the tao of jaklumen

the path of the sage must become the path of the hero

a time painted grey


just another time painted grey

i work hours they call swing

which is anything but

swinging on a star —

my dream land is cloudy

even when the sun is shining

i try to find patience

for the IDIOCY of the masses, who

when entering seem to

leave their brains at the door (!)

so many visitors

but so few of them friends

with little time to talk

(and once again

the day fades to black)

so lonely am i.

my dearest compadres

are on another timeframe

they work when i don’t

and go have fun when i do.

i send my money away

to pay back sallie mae,

i can’t seem to get a date

(i’m trying; don’t want my mother

to pester me like she does)

so what will i do with myself?


a bright spot here,

a bright spot there

but mostly a time painted grey.

[Transcription of a hand-written poem, written sometime in 1993 based on my best recollection, perhaps during the spring.  I was working at a convenience store and quietly visiting church meetinghouses to practice the organ.]

many thanks to stephrogers and No Virgin Mary for encouraging me to bring out some old, paper archived poetry

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Author: jaklumen

Wherever you see "jaklumen", that's me- the username is still unique as of the current year. Be aware that the facet you see, is only a small part of the me that is me.

3 thoughts on “a time painted grey

  1. I had a decent career in restaurants for about a decade or so.
    Those hours sucked.


  2. As I first emerged into adulthood I worked as a waitress at a local restaurant.

    While all my friends were going out together, I was in my black and whites, collecting dishes and watching the clock, resenting those customers who would walk through the door 30 minutes before we were scheduled to close.

    Reading this piece brought all of those feelings back. I think you’ve captured the experience to perfection, here.


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