Not speaking of the mariner Sinbad
But rather the negative behavioral declaration
It being a constant reminder to shun wrongdoing
The superego of monikers
Likely birthed from a spiritual tryst between a Catholic nun and Baptist fundamentalist
Not likely a blood relation of the unreformed Miss Deeds
Being useful sounds positive.
But is that useful to others?
Useful to oneself?
A mixture of both?
Is being of use healthy? Depleting? Sustainable? Necessary to live the so-called good life?
Does writing personal truths that register with others, however large or small the number, count as useful?
Or considered a mere wordplay morsel in life’s banquet of importance?
Measure this versus eliminating polio?
Teaching? Is that measured by the gravitas of the curriculum? The changing of lives?
Where does dying in a war to end all wars fit?
Or being a guard at a concentration camp?
Executing the condemned? Ask Jesus.
Only the balm of transcendent loving is forever useful.
— inspired by this prompt: it must have happened to me 50 times
Fate? Ordinary human cruelty? A fickle cosmos?
That question will never be answered because I’m not enriching a therapist’s bank account only to be told I must be holding something back or I’m avoiding digging incessantly through my layers of myth and reality in order to excavate my core truths.
I generously accept it will continue. Five minutes ago it happened for the 51st time. Yes, I’m counting although I’m not a glutton.
I have no control over the thoughts and actions of others and that’s okay.
Life could be better but when does enough beauty suffice?
I lack the answer but don’t want this question to be my focus.
There is marzipan to be ravished. Rosé to vanquish. The fragrance of vanilla bean with which to drift away. Melons of many pungent persuasions to be devoured. Delicate jasmine to inhale. The arts to be devoured. Gelato to be licked.
Pleasure is not my enemy despite the multiple warnings of others.
I surround myself with both symmetry and its contrast and dive into it. I’m living large and my life is good.
But yes, it’s inevitable.
Out of scorn, pity or envy, go ahead yet once more, charge me as fat.
You can shoot the sh*t
not know it
have it for brains
speak it fluently
don’t take it
have it together
get it together
be full of it
blow it up
step in it
have it hit the fan
don’t give it
be a dip around it
label it good, bad or sorry
call it heavy
stir it up
get too old for it
ingest it as an imaginary sandwich
Experience it as part of a storm
be down for it
sarcastically comment it doesn’t stink
not give a damn about it
say it’s deep
get it done
be up it’s creek minus a paddle
believe it is holy
serve it on a shingle
know it as the last name of Jack
not distinguish it from Shinola
not know it
make it up
have it together
not give a…
pair it with giggles
label it tough
bring it forth or get off the commode
Is compromise a major catastrophe?
a minor loss?
a dreaded draw?
a cloak of shame?
a bruised and tattered valentine?
shattering or soothing?
a clumsy tango?
evidence of better angels?
an orchestra with revolving conductors?
the art of finding ‘less’ attractive?
the launch of something greater than ourselves?
a calorie-less dessert?
a greater vision?
who’s keeping score?
all, some or none?
— inspired by a poetry writing class prompt about compromise