Happy New Year 2018

Happy 2458119.5 ≤ t < 2458484.5!!!

(i.e. Happy New Year 2018! (for the Gregorians))

With hopes that you have a healthful, happy, prosperous, productive, plentiful, bountiful, blessed, splendiferous, scrumdidliumptuous, super spectacular next orbit (year) ahead!

(NB: See http://www.nr.com/julian.html for a converter, or search for “Julian Day Number” if the date-time values don’t make sense. Or just ask.)

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when i travel near or far

my invisible teammates

are the subtle stars

no matter where i go

my carry-on luggage

rules the show

whether in my cave

or at a rave

my secret team

is there to save

they are with me when i dream

their hunger is what i crave

i harbor vast colonies of aliens

ten trillion bits i call my friends

some nourish, some defend

with me beyond my end

outside i wear an active aura

inside i sport my microflora

they say home is where the heart is

for my brain, gut, and skin, home is

where the microbiome is

home is where the fart is

no matter where I roam

not that i go lunching on local loam

the place that feels like home

is where i wear my microbiome

i try to keep my team well-fed

those i lose will be repopulated

what the shower decimated

will not be annihilated

what the shampoo strips bare

yesterday’s towel will surely share

when i travel beyond the willow

foreign hordes could erase a race

whole colonies gone without a trace

every night i reinoculate

in my trusty old pillow

i bury my fecund face

factions have turf wars on my skin

their colonies are wafer thin

i bring along food from my pantry

with home microbes infused aplenty

that kid with the security blanket

plenty of tiny friends on the docket

i know someone who carries

a loaf of homemade sourdough

under their arm wherever they go

they carry a jar of starter

with their local microbes

traveling wherever they go

they say home is where the heart is

for my brain, gut, and skin, home is

where the microbiome is

home is where the fart is

no matter where I roam

not that i go lunching on local loam

the place that feels like home

is where i wear my microbiome

i dance with my microbiome

in our shared biodrome

they chat with my epigenome

petition to my somes of chrome

they tell me what to dream

as we surf on quantum foam

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cask and mask

in snowcrowned cupola

huddle wintering bats

ocean breezes bless

Hemingway’s hundred cats

as snowsleigh glides

in frozen flats

sandsleigh sails

to mouth of rats

some bundled up

in scarves and knitted hats

while others stroll

in flippy-floppy flats

and too our hearts

in all their varied climes

from frigid freeze

to where ice sublimes

we each have our seasons

but sometimes

no reasons or rhymes

whether rollercoastered realms

of depression and mania

weigh like lead upon our seasons

catacombs cast in lead dead dread

bathed and steeped in flavored biles

buoyed by brief bouty blimps of oy

masquerading as moments of joy

or ephemeral tugs and flights

of sorrow and euphoria

grow like grape-weighted vines

wandering and weaving

through our minds’ arboria

let us take bottled tears

of vintage years

and kegs of beers

of dark-hued fears

cries and despair

breaths of fresh air

and frowns and smiles

uncork the cask

remove the mask

let us share our tears and joys

each in our own vineyard’s styles

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one foggy day last january

i ran into a gnome named gary

out looking for his sister larry

down in front of the cash and carry

asked me if i had change to spare-y

told him i had some cents, but nary

chatting with gary did i tarry

from nowhere flew godmother carrie

she wore more faces than jim carrey

then from the store came sister larry

along with twins jerri and terri

with bundles they could barely carry

we passed a cop whose badge read harry

he eyed suspicious us nefari

and passersby seemed very wary

perhaps it was our clothes, quite flarey

we ducked into an art gallery

enclave hip, trendy, self-awarey

out into dark back alley scary

we traipsed down stairs to secret-lairy

of the mythic godfather fairy

dungeon where artists thrust and parry

denizens of sundry affair-y

all celebrate in costumes glare-y

we ascended to lush library

chock full of books, so bright and airy

behold tomes beyond son compari

flanked by these legions literary

where trust and treatise unite contrary

a bust of pallas dressed feath-ery

so we gathered for them to marry

officiated by mother mary

within leaves of airy library

joyous tunes we could barely carry

resounded vows of tink the fairy

with gnomish gary’s sister larry

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i live in a literary labyrinth

corridors of books

lead to doors of books

which open to rooms

of even more books

this media maze

just could be a craze

stacked in so many ways

novels, shorts, and plays

mixed where nonfiction stays

a book on the desk

cascade of pages splayed

like a cliff at each edge

where the world

meets the page

the present pair

verso and recto

exposed to the air

face open sky

and eager eyes

another tome, not alone

sits off to the side

waiting with a chopstick

tucked gently inside

at page one fifty nine

its friend, on which it rests

sports a thirty cm ruler

translucent, clean, and green

to mark chapter sixteen

unseen for a week

up on the shelves

books become buddies

stacked title to blurb

their bindings revealing

their voices once heard

atop each row of bounded reams

another layer with perfect seams

the younger stratigraphy

stacked horizontally

upon physics and philosophy

whether i’m lucid or in a daze

i pick up new books like strays

for some bibliophilia is a phase

but it has been with me always

and shall linger all of my days

i suppose to some

living in an endless library

where books have consumed the walls

could seem downright scary

as if books could devour their souls

but for me this literary labyrinth

ignites imagination, frees the mind

it is truly a magical librarinth

cultivates creativity, feeds the soul

come, enter the fantastic libryrinth

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dozen drops

dry dry days

for you and me

dry dry days

one hundred three

but blessed sky

brings deliverance

diamond drops fly

such sweet precipitance

the rains have come

their sprinkled blessings

and bliss poured down

yet only on

the other side of town

our roofs and streets

our rocks and lawns

our toes and heads

remain desert dry

i know not why

so we traipse on to

the rain-blessed side

and enjoy the aftermath

the descent is done

but the sidewalks glisten

the streets half-dry

just hours after

moonlit puddles cluster

in once-parched gutters

moist grass rain-christened

urban pastoral peace

moistened with the streets

humid fragrance we inhale

pause here for awhile

for remnant raindrops listen

for a while

our whole world stops

a gleeful cricket hops

and we are gifted

with a dozen drops

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concision leaves an incision

when overzealous brevity

leaves little room for levity

when constant clamor for clarity

clouds clear vision

causing caustic confusion

driving dabblers to the rafters

and drafters to derision

sewing sutures in our futures

pouring the past

from endless pitchers

making it last

with poignant pictures

that fade to flickers

as you edit out the pixels

doled down in word-sized parcels

pruning phrases with precision

harrowing every old decision

sewing sutures with our futures

weaving pleadings from our pasts

when our wells seem sorely shallow

we can replant what we left fallow

we shall cultivate our loves

we shall fortify our lives

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