Timmy the Scribbler

This blog is 100% in favor of cannabis legalization.
Unfortunately it cannot be assumed that the american state this blogger resides in will be a falling domino in any foreseeable future. On the one hand the trend is (or in light of recent revelations I should say Was) encouraging since one can hope it will be only a matter of time until a humble poor blogging poet will no longer be relegated to keeping at arms length the knowledge that a mere few hundred miles away there are people settling down to spark up a fatty or plucking a morsel of fruit from a plant they freely grew in their home; unencumbered with a concern that whispers in the back of their head.

On the other hand, it is anything but encouraging – or even if a miracle happens and they decide to once and for all leave it to…

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continuing the senseless nonsense exercise

Timmy the Scribbler

“Well I would not say I am all that cold,”
mused a sea creature lounging with a rum.

“Scientists thinking our realm is frigid
does not surprise me a bit and if
I share this with the eels down at the den
of what we are frankly happy
to know as one of iniquity,
well you’d wonder why they don’t twist
into an oblivion by their howls
of disbelieving laughter. Now this rum
goes back a few centuries. My grandpa
mapped the main strategy for that ship.
Sunk the sailing human beasts; we got gold.”

The sea creature paused and leveled a gaze,
“swear you’ll never tell a zoologist.”

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an exercise in senseless nonsense

Timmy the Scribbler

The war-weary waters the portrait sheds
at least add a touch of salt to dinner,
which happens to be fish known by cold sea
creatures that labor far from the tropics,

rough in speech indeed they can be;
but none at the table know
about the cold sea creatures for the cold
sea creatures have managed to forever

evade scientific detection;
they have deep contempt for zoologists
no matter the species one may
happen to specialize in; now it is

true no zoologists composed the group
digging in the plates; but that the portrait
dripped as it did on their experience
persuaded most to pass on the pudding.

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many homes

Timmy the Scribbler

I was another when we created island
paintings on an ocean of ivory
which in turn composed a ready-made gallery,
at least until the day of the washing machine.

How in the hell I let us get suckered rightward
makes absolutely no rational sense, unless
something seismic sent us sliding over a cliff;
or we saw it as survival where we landed.

Or maybe both are true and maybe more is true.
And who’s to say that in a universe
kitty-corner to this that is most mountainous
we are not decked in beads

and peace-sign necklaces
and turquoise bracelets; chilling on a real isle
where the air bestows perpetual pearly balm.
Who’s to say there is no such thing as fictional?

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or maybe the path to take goes something like so

Timmy the Scribbler

Alien spiders
considered the dawning truth
of their new catch represented in a sphere
of green and blue; while it was
impossible to suppress

the waves of celebration,
one of the wiser alien spiders
hoped to offer a few words for the sake
of tempering a mass excitement
on seeing all the stuff they could freely

dine on for possibly multiple
centuries. Granted the multitudes
had good reason for rejoicing
about not having to become
vegans or vegetarians

but it would not be spider-like
to subject those proponents to too
much ridicule as they were only
going by the scant libraries
of knowledge printed materials made

available for contemporary
intellectuals. Few could not apply
eight beady eyes
on the tangible resources
and reach a contrary conclusion.

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written to keep from sinking into the sea of not-writing

Timmy the Scribbler

The ancient asian vase was a piece of junk
from the perspective of the puritan
who might’ve as well been born a bull
easily incensed and that by more than
the color of red as a center stage cape.
Therefore thousands of years were overturned
in the twinkle of a pair of narrow eyes,
which would in horror widen at the humble
suggestion that some thinkers have proposed
the illusory nature not only of time

but of all that is, has been, what is to be;
so in one way the righteous smashing of the vase
was relatively innocuous
yet in another way it could hardly
be considered decent theater
for tastes that appreciate true drama,
insinuating suspenseful
psychological adventures;
borderline boorish; enemy
to the harmonious chill atmosphere.

Hm, I think it is the mayor
who discovers the asian vase
within a private residence.
Newcomer to the town – the…

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confusion comes to the suspended entity

Timmy the Scribbler

the entity standing at the motel entry
said, “you did not exactly create me.
More like a discovery if I may speak blunt.
Because I know I was somewhere and had a name
before rolling into this town which tone
feels filled with filaments bent on hostility.”
The motel fluttered several shutters and said,
“is your dialogue directed at me?”

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another suspended entity

Timmy the Scribbler

a strange entity rolled into the town
that from its inception must be called small
and whose mayor encouraged defensive
attitudes and discouraged gatherings
unless a mass would weep while on their knees,
and certainly no dungaree zippers
shall suspiciously pepper proceedings;
for the stern head was more than a mayor;
he was a man whose moral compass was
the stiffest, most rigid moral compass
to ever scale the steep courthouse stairway.

Suddenly the strange entity
paused before pulling open the motel
portal of entry; all was quite quiet.
Gave a glance around the space; furtively
did it do so. Muttered a message
addressed to its invisible creator,
“don’t tell me I will become another
component caught in a suspension
that may never know a forward
motion resolution.”

The entity’s invisible creator
whispered reply went to the effect of,
“apologies if you feel expendable,
but you know, I am also…

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Timmy the Scribbler

Since interest seems inferred
and assuming the eager
beams mean the radiance is genuine,

there is territory the rabble
more or less never grace: cases and shelves
that seethe with an inexhaustible
supply of what the knowing know

as the stuff most choice for certain receptors
that tend to forget there is more to life
than year-in and year-out hibernation.

Let the finger lightly travel the spine,
Listen for the fragrant sigh of welcome.

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