On music in your head

You can always tell your mood,
By the songs playing in your head,
They are always there even if,
You tune them out all day.
 
They might be contemplative,
Or fun, loud and jazzy
They might just be dull and hazy,
or slow, melodic and operatic.
 
However they are played,
They try to comfort in some way,
By reaching out from within,
Connecting heart, and soul, and brain.
 
So take a moment of your day,
And check out what's playing there,
If you don't like what you hear back,
Just turn the nob and change the track.
 
 

On feeling sick

I hate feeling sick,

I was brought up that way,

So feeling bad just makes me real mad,

And also quite gloomy all day.
 
When I was young,
My mom used to say,
"If you can stand, you must understand,
That you are going to school today."
 
And my father would,
When sick work away,
And go to the kitchen to micro some chicken,
for we had to eat some food that day.
 
So I feel as if,
When sick, I can't stay,
thrown on a couch like a lazy ol' slouch,
For there is much to do on this day!
 

To kind mothers of all kinds.

To all mother's out there,who we must cherish everyday,
I salute them now and here,
For they are our love most dear.

They gave and taught us life,
They bound our scrapes of flesh and heart,
They told us what we mustn't do,
And scold us when we did those too.

And when they, absent, were,
Another sometimes took their place,
Who might not have brought us in their womb,
But who loved us deep and true.

For there are mothers of all kinds,
Some who have never had a child,
Some who reared someone else's young,
Some who took in those alone.

So I salute you all,
The ones who carried us form the start,
The ones who took us after a while,
The ones who substituted in time of need,
The ones who taught us: "do good deeds",
The ones who loved us all along,
The ones who waited for us to come home,
The ones who worried when we were sick,
The ones who made our meals so quick,
The ones who shared our joy and tears,
The ones who washed away our fears.

To all of you,
Mothers of the world.
We love you all.

On showers

What is it about showers,
That clean you outside and in,
that make your pores and mind clear,
While under its cleansing stream?
 
It's as if it de-webs your thoughts,
That were snared through sleep or work,
And fires up a second wind,
To limbs that were shot from wear.
 
Do showers declog debris,
That blocked the flow of activity,
Of consciousness and creativity,
That might have existed in your hair?
 
Or do they activate a vestigial response,
Left by an ancient flood,
That wiped this earth clean,
Some ages ago?
 
Or could they just trigger a salute,
To the element from which,
We rose to explore the land,
Some eons ago?
 
I dare say I don't know,
The answers to all this things,
But I'll see the questions clearer,
when I'm in my shower's stream.
 

There are so many things to be thankful for.

There are so many things,
To be thankful for,
For another day,
For time to play,
For a little smile on your face.
 
It does not matter who you thank,
Or what,
It just matters to realize,
That you are fortunate to have had,
very special moments here,
And cherish that.
 
How many people don't you see,
That go through life as if,
Nothing's good or right,
And just mumble how'd they wish,
It would all just change,
So they can smile.
 
Yet while they sit morose,
A million flower buds blossom,
A child stares at clouds and laughs,
And birds chirp up in trees,
But they do not look or see,
The wonders that round them are,
Or that while they mellow in the dark,
A loved one holds their hand.
 
There are so many things,
To be thankful for,
A silent kiss,
A sudden hug,
A look that says: "it's you I love."
A slight caress,
A wink,
A song,
A note that says: "I luv you lots."
There are so many things,
To be thankful for.
And I am.

Of all.
 
Thank you.
 

Smile, laugh, breathe and live

Grab a smile for breakfast today,
It goes great with cheese and bread,
And has that lingering effect,
That keeps you up all day.
 
When getting ready for your week,
Stretch out that wrinkled brow,
Release that terse frown,
Unclench that firm jaw,
And have a laugh or two at least,
For there is a huge possibility,
That this week will be great.
 
Now let your heart relax,
When you figure out your month,
Breathe in a lungfull of air,
Keep it a few seconds there,
Then exhale it slow and soft,
And feel your worries leave as well,
For this month will be the best.
 
So when you look ahead at your year,
Why would you worry at all?
Look at your days, and weeks, and months,
They have all been grand.
So why would your year be bland,
Or even buck that trend?
It is more likely instead,
That your year will be a blast.
 
And now consider the rest of your life...

Cleaning my drive

At times, I feel under resourced,
As if life had overclocked my senses,
I feel dazed, slow and heavy,
Unable to process data or sentences.
 
I need to reboot and refresh,
To clear the cache weighing me down,
To purge what's temporary stuff,
And free space for a brand new day.
 
It is so easy to be a hoard,
Of mindless info and sad thoughts,
That enter in a legit looking Trojan horse,
And seized my mind's drive.
 
A clean wipe and reinstall,
Is not an option here at all,
There are thoughts in me not backed up,
My custom settings can't be lost.
 
So, I execute the best app ever,
A picture of my queen and princess,
A video of our trips together,
That scours all the grime in my mind,
And leaves me feeling new,
Feeling well and light,
Ready to fight the fight,
And above all,
Enjoy my day,
With a smile.
 

On being mad at yourself

Remember this at all times,
When you are mad at yourself,
Whatever put you in that state,
Is already in the past.
 
So let it go and let it rest,
There is no good in dwelling there,
Learn from it and walk it off,
You gain nothing by your sulk.
 
Forgive yourself, pat your back,
Commiserate for a while,
But rise above the gloomy clouds,
And saddle up and ride it out.
 
Because when you are mad at yourself,
It doesn't translate that well,
And all your loved ones truly see,
Is that you are mad at them, indeed.
 
Remember this all the time.
I keep repeating to myself.
You'll think it isn't hard,
But trust me it takes a lot of work.
 

On why we write

Why do we write?
Have you ever wondered this?
Why are we compelled to put on paper,
Our thoughts, our memories, our dreams.
 
Is it because to see them inked,
Or drawn, or digitized,
Makes our brainstorms rage,
More solid and composed,
Than mere musings in our head,
No one can see?
 
Or is it just that writing shares,
And spreads our views away,
As far as our network's networks go,
Planting a bit of us
In our collective mindframe?
 
Is that why we write?
To hold on to our thoughts enough,
For them to nurture us,
But then release them out where,
Others might inhale,
Words that where once just dust,
Formless in our brains.