out,

so magical,

it’s hard to count!

To annotate, and

much less tout.

exceptional

as weird can be,

expressing

extra’

ordinary,

its rubric trick

–unusually—

uncarves stone

–and block—

–and tree.

So if you find

you fit description,

of this uncommon,

definition,

rejoice your voice

defies prediction,

and shout about

your rare

condition.

©Karen Robiscoe

 
the art on my Wall

is tilted…

pleasantly motif’ed
 
 
–sometimes profoundly

–sometimes humorously

–always admonishing but

tilted and

the windchime at Window

tossed about by hot air is

Pavlovian bell…

disjointing and drowning

the hum of a

million conversations.

my desktop is cluttered.

piled high with

hoarded junk where

rodents have free rein

negotiating a maze

to cheese-free ends while

the stream just inside

crashes against wall

(the fourth wall)

silently and

unceasingly

–creating incessant babble—

all the same…

 
emotions are the electron of the psyche

they can be in two places at once

like it/hate it—it’s true

and in that sense are hard to harness–
 
 

let alone .pin down.

–cell-mates be damned, these

doppelgangers drop all kind’a dimes

divvied as ante while

desire deals

&

dread fans cards—

sometimes rummy, sometimes fish, sometimes war

love & loathing load pendulum

that’s no metronome, but ticks all the same

glad for the tide

but glum about waves

even Schroedinger’s

these charged quick-change artists

are anything but still, take for example:

feelings

they reflex and react all over the place, knee jerk style

and you’ve only to look at the word eMotion:

eLectronic

to see movement takes place…

I’d give thanks,

if in my bank,

the funds were made of time…

No more lament,

of days ill spent,

all loans repaid at prime.

Yes, glad I’d be,

if money tree,

was seeded past and present…

with futures phat,

returning that–

I’m king instead of peasant.

I’d then increase,

my inner peace,

investing self per diem…

with kindly acts,

no tit for tax,

no tithe to cryptic scheme.

Just har-mony,

e•ter•nally

enriching all I see…

I’d stock unsold,

this wealth like gold,

bestowing shares for free.

With that accrued,

I’d pursue, too,

another purse to ration…

the love inside,

all humankind,

is thing I’d view as cash–

–and let it rain,

on IRE or pain,

un-til the bleeding masses…

were healed in heart,

alight from dark,

by payday love advances.

©Karen Robiscoe

prompt: unlimited funds