Sippy the coffee.  Aaahh.  I’m sitting here thinking how badly I need a ‘dye job’.  Such a not professional term.  None the less, my roots are BAD.  Cobbler’s child; make good on everyone else and my roots go unattended.  It’s not pretty.  Hats and bandanas hide all kinds of bad hairness, and with my BIG birthday looming up ahead, I want these nasty little bits colored soon.  Yes, I will make it happen even if I must trash the bathroom.  I hate doing my own color.

Notice how my aging fast right before your eyes, expands my rambling on to these pages.  That’s what getting older does, among many other quaint little issues.





Quaint little issues of ramble and dye

Of remembrances and what’s for breakfast

Sippy the coffee as the Sun fills the window

In the Winter light deceiving warmth.

Making issues that hold to the trite

and the slop of the dye in the bowl on the mirror

Is the reflection of me with long ago in my eyes


When the world suffers and war gives no answer

and the die is far from my hair, and the root

Of the issues is colored hot blood and blaze

And the only ramble is the jibberish of leaders

That have no skill in kindness and care.

Their light is out and the deceit of the seasons

reflects the die in the bowl of lives taken carelessly


Sitting here with my roots exposed

Hoping to cover the age of me away

In the ramble of this morning’s rise

With parts of the world a theatre of chaos

And the root of the issue covered up endlessly

For the power hungry money machine

That has not one once of quaint


I’ll cover my roots with 4N and a little 4/5

And hope that, the over there is not a part of

My over here in the cover up of my issue

That the root of my matter tho’ full of deceit

bares to some innocence I have yet to lose

And I will think globally and act locally

all over my head.




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