Wednesday, April 07, 2010


I am pondering the possibliity of posting something to my bleak blog. But what can I write? My mind is a muddle of decayed dreams and hopeless hopes. There are a few festering fantasies still fluttering through, and a woeful wish or two, but no intact ideas, no dynamic designs.

I must make room for my ruminations! I will clear the clutter, cleanse my cranium! How should I hose it? With a fearless flush? Or a controlled clearing? A wanton winnowing, or a wishy-washing? Am I asking for amnesia, or mustering my muse?

Ha! My muse is not amused, but I am. He says I'm no poet, and I say I know it, but I don't care, I'm on a tear.

My brain was in pain

I could not explain

But then I knew why

and thought I should try

to lighten its load

so t'wouldn't explode

I flushed out the junk

and found a small hunk

of undamaged cells

veritable wells

full of untold tales


Or something like that...

11 comments:

carlos de la parra said...

This poem reminds me of a great salad.

Harry said...

Glad to see you tapping those wells! Now start tapping those keys so we can get us our Zs!

Jodi MacArthur said...

I love your Z'ful Ruminations.

Jodi MacArthur said...

muahahaha! I have added you to my google reader. Love your blog here,Z.

Madam Z said...

Carlos, I am "green" with envy over your whimsical words.

Harry, tappety-tap-tap!

Jodi, you are lovely! Thank you for adding me to your google reader. Now...if only I knew what that means.

Jeanette Cheezum said...

Lovely, "Z" I got lost in your poem.

Lisa said...

Tell those tales!

BeckEye said...

Well, it sounds like a Jesus and Mary Chain song. And that's a good thing. :)

fingers said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Bukowski's Basement said...

...I'd say you're a poet... Your muse doesn't know what he's talking about Ms. Z

fingers said...

Marvelous stuff, Z.
You're the Dr Zeuss of mental illness...