Sunday, May 29, 2011
Pretending or maybe
she really convinced herself
this was her first encounter
of the intimate kind.
Having dredged the only other
into a deep pit;
love’s waste buried deep
in caverns sealed to prevent leaks…
enticing touch refuted for most
of her adult life;
hiding in a shallow world
her crone dance graced
midnight’s dark wisdom.
Past denying deception
linked to an anchor of mistrust;
her blanched heart surged
nestling skin to skin…
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Stick a pin in her - my warped imagination…
she’d deflate spinning around the room
at warp speed expelling charged air;
formula computed from pressure, amount
of flatulence and size of puncture.
Some people never tire of hearing their
own voice commenting above and beyond
regular conversation - leaving pause and polite
to more mannered but overwhelmed guests.
Continuing despite glazed eyes and tight lips,
she spouts unless gagged with a canapé.
Wine glass topped off, she drains the contents.
Receptions, bane of many creative types…
I clock watch waiting until optimal opportunity;
easing out the door, slipping back into obscurity,
observing the blessed silence of my car.
Perfumed or cologned patrons are even worse!!!!
Friday, May 27, 2011
Had enough of my scribbles?
repeating circular log jam;
revolving not evolving…
my dancing routine memorized.
Common steps of a safe waltz
but longing to twist and boogie up…
Failing to see where scribbles end;
words scrawled – sweet and sour –
odd debutant’s first kiss to page or
first formal gown formally pristine
now stained, ragged and frumpy.
This dated body disdains youthful
foolish appearance revolving not evolving…
Had enough of my scribbles?
So where’s the rainbow?
Sun ripped a hole in squall lines;
tattered value scale, a perfect
setting for prismatic illumination.
I need illumination – any kind...
through tattered value,
between rise and fail.
Definite need for a prism
to highlight the unobvious.
Stuck in dim radiance, blindly
watching for obvious path…
Natural car wash
regular dust but
succeeds in avoiding
oily road grime.
Premonition coated metal
marred by failed removal.
Soap dissipates surface
leaving congealed residue –
Sea bottom feeders
would ignore gelled scum.
Remedial baking soda sans vinegar
streaking bubbles form
ancient runes - foretelling what?
Circumstantial road scree…
lost in squalls
bombarding the car.
Safely enclosed -
warm and dry -
half gazing – lost…
roof pounding tempo
depleted to sacrifice.
Who am I now?
Puzzled by one-on-one
with playful overtones…
I miss her, I miss them all.
Perhaps I’m lucky to be
separated by distance
since I never miss their
visited trauma drama.
During trio visits the
dynamic are crazy
chronic temper tantrums
bounce from one to another.
Mostly verbally volatile,
hands on by five-year-old,
hands off by parents…
such button pushing rides
between smothered calm
veiled in net of conflict…
Temper tantrum explodes
punching and kicking his mother;
who responds with escalated swearing…
chasing after her with claws extended,
his five-year-old body slides to the floor.
Crone grandmother intervenes
grabbing dangerous kicking feet;
surprised at cobra speed,
he rapidly scratches her hands…
still kicking wildly despite heel dangle
which only prevents arching claws.
Reading my upside down face,
he considers my calm response.
his movement is stymied.
Waiting for release…
his mother takes a time out too.
Rain tears torn from
past memory VS. current state…
blenderized to slick consistency.
Lacking substance, wind thrown
splatters without dimension.
Hurtling into the fray,
helpless to congeal
against formidable gravity,
velocity, spin of earth…
Falling on hearing ears…
attempting to share
some insight into your display.
Trio shares an Incongruous
relationship dynamic filled with
flaring, swearing, violence…
laced with snuggle and love
Our havoc was after paternal visits;
emotional backlash shuddered for two weeks.
Finally settling into routine, I don’t remember
monstrous retribution aimed at my Mom,
Dad or myself… although conflict danced
between your brother and you…
so jarred by this latest theatrical exhibition,
I am physically exhausted, emotionally drained;
knowing my words would fall on hearing ears
locked into familial distortion…
More grey bitter rain…
summer laying low
disguised as blustery fall.
Closing in on solstice,
warm temperatures allude
despite long light;
pirated by angst riddled
raging Mother Nature…
Eating separate meals
at odd hours;
their food – our food.
organic meals at home
or choosing to eat a menu
of non-organic food.
Exasperated silence –
What’s the difference?
Don’t feel like cooking…
What does that imply?
Mystified my DNA marks you,
binds you to me…
talk to me.
Drifts agonizing euphoria
bubbles froth of furry
Unfailing safety release
Unclogged vents scream
Clawing exposed skin
Kicking, pinching, punching
Dark and furious
Success measured in decibels
Success marked in wild giggles
Circle correct response -
rate on a scale of 1 to 10…
I enjoyed this life and learned a great deal:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
This life met or exceeded my expectations:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
What do you think you’ve gained?
What did I like about this life?
Please list anything you would change:
Would you recommend this life to anyone?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Where did you hear about this life?
not black or white;
one or the other.
which way does it lean?
If black is a negative?
If white is a positive?
Or is it vice versa…
grey rests in the middle
a tone of noncommittal.
One less box:
dance recital outfits,
baby rattles, watches,
miscellaneous history –
an accessible time capsule
saved from her children’s lives.
Touching toys caught residual energy;
ignited a longing to hold her babies…
she imagined scent of new life.
Each item produced images of them
growing and outgrowing belongings …
she loaded these treasures into bags.
Dragged from address to address,
she had keep the past close.
Even though her memories fail,
physical ones clutter her present.
Taking my space with a smile
moving me to a different line;
another person would step too close…
not enough room to stretch out arms.
Being gently pushed out of the way…
again and again
by fixed wordless smiles.
Into the back row,
voice instruction too soft;
limited view of instructor,
eyes roam to a duckling –
miniscule in size, abandoned…
tucking the fowl into the space
between my breasts, the feathers tickle;
cradled warm and drying, it makes
content sounds before sleeping.
Abandoning Tai Chi, cradled warm and dying,
I make content sounds during dreaming.5/24/2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
Hidden from without,
true self skulks
wary in a shadow life.
Afraid of dismissal
but shouting and still not heard;
but so often ignored.
Who am I?
You’d think I’d know by now…
blending into the background
dislocated talent to be obscure.
So many roles disguising
Perpetuating self indulgence
hidden from within…
Faded name tags are tattered
reminders of past receptions.
Stuck to the car’s sun visor,
one even proclaims – Artist!
A reminder of who I purport to be
for the months when nothing sells;
when motivation to produce
dissipates in evaporated commerce.
Self stick name tags are ragged
reminders of my name for days
when I feel forgotten passed over
without a glance…
Fridge is either full or empty.
It’s hard to close the door
on a vast wasteland of neglect…
Mystery leftovers unlabeled
relinquish their appeal.
Even reheating wouldn’t
kill the mold spores
or fermentation bubbles.
Passing on the taste test
keeps precious taste buds safe,
prevents gag reflex remuneration,
or even worse gastric upset.
Relying on visual recognizance
is best as it even keeps sinuses
safe by avoiding lethal sniff test.…
now if I could just pry these jars
off the shelves….
Nasty wet spring
bursts into summer heat
Mother Nature’s joke
laughing at people suffering
her weather whims; no matter
what season, nothing is normal.
Who doesn’t want a smooth trip
free from glitches and torrential twists.
some find every pot hole,
every intimate torture.
burst into heart;
life’s twisting pranks
from birth to death.
no matter what season
there is no normal…
dry loops and lines
parched graphite strokes
collecting in pools
slipping down the drain
slipping down drain
before washed out to sea
She once had a point.
Was so sure of her purpose,
geared in a specific direction.
Why consider anything else?
It was the norm;
it was the natural progression:
College, teach, marriage, kids.
Simple formula -
instruct until procreation,
being a happy homemaker.
When last child hit school age,
mom went back to the classroom too.
That was the point:
summer’s off and same day schedule.
Unsuccessful as she was in choosing
her life partner…
her purpose became unspecified;
no longer a normal progression;
this new formula was complex.
Since that happy home wrecker
divided a decidedly flimsy fantasy.
Was there ever a true connection?
Backward thoughts view oddities;
his habits and circumstantial events
prove a mathematical probability:
he cheated all along….
Wiggling its point
Snatching and scratching
Another Friday’s wait
A chance to fill pages
Work out coordination
Of fluid randomness
Staring at cinderblock walls
Middle gray – so normal
Neither black or white
Like this ink to page
No gray to be found here
With these inked thoughts
Recorded to ruled paper
Should I buy different
Might influence words:
yellow for sunny thoughts;
red for wild and crazy;
purple for highest realm.
You see where I’m going…
blue might seem obvious-
for me it’s a calm color;
green is for growth;
orange would be neglected -
it’s my least favorite color.
Tend to depend on blue,
I mingle its hues and tone
with cobalt being my favorite.
I could do without pink too…
My color wheel is lop sided;
so is my life – colored unevenly…
sometimes scribbles and scrawl.
I turn my nose up to normal;
happier place to be rather than
submissive colors and tone
trying to please in bland hues.
Shopping for an assorted package
of primary colors with ink
strong enough to be seen…
Closing in on midnight with out scribbles…
clearing detritus from floors and counters,
sucking pet fur, bird feathers, dirt and grime.
Roaring of in-house vac drowned out thoughts;
dust clogged sinuses for cotton wool connections.
How long can I keep it clean this time?
Rather be hiding in the “art” room ignoring
unimportant parts of the house…
Rather be hiding in right brain activities ignoring
important facets of my life…
the parts where I’m stuck and not changing;
the parts that cause slips into misery.
Closing in on midnight, dogs wait for walks
under verdant stars and moon’s glow…
walking, deep breathing clearing sinus clutter,
I imagine winning the lottery, rolling in dough,
spreading the wealth around – in do-good fashion;
of course, I’d first have to purchase tickets…
Is that something of a metaphor?
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Scouring the scene, eyes scrap surfaces.
Time for magnifying glass illuminated
with stronger light… floaters, light flashes,
eyeball distortion my waggles aging vision.
My mother’s eyes magnified by trifocals were
soft and wistful; snapping into sharpness only
when struggling to form words after her stroke.
A life long patient soul so frustrated by trapped
words but her sputtering swears came out clear.
Wiping tears, she’d mutter it’s there but won’t come out…
Dad had me pack up her things, he couldn’t do it.
His eyes were glazed for months, soft and wistful.
The Lion’s Club collects glasses in good condition;
her crowded desk drawer contained decades of frame
styles and lens updates - her revision history…
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Corgi fur mixed with pink petals
form dusty bunnies…
dogs dance tossing more fur
to the wafting mix.
Moon peers through skylight –
abandon working on words.
Ignoring dust and grime,
I’d rather be walking in inked air
laced with silver…
Monday, May 16, 2011
I'm trying to find myself,
I was laid low recently…
not many have you seen me.
Managed to survive the worst
three day head pain since
Methuselah drank fermented
cups of pomegranate juice
on or about 1000 years ago.
At first I maintained that it was
the sun and/or the wind that made
me cry as broken as anyone
but once the fever ravaged
grey matter, I sunk into sleep
content that emotions weren’t depleted.
Scotch/Irish stomach managed
some hideous fake barfing sounds;
no further details are necessary…
suffice it to say, weird dreams prevailed
and I rose to the fevered conclusion:
“Successful people" is an oxymoron.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Water is my element.
Snorkel, mask and fins…
floating above belief barriers
searching for releasing keys;
gurgling voices saturate ears
repeating a chant: give up…
certain things are not possible.
Mermaids and sirens whisper
reminders of dehydration
shriveling some dreams or the
drowning of vintage choices.
Slogging back to dry surface,
curiosity spiked with dogged
determination crosses hot sand
without detriment to bare feet…
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Wall sconce soft light warms intimate room.
Anticipating favorites, semi-circle attendees
fall silent attentive listeners as guitarist enters.
Long hair pulled back matches her polished instrument;
blurred but radiant expression becomes mirrored on all.
Mesmerized through the set, souls carried from human foibles
to above and beyond – resonating souls in peace and harmony.
French doors swing open,
she gracefully joins waiting
muses – tall thin radiant beings –
rainbow gowns burst with white light…
dark hall glows from aura’s mass.
Turning, our eyes meet…
connecting beyond this space and time.
Do I remember any of the words?
Looking at the chest of drawers
Thinking of all the storage possibilities…
It would be perfect for that extra room.
Lifting it became difficult – it appeared
to rest on level wood flooring but…
the back legs are uneven due to a 6 inch drop.
You’d better get the sill and foundation checked…
Emptying the drawers to enable a lighter load;
amazing variety, shape and size, yet it was a
cohesive piece perfect for extraneous collections.
Heading to the pull down ladder, this heavy chest
had to transcend a rickety ladder…
Always puzzled with these extra room dreams…
What room am I not using?
Why is it within knowledge but a surprise?
What do I need store in an old mahogany chest
with so many fascinating drawers?
Leaning against the hall wall
then the door jam, the old cat
wobbles after us into enticing moonlight.
Corgis bounce and pull into the cool midnight air.
Mercury’s black fur appropriately
disappears into deepening shadows…
occasionally moonbeams highlight
his raggedy form trailing behind.
Prancing paws round the cul de sac, a quick
relief walk before dog biscuit snack and crating.
Returning to front yard, I spot moon struck cat eyes
soaking up the night before being carried back inside…
Alone with my alive but dying cat…
thinking about future demise;
never far out of my thoughts
even on the sunniest day,
even in the moon washed night -
never black thoughts of woe is me…
How much can I overcome?
How much can I correct?
What am I leaving behind?
What am I bringing with me?
Hoping for a brain colonic
before leaving this container
to flush contamination…
confusion, misguided foolish thoughts.
Alone with my alive but dying cat…
I keep telling him to let go;
leave his worn out body behind…
I tell him I’ll always love him;
I wish him well on his journey.
Will someone do the same for me?
Thursday, May 12, 2011
to the end
with or without grace…
ragged, wrinkled, half blind;
body muscles locked in place…
wandering from room to room
mentally touching, smelling,
seeing aura radiations.
Easily slipping, rapidly
slipping in and out of now;
half in and out of life…
spirit wavering despite decay.
one more day
closer to the end
one more day
to the end
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
dangling plastic bags
favorite take-out at
5 to 10 dollars per day;
five days per week…
How many calories?
Desk job chubby sucks
down lunch between
filling out forms,
and swigs of coffee…
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Cursed in this world…
that’s what she felt;
partly her own doing,
partly extraneous events.
Those unplanned incidents
swept her under the rug.
Sucking in the dust and pet fur,
walked on by those above,
she felt smaller than small.
Infinitesimally void of hope,
she wandered restless through
trance days and trace nights.
Her turmoil wake rakes sunrise;
ripples ravage sunset reflections;
renounced moonrise exists blind …
control with non control
evens out discrepancies…
loving someone more
than loving oneself.
for foolish attraction…
lop sided teeter totter
love without redemption
stuck downward in foot
scuffed rut position…
Lost in denial -
Lost in unrequited dimensions -
nothing left for others…
Monday, May 9, 2011
Especially ignored were their ill suited gifts…
according to the receiver, their mother,
who perpetually rolled eyes heavenward.
There was no pleasing her;
her children gave up trying
going about their lives paying
little homage on holidays and such.
Neither children nor mother knew each other;
dismissed along with extended family,
current splintered existence came from
years of terse wedges inflicting their hearts.
No amount of love infused glue and clamps
could bind the irreparable polarization.
Celebrations of mundane to high days
elevated animosity causing more caustic
reduction to birth mother status… either way,
silent cancer swiftly desecrated her withered
womb filled with bloated spite; surrounded,
her trusted belongings touch a soured soul…
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Flipped to dry side,
drool dribbled pillow
soaked up dream words
curtained in first light.
Quiet snorts rack air;
internal alarm resounds.
Nothing advance preset,
a natural process to snore awake.
Uncontrollable, morning ascends;
light sours night sweat coating skin.
Thoughts preempt lingering
in cooling comforter;
elimination of dream time
flipped to expel damp side…
Ambushed when she came home - super depressed
all of a sudden... she totally eyeballed the building's
charity donation bin for the near by food bank.
She could really use some paper towels and juice…
tempted but did not take said paper towels nor the juice;
she was not a horrible person…at least, not yet.
This life... the one right here - this is the one that she wanted.
Noting that the best trick she ever pulled was convincing
the world she didn't exist… so shy, she blended invisible.
Never even partially drunk, publicly lauded, or interrogated,
she ate, slept, watched movies and TV alone in her space.
A swim teacher who was also a former postal worker she laid low.
No one noticed her failure to appear; no pile of newspapers or mail
overflowed her stoop; not one person questioned her absence.
She had stood in awe of the pacific sunset as the rip tide roiled...
Friday, May 6, 2011
Overseeing my kitchen, Dad’s remains sit above
routine chores or hemorrhaged good intentions…
his bird’s eye view includes occasional creative
disorganization and crispy charred foods relating to
overdrawn ambition loading my task plate too full.
Smoke drifts lazily toward skylight’s temptation
only to have freedom’s release thwarted…
dispersing silently into far corners brings meal
announcements via olfactory burnt recognition.
Dad was a task completer; one task at a time, none
of this doing ten things a once with haphazard results
that I’m infamous for as I manage maniacally… lost
in right brain activities, I surface racing through chores.
He would have diminished my house repair list quickly
making the home better than when it was shoddily built.
Glancing up to his perch, I apologize to his remains for
selecting such a defective abode knowing he trained me better…
Just when I thought I was done:
past the income tax forms,
past the applications, renewals,
another thick packet rolls in.
Paperless society – not quite!
Pages of questions already dealt
with verbally or in prior forms…
no delay – no putting them off…
cover letter demands immediate return.
Three hours of creativity gone to inking
in required info; cramming answers into
too small an allotted space; printed words
deteriorate from clear to woefully inadequate.
Don’t they have these forms online?
Cut and paste is so much easier…
Rain slaps car windshields
coinciding with ring of closing bell.
Drop rivulets defy gravity
till collective mass brings them down.
Vendors force tired bodies into action
packing up their wares, loading vans/trucks;
end of another long ten to three day…
not counting hours before or after.
Puddles form, sidewalks darken –
spring held at bay by another dank
storm rolling off the Pacific Ocean…
hoods on and sissy umbrellas up,
shielding winter weary residents against
angst arguments with mother nature…
How do you sweep out mistakes
holding back your forward progress?
You too can create a proper
Shrine to Stupidity…
an honoring ceremony
idiotism of blind love,
failing to say no,
other seismic sized personal faults…
this includes a
illuminated trophy case of non-passivity
life lessons will not be lost in denial.
Mom left a list…
Crystal Lake, CT;
Brewster Mud flats, Cape Cod, MA;
Okemo Ski Mountain, Rutland, VT…
but Dad buried her ashes
at the family plot behind her parents,
behind a baby brother she never knew…
Appalled… Why did you do that?
Mom wanted to be scattered…
Shrugging sadly, I couldn’t do it…
I’d need Ninja stealth to uproot that box…
imagine slipping between headstones
dressed in black shovel in hand.
OK, I suppose I could pay a fee to remove
the box but there is also a flight back East.
Lack of a budget is stopping me from making
things right but before I pass over I plan
to pursue scattering Mom and Dad…
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Dropping off of the face of the planet
for two weeks, she planned to sprint to the end.
Apologizing in advance of her disappearance
from normal routine communication lines…
then again would anyone even miss her?
I'm sorry I won't be hanging out
with all you cyber lovelies…
Would they miss her tweets, comments, blurbs?
Never keeping score but at the same time where
were their responses?
Wish me luck…
One last check before withdrawal;
one last comment before clicking the X…
see you suckers at the finish line
or would she?
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Made up for two sleepless nights
by sleeping 13 hours straight…
wish the mattress wasn’t a fatigue valley.
Listing with creaking lame back along
with the reward of some weird dreams
that I scarcely remember… something about
overrated forays that collapsed into quirkiness;
totally impromptu status opposed to normal
apathetic Monday state of mind numbness.
Paper napkin removes embarrassing black
poster paint and soap all up in a mouth spewing
black bubbles aimed at washing away potty language…
oddly specific request of another human being –
parental duty to deter naughty verbiage in their young.
Waking up this morning with excessive doorbell
ringing – actually it was the phone ripping
apart the last voracious strange dream!
The most noble sleep deprived reprieve…
ranks up there with the classic two part parental
command: Don’t eat your boogers…
and don’t ever feed me your boogers…again!
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Usually sparkling intrigued by all you see,
your eyes appear brushed by sorrow;
features display inordinate weariness.
Sitting next to you, her being is vibrant.
I can’t stop staring at this close-up photo;
part of a current newspaper article,
overall sadness seeps into grainy
grays while your lips hold firm.
Having fallen into dimness,
soul draws down pulling light in…
mouth muscles tighten,
exhibit a discourse of discomfort…
Cure the cold bug…
bore it to death with non stop daytime TV.
Snooze, snore and drool!
It's probably as good as any other remedy…
certainly will put you to sleep for sure.
Soaps are mostly gone;
judge shows rule the airwaves…
unless you’re into Jerry Springer.
Far too noisy a show to nap through with
all the yelling and crowd chanting;
Couch potatoed in place, tissues, tea,
comfy blanket, pajamas and pillow…
at least one cat clinging to innate form
between sneeze eruptions and flying
soggy used tissues missing trash bin.
Superbly sublime sinus corruption
outpouring to daytime TV…