the prompt was OVERLOADED

OVERLOADED
My mind was overloaded

I’d jammed it to the hilt

No room was left for gladness

Only misery and guilt

My mind was overloaded

I couldn’t sleep a wink

I tossed and turned forever

There was no room to think

My mind was overloaded

My blankets made me sweat

My toes were cramped and twisted

I could only turn and fret

My mind was overloaded

I tried to say a prayer

Either God was on vacation

Or He simply wasn’t there

My mind was overloaded

My wife began to snore

It brought to mind my lover

Who always knew the score

I poked her in the rib cage

I asked her for advice

She answered me with kisses

No need to ask her twice.

Andy

SOMEONE ELSE

Someone else has sat in your seat. Someone else had had your idea. Someone else has led your life. Someone else has stood in the rain or snow and stared at a discarded bouquet of roses on the ground. Someone else has shed these tears before.

Yet for a moment, that first moment you felt it or experienced it, that hard flat surface beneath you or the bright shocking revelation that 2+2=4 or that indeed this girl is the one and only one for you, that moment is yours and yours alone. And then it’s gone, and you are left with that old proverb’s famous words, “There is nothing new under the sun.”

But I prefer to think to myself, “But what a sun!” and the thought that he and I and you and I and even she and I are looking at the same sun is a beautiful thing, and can threaten to overload my mind. There is nothing new it’s true. The world is very old, but it is also very beautiful. Especially if you try to see it for the first time everyday.

Scott

OVERLOADED

Overloaded

From my hair to my toes

Overloaded

From my guts to my nose

Overloaded

Like a ship about to sink

Overloaded

Like a drunk’s last drink

Overloaded

Like someone in trouble

Overloaded

Like bursting his bubble

Overloaded

By ice and snow

Overloaded

Like a burlesque show

Overloaded

Like an derelict’s yawn

Overloaded

Like a cop’s baton

Alex

STRANGERS AGAIN

The Nash, cut down into a truck of sorts and overloaded, rolled along on three tires and a rim that wailed a constant complaint.  Each expansion joint in the concrete punctuated the protestation with sharp metallic blows.  For all the noise there was not quite enough to fill the big quiet caused by a motor silenced by the lack of gas.  A hot breeze sanded over the sunburned faces of those passengers perched on the patched canvas covered remains of their lives.  Their dirty hands gripped the canvas tightly, their fate on the downgrade, brakes burning.

Al looked over at Floyd, but they were strangers again.  Their night on the Colorado River was a couple of hundred miles ago, and the Mojave had since sucked all the juiciness out of the memory.  Floyd looked resolutely ahead, knowing he was being watched.  The increasing wind whipped at his open shirt and the sunlight counted his ribs.  He was as dark as an Indian, except for his knuckles.

Daniel

ODE TO FACEBOOK

Too much talking

Too many words

You need to stop

You've already been heard

Too many messages

And notifications

Please give it rest

And go on vacation

I guess it's entitlement

I guess it's fear

That makes you think

You're all I want to hear

Please take your comments

Your updates and such

To your own bulging mind

We've all had enough

Emily


OVERLOADED
Weight Limit!
Feeling overloaded!? Some people have figured out how brains work.
Important names, dates, secrets, poems, criticisms, jokes, catchy phrases?
Where have we put these thoughts? In long term or short?
Can I recall or even remember to search out what matters most to my friends and family?
Overloaded equals a full life--or agony & sleepless nights.
I think I'll just watch another movie.
Writing helps.

Liz

OVERLOAD
Information overload
Is the frustration of the day.
Too many stings, and things
That attempt my mind to sway'

Gigas, megas,and other bytes
Filling up our brains
without something else to store them
I would simply go insane.

A simpler life is better
It brings me peace of mind.
And of course, my music,
Which helps me to unwind.

I don't think we're intended
To walk upon this road
The information highway
To systems overload!

Mike

Go On Ahead

   Go on, ahead.  I'm just gonna stay here and rest a little bit.  Just gonna warm up here under this tree.
   I pray sometimes.  I pray to a big ole father figure Santa Claus God in the sky on puffy white clouds in a white robe who wears a sad and compassionate smile.  I pray whenever I catch myself not looking right at something.  Then I catch myself praying and I stop.
   I'm fine.  I'm just catching my breath.  This tree is as good as any.  I'm comfortable here.  The view is terrific.
   In the parking lot of the apartment complex where I live an old man drags things to the dumpster in the very early morning hours before the sun comes up.  He does this nearly every morning.  Various things: a lumpy stained couch cushion, some framed painted prints of flowers, a broken broomstick.
   He staggers across the parking lot, shirtless and barefooted, his wasted chest gaunt and pale.  Shirtless so often, even in the cold, I begin to wonder if he has thrown all his shirts away and I wish he would do this in the harsh light of the afternoon sun so that it didn't appear to be such an act of shame.
   I'll catch up.  I promise.  It's nothing a little rest won't help.  Just a little moment of quiet reflection, if you please.
   I will struggle with tremendous effort and invest myself completely in any venture if it is certain to fail.  I consider it pointless otherwise.  It's part Puritan-ism and part personality defect.  Why do you bang your head against the wall so much the man asks the other man and the other man says because it feels so good when I stop.
   That's better.  Just some peace and quiet.  I can hear snowflakes landing on my parka.  See how happy I am here?  When I catch up with you my face will be the face of surprising happiness.  Please go on ahead.  I'll be here.  Please, please, please, please?  Go on ahead...