For this week’s prompt, I was inspired by the recent Heather Bell interview: Take a true event (whether in your life or another’s) and fictionalize it. You can determine how far to take the fictionalization, but try to push the envelope a little and make people question how much is real and how is fake–and hopefully, have trouble leaving your poem even when they’re not reading it.
Here’s my attempt at a fictionalized true event poem:
“At the Laundromat”
As the machines internalize their rotations, some guy
decides to break the hum-thump-hum. He says, “These
dryers are better. Just saying for when you move yours,
because you never know when they come in and service
these,” and he gives the machine a kick. “You never know,
know what I’m saying?” I smile and nod, think about how
I have trouble telling people I don’t know what to say, but
he continues, “I’ve been here a long time, and I’ve only
ever seen them service anything once. By the way,
rats get in through the bathroom window. Not good.”
I use his pause to pick up my book, but then, he asks,
“Ever meet those folks across the street?” “Nope.”
“Well, they’re pretty nice folks, but they’ll follow you
wherever you go. Like sometimes they’ll follow me
right out of the building and keep talking to me, and
I’m like, ‘Dude, I went outside to get a smoke and be
alone in my space.’” I kind of laugh and look at my book.
The words are there, but I can’t seem to grasp them.
He says, “You remind me of an old friend. He used
to smile all the time, and we called him Smiley.”
“I get that a lot,” I say. “Nothing wrong with smiling,”
he says, “my older brother never smiled. He was
built mean and would dunk my head under water
over and over so that I only ever had a split second
to catch my breath.” And that’s when I start to rotate
with the machines. My smile, my thoughtful eyes–
the poet in me notices the insects caught on bug
tape hanging over the washing machines. It’s almost
midnight and they fly in for the fluorescent lights.
A moth lands next to my foot, and I can’t help
but step on it without feeling a guilty about what
I’ve done that I’d probably never do again. I wonder
what my life might be like if I had been built mean.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
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GONE WITH THE WIND
(rondeau redouble)
Such a fine morning for a run-away.
The sun’s behind Stone Mountain, rising free
with just a hint of breeze at break of day.
It brings my puppy news that I can’t see
from higher ridges, lands of snow and scree.
And down here, the creek dances silver-gray
over rocks after-rainstorm jubilee.
Such a fine morning for a run-away
from piles of papers, promises to pay,
the must-haves fickle as a fashion-tree.
Two honkers on the wing, it’s holiday,
the sun’s above Stone Mountain, rising free –
no matter all the lock-steps on TV,
our doomsday world, we’re off the cliff, they say.
Storm passed in the night, sparkling in the lee
with just a hint of breeze at break of day.
Open doors. Loki’s wild but on-belay
of leash till I unclip her. Bel-esprit
of wind from every compass-point. Today
it brings my puppy news that I can’t see,
and there she’s off outrunning elegy.
I tag along, behind as Saturday
that lags, and looks, and listens. Chickadee
and nuthatch, raven, woodpecker and jay –
such a fine morning!
CALLOUT
We switched from Christmas plans, geared up
for extreme Sierra storm. One out-of-bounds
skier missing since Monday. White slopes
heaped in cornices set to avalanche. My
dog led out, breaking trail thru powder.
The whole white winter-world set to
slide. Snow still falling. Search-
boss called us back. We don’t
trade lives, he said. We left
the mountain to its snow.
When you can dream and want so much to let love work
You are so beautiful
You light up my world
Your are so wonderful
You make me proud to be your girl
Only you mean everything to me
For you my angel keep me loving every moment of this life you see
You are sweet and you are thoughtful
You give me every reason to be grateful
You make each day one to look forward to
For you sweetheart are an amazing individual
You are here for a special reason
You are here to lighten dark moments
If you were not important or relevant
I’m wondering how incomplete I would be as an individual
God placed you in this life
He sent you to ease others pain and strife
Think how wonderful you are sweet angel
Perfectly geared and placed here to help others in their battles
I don’t think you realize what you are
You have been a source of strength when all was lost
May not be perfect, for we all have our faults
But I need you to know I respect and honor all you have strived for in this world
I love to hear your sweet laughter
I love every moment I spend with you and after
All falls into place quite easily
When you make things clear and right for me
So I thank you for being you
Know this you are a unique beautiful individual
I’m blessed for having this time with you
May every dream you long for be yours, all it takes is, to yourself be true!
I’m Still Here
I loved the feeling of flying
down twisty-turny tree-lined roads,
soaring fifty in town, 110 highway.
I trusted my boyfriend’s driving completely,
until one day the trees entwined
with sky and road as we
tumbled and tossed
and then thunk.
And I saw cheery light,
heard celebratory music,
smelled something sweeter than lilacs
and heard a voice I recognized.
THE Voice
He said I needed to go back to raise my family.
“I don’t have a family,” I said.
“You will.”
“I want to stay.”
“You have to go back,
for now,
but you will return.”
And then, oh well, I was back,
a marvel to the doctors and nurses.
I raised my family.
And I’m still here.
POEM FOR THE WORLD UNENDED
Every day is a surprise.
At edge of greenwood, I said “go find!”
My dog knew, I meant a human: Frank. He’d hide
so he’d never be discovered
among trees so dense, only a compass kept me
from fairytale circles. Poison ivy, greenbrier
twined through trees. Everything gets lost here.
And Frank?
My dog came ranging back – her head popped up –
quick turn, mid-stride – disappeared
in green – came back with that look in her eye.
She bucked a pirouette
in front of me, whirled around, nosed into green.
I saw nothing but thicket. Green.
Pivoting, she stared at me, stared
into green. Leaped in. A gasp – squeal –
“HELP!” and Frank crawled out, head to toe
in camo. My dog found the disappeared-
in-forest. The Green Man.
OOOOoooooo. Love this.
It’s crazy, huh?
They know exactly the wrong they’re doing
But you don’t
Because they’re good at what they do
A young girl of four years, or five
I can never remember… that’s how young I was
I was little, he was a different kind of small
A hormonal, confused teenager
At first, the trips to the bathroom were games of pretend
One day it was an elevator, the other day a spaceship
Strictly professional, fully clothed, he became a big brother figure
Trust needs to be built before it can be broken
You know, things like this happen slowly, deceivingly
First the groping, then the undressing
Then more groping on complete nakedness
And the funniest part is, it all seemed like just another game
Soon it got to where I only had to be told what to do
Personal prostitution, I like to call it
“Your mouth goes here… and then you suck.”
Yes, you really do suck, big brother
What a wonderful way to break a life
I feel more disgusted with myself than you
Say It Ain’t So
I heard the voices loud and clear
As the shower water soaked my hair
Is this for real what I hear
Or did I get water in my ear
Who are you I said with great fear
How is your voice coming from thin air
I see no speakers or people anywhere
I’m taking a shower don’t you care
Give me some privacy I declared
You have no right to be here
I’ll find you, you son of a bitch
As soon as I get out of here
I shut off the water
and listened with fear
stark naked but I didn’t care
this is crazy I don’t understand
What on earth is going on here
I thought with great fear
Who are you I demand
And how do you know who I am
You know my thoughts
I understand that
For I haven’t spoken
Sense I entered this bath
This can not be real
for there’s nobody here
yes my imagination
that must be it
the LSD last week
I did to many hits
I’m still tripping
That must be it
Now thirty years later
The voices still here
Chatting away without a care
I’ve learned to ignore them but they don’t care
They speak of implants and microchips now
Mapping the brain and DNA
Telling me to warn everyone
It’s coming some day
A means to control societies souls
Stopping the evil that people do
Using these chips for mind control
It’s already here but few people know
You need to speak out
And tell the world so
About this plan for societal control
It’s no longer sci-fi stuff you know
I Am the Cup
Named for a Lord
the most prestigious trophy
yet no one is fighting for me
because of greed
The first time ever
The Kings lifted me high
a city celebrates still
but cannot cheer
So here I sit
for far too long
gathering dust
in silent halls
Oh they still play
maybe not here
in faraway lands
where it’s still a game.
Saved
When the cable broke on that crane, and then
the whole cross-hatched structure came crashing
down in drop-stick, sun-drenched acrobatics, and then
that boy who lived in the rickety house across the street
pulled me into no. 12′s sheltered porch so we were safe
from the clatterous mess, and then, right then,
I knew that this was the boy I’d marry.
I was 8.
I knew he’d saved my life, so I reckoned it only right
that I should save his life and marry him.
“Shatter”
It’s crazy, huh?
They know exactly the wrong they’re doing
But you don’t
Because they’re good at what they do
A young girl of four years, or five
I can never remember… that’s how young I was
I was little, he was a different kind of small
A hormonal, confused teenager
At first, the trips to the bathroom were games of pretend
One day it was an elevator, the other day a spaceship
Strictly professional, fully clothed, he became a big brother figure
Trust needs to be built before it can be broken
Things like this happen slowly, deceivingly
First the groping, then the undressing
Then more groping on complete nakedness
And the funniest part is, it all seemed like just another game
Soon it got to where I only had to be told what to do
Personal prostitution, I like to call it
“Your mouth goes here… and then you suck.”
Yes, you really do suck, big brother
What a wonderful way to break a life
I feel more disgusted with myself than you
Adept
Adept at numbers, quite my opposite,
my sister became an accountant.
She loved her work, but after
birth of second child, out of the field
for a long while, she discovered
a new love, medicine. With two
kids, and perfect poster man for
Scoundrel, she studied, buddying
up with others–return to school
mothers, single young men
and women–persevering through
medical terminology. She became
a laboratory technologist. Now,
she is head of hospital’s laboratory,
well respected, a fabulous success
story, newly married.
Sunday Sermon
Woke early that Sunday morn,
Spring had sprung, the air was warm.
Made up my mind quick, thought He would approve too,
Gonna fetch my gear, skip church, catch a fish or two.
Got out the bread, lettuce, bologna and spice,
Pret near cut off my finger; very first slice.
Bandaged the wound, cleaned up the mess,
Wasn’t anything gonna stop me, I must confess.
Got the coffee brewing, hot water in the thermos, lettin’ it set,
When I went to pour, I knocked it over, making my sandwiches sloppy and all wet.
At that, I gave up on lunch, and thinking me to be smart,
I’d just stop and pick something up, at the local quick mart.
Opened the door, to my faithful old truck,
When I got in; I forgot to duck.
Got whacked on the head, by the top of the door,
All I could do was see stars, and hit the floor.
When I came to, wasn’t much wait,
But my head and finger were in a sorry state.
I managed to crawl in, buckle up and turn the key,
When I threw her in gear; I slammed my knee.
By now, tears are startin’ to form, and wet my face,
Thinkin’ the congregation probably be singin’ Amazing Grace.
It’d been a long winter, and I was tired of the frozen take,
Plus I heard from family folk – “Pike is chompin’ at the lake”.
Finally made it, to the music of the lapping shore,
Not a prettier sight – no that’s fer sure.
Fixed up my rig, and gave her a cast,
Halleluiah! – My line was wet, wet at last.
Cranked it back, slow and shifty, to lure one in,
Hopin’ no-one that knew me, would see the state I was in.
First cast, I hooked a big’ne, and would see him surface soon,
All I caught; some dead, half rotten, smelly raccoon.
It stank, so rank, and I gasped in a huff,
Couldn’t get that line cut, soon enough!
Startin’ to figure this maybe ain’t all by chance,
Bein’ stubborn and ignorant, I took my stance.
Moved down the shore, up-wind a bit,
Found a rock, just right, easy to sit.
Fixed my eye on the water’s gleam,
Gave an enormous cast; made that reel scream!
There was line in the lake, line on the ground,
It all left the reel, none left to be found.
Not a worry, as any good fisherman would know,
There’s always one or two spares, ready to go.
Back to the truck, to fetch that spare rod-n-reel,
Took one step, felt something poke right in my heel.
That lure been airborne, misslin’ all this time,
Sank deep in my aquiles, pain shot up my spine.
I acquiesced and let out a yell and a holler,
My medical insurance sure to go up a few dollar.
I grabbed what I could, and loaded the truck,
I ain’t never before had this rough of luck.
Key to the ignition, turned to start,
Number three backfired, blew the head all apart.
Now I’m wounded, bleeding, truck’s in a haze,
Lo and behold someone’s a honkin’, givin’ a big wave.
Cringe in my eye – It’s the pastor and his wife, drivin’ out for a visit,
They stop, change their plans, drive me toward home, don’t just let me sit.
All the ride home, I’m gettin’ faint , pain, is gettin’ worse,
I keep ramblin’; “Take me to the doc, before I need the hearse!”
Pastor just chuckled and said; “Glad we come along, could be of service to you”,
“I’m makin’ bets; next Sunday you’ll be back in your usual pew”.
I never had a sermon so clear, like that day,
Trust me; never, ever again, will I stray.
I swore, not a curse, but an oath, till the day I die,
Won’t ever miss Sunday mornin’ service again – no reason why.
US
They know us
(those who know us)
as best friends who’ve never met
and I don’t regret it yet
(except when I regret)
that we nearly almost met.
One bearded; one brunette
Must never, ever fret
That they, in fact, HAVE met –
Their best-kept secret yet.
(Shhh … don’t tell a soul…)
And I gotta say, he sleighs me: http://poeticbloomings.com/special-holiday-interview/
And “he” wouldn’t have it any other way… except for the meeting part! And a longer phone conversation!
The Party Cat
My neighbor takes a cat
in from the parking lot.
He buys it cat food,
feeds it,
and dresses it in a suit.
He names the cat William,
so he can call it by name
when they go to the bars.
“William,” he says,
“let’s spend a night on the town.”
Woman come up to them
in the bars
to pet the cat,
to his delight.
“William, you’re the best wingman
I ever had.”
He takes the women he meets
home with him,
and William paces outside his door
during the one night stands
waiting for his fair share
of attention,
for he knows
they love him, too.
One night, while dressed
in his suit, he goes out alone
to claim a woman as his own.
Inside the bar, he purrs, and he plays
while his owner stays at home.
After the women ignore him,
he decides to go home.
Lost in the streets,
he finds a parking lot,
but the building are not the same
A cold wind blows,
and he goes inside the building
and knocks at the first door he sees.
Someone comes out, who looks like first owner,
and so he asks to be taken in.
The owner buys him food
and feeds him
and offers a place
where he can stay.
But dressed in a suit,
the cat is eager to party and play.
He asks the owner to go out
and find the bar where he had been.
Although the owner’s new,
it’s time for another night on the town,
a time to begin again.
The Party Cat
My neighbor takes a cat
in from the parking lot.
He buys it cat food,
feeds it,
and dresses it in a suit.
He names the cat William,
so he can call it by name
when they go to the bars.
“William,” he says,
“let’s spend a night on the town.”
Woman come up to them
in the bars
to pet the cat,
to his delight.
“William, you’re the best wingman
I ever had.”
He takes the women he meets
home with him,
and William paces outside his door
during the one night stands
waiting for his fair share
of attention,
for he knows
they love him, too.
One night,while dressed
in his suit, he goes out alone
to claim a woman as his own.
Inside the bar, he purrs, and he plays
while his owner stays at home.
After the women ignore him,
he decides to go home.
Lost in the streets,
he finds a parking lot,
but the building are not the same.
A wind blows,
and he goes inside the building
and knocks at the first door.
Someone comes out, who looks like first owner,
and so he asks to be taken in.
The owner buys him food
and feeds him
and offers a place
where he can stay.
But dressed in a suit,
the cat is eager to party and play.
He asks the owner to go out
and find the bar where he had been.
Although the owner’s new,
it’s time for another night on the town,
a time to begin again.
The Party Cat
My neighbor takes a cat
in from the parking lot.
He buys it cat food,
feeds it,
and dresses it in a suit.
He names the cat William,
so he can call it by name
when they go to the bars.
“William,” he says,
“let’s spend a night on the town.”
Woman come up to them
in the bars
to pet the cat,
to his delight.
“William, you’re the best wingman
I’ve had.”
He takes the women he meets
home with him,
and William paces outside his door
during the one night stands
waiting for his fair share
of attention,
for he knows
they love him, too.
One night,while dressed
in his suit, he goes out alone
to claim a woman as his own.
Inside the bar, he purrs, and he plays
while his owner stays at home.
After the women ignore him,
he decides to go home.
Lost in the streets,
he finds a parking lot,
but the building are not the same.
A wind blows,
and he goes inside the building
and knocks at the first door he sees.
Someone comes out, who looks like first owner,
and so he asks to be taken in.
The owner buys him food
and feeds him
and offers a place
where he can stay.
But dressed in a suit,
the cat is eager to party and play.
He asks the owner to go out
and find the bar where he had been.
Although the owner’s new,
it’s time for another night on the town,
a time to begin again.
A natural hat-trick! Three in a row! Nice one Mike X 3.
HARDWARE & HOOP
It used to be a tinsmith shop and hardware
in Gold Rush days. Just try to rush the aisles,
looking for what you can’t find anywhere else.
You’re stopped a dozen times by something
you didn’t even know you wanted. I wanted
a replacement coffee urn. Of course they had
just the right one. The lady led me between
impossibly loaded shelves, and pointed straight
up. “You climb the stairs,” she said, and “push
it out. I catch.” Did this glass coffee urn have
wings? I climbed, found the box, and pushed.
It plunged. The lady leaped and caught it.
The sale price was worth the show.
Taylor, I don’t comment on your work enough, but if there were a Poetic “Mecca”, I’d be facing you right now! I appreciate your presence here!
No, really, I saw it myself!
Clifford Royall’s Zen
Just like that
Clifford cat
waited there
half in air
spread like twigs
zags and zigs
feline flag
zig and zag
until he
became tree
furry bark
treetop shark
eyes and teeth
smile beneath
’til a bird
half absurd
flew into
paws and jaws
Based on a breakfast at the Newark Hilton Dodge Poetry Festival
Eating Words
Eating fruit with Jane Hirsfield
Each bite
Each taste
Ripe juicy words
Bursting leaking down the chin
Oh Bright fresh words.
Drinking coffee with Mali
Eating eggs with Finney
Finish soda with Doral and wondering
What do other poets read
On a down time what poets
Do they read do
They enter into book stores
At least book stores
That
Still have
Poetry
Words held in place before
Release
I close my notebook and head for words after breakfast of poetry.
Sally Price, United Empire Loyalist
William was too principled to stay
The people of our New Jersey home too radical
The new nation too pure in its peoples’ minds, in his stubborn head
Duty bound I was to the man in a later century I surely would have parted ways with
Just as he parted ways with our country, my country
For love of King and God
What help was the King when I was forced to wade in hip-deep water to bring young John and James ashore
Where was God when our plates only held stale bread and no milk
What did William hope to find in this land, away from the new nation we abandoned, wanting no part of
I thought I learned what cold felt like in those New Jersey winters
I thought I knew what lonliness meant when Bill had joined the Volunteers
How naive I was of the ways of the world
And now they celebrate our arrival each year with fireworks and parties
They gaze at those paintings and our steadfast happiness
Our satisfaction with our new land and our new life
I roll in my grave like that foresaken ship on that gray ocean
I curse the historians, and I pity the fools that believe them
http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~apassageintime/registry.html
testing posting nothing I posted last week worked loved reading through all the poems still stumbling over this prompt
I would often sit in the dusty old herringbone chair in the
corner of the caffeine stained coffe shop
on the corner of Northland and Guadalup.
It was a time for me
to reflect,
usually on nothing,
a smudged mirror that no longer did anyone any good any more,
and remember the days that I would come and sit and actually
have something to say.
More now than ever, I stare at a blank page,
coffee slowly turning the temperature
of indifference,
latte foam becoming a sticky mess of
lactose and lost memories,
and ponder the inexplicable why.
I spoke to her first when she came in three months ago.
I’m really good at noticing new faces,
not that this shop was mine,
but it could have very well been,
the amount of time I spent making a space in the chair
that curved specifically to the curvature of my ass
so that any one else sitting in that same chair
shifted uncomfortably like a grandchild who had been caught in a lie.
She wore those red stockings and blue skirt with a yellow blouse.
Her hair was done up in a pony tail.
My first words were, “pardon me” as I reached across the counter
to grasp the scalding hot liquid awake.
Her first words were a smile.
That day, she joined me
in staring at a blank white page.
She didn’t ask permission,
she didn’t cough a politeness.
She just sat.
And I, purely enveloped in my disgruntled disfigurement
of irony,
grasping for catharsis,
and perhaps a symbol of metarelief,
had failed to notice she was hovering at my side,
enshrouding me in Stella,
bathing me in a superfluous luminescence
that simultaneously melted me and held me
in a spiritual ennui.
Her second words were, “Name’s Naomi.”
My second words were startled.
My fingers pulsed
and the ink finally spilled.
Decisions
Nothingness, nowhere-ness
Reach out for the psyche,
Gripping one mind’s purpose,
Snuffing out personal
Meaning for tomorrow;
For now only darkness
Rules thought or lack of it,
Leaving only desire,
Release from a black hole
Threatening more horrors.
Light, sound, emerge to claim
Attention to the now,
Offering potential
Oblivion for good
In train’s form on the track.
Speeding forward, one dive
To take a last breath here
And leave darkness behind.
Who would know, who would care
That time could cease for now?
Speed, longing, ever known
For faith in one’s angels
Until that night, despite
Plans of last decision
Foiled by strong unseen hands,
And heavenly powers
Remove harm and present
A life reviewed, found good
Enough to pursue all
That time can permit–now.
Where Are You Now
Putting up posters of you,
I got to study your face
Every time I tacked up another,
I took a long look
Wondering as I considered
the gaze in your eyes
What it was you were thinking
when this photo was taken
and if you ever imagined
for an instant
That one day it would be
used advertising your status
As a missing person
with the police wanting
Anyone with information
about you to call them,
But more importantly,
your family, your friends
Desperate for news of you –
pleading for any titbit
To know that you were alive
somewhere, even if you
Could not stand to be
here maybe, if only you were
Somewhere else and
breathing, that’s all
Just that; all they needed
was a scrap of hope
A line to cling to that
would allow them a way
To continue without you
but trusting that you were,
If not fine, still fighting
your demons, still living
Some said, no, you were
long gone and they did not
Mean you had travelled
far away, they meant you
Were dead, and they said
this with such authority
I found myself cringing,
flinching from their words
As if they were flung at me
like stones, and I wondered
Were I myself to disappear
for any reason, would I
So quickly be written
out of the play,
so finally, so easily
And then, feeling bad
about such self-absorption
I tried to compare my
state of mind with yours
and how little I had
actually known
of your mental health issues
Until now, now,
when you had
walked into the dark
One night and failed
to return
– then arose the news
that you ‘suffered’
from depression
and were off
your ‘meds’ – so many
of us whispered – who knew?
As if by knowing,
we might have prevented
this occurrence
Your walking away from life,
from all of us, maybe
As if by realizing
how alone you
must have been feeling,
How you were spiralling
down into that dark place
From which no light
can be seen,
We might have
reached out,
caught your fall,
But I, having oft’ been
held hostage
in that dungeon myself
knew well that
there would have
been no way to tell
any of the foregoing,
if you did not
want it known
Depressives, for
whatever reason,
Become masterful
at hiding
their symptoms and
all that follows –
I know myself that it
becomes harder
with each episode
to admit to myself
never mind others,
that yes –
Here I go again,
spiralling down
into the
bottomless abyss
And I will do anything
to try and convince
myself that
it is not happening,
often ending up
in hospital
Before acknowledging
that I am already
beyond the subtle aids
of adjusting medications
or going to see
my shrink more often.
And those closest to me?
Often have had no clue
to the desperation
I am experiencing –
if I want to hide my pain,
I become as masterful
as any criminal or spy…
If you were sinking,
especially inexplicably,
as is usually the case
for those of us who cope
with endogenous depressions –
ie. those which have no
discernible cause or triggers -
I can well imagine how
very desperate and alone
you must have felt…
My Lord, I am depressing myself…
When I heard
that your body
was pulled
from the river
My first instinct
was denial;
probably more
for self-preservation
than anything else;
When someone wrote
on your FaceBook
memorial wall
That we had lost you
weeks ago
and this was ‘closure’
That word I have come
to loath,
I found myself
railing against
the simplicity
of the statement –
I, who was still posting
your picture,
however naively,
Friday afternoon
Did not lose you
until I accepted
that it was you
when the confirmation
came in from the police
sometime Saturday
Even though
when I heard
a body had
been recovered
Friday night, I admit,
I did fear the worst
But your actual loss?
Even now, I have
trouble grasping it
I found myself
pondering the
huge impact
your going missing
And then being
found dead,
presumably a suicide,
has had on me
And, in case it isn’t
already obvious,
I’m sure it’s
because I relate
as one of the
so-called, “fragile ones”.
It is always particularly
hard to see someone
lose the battle,
especially someone
who appears
as you did,
to be so supremely
winning it,
so successfully
wearing the mask.
I think about
picking up
the latest copy
of this city’s
glossy art magazine
And reading
your article
therein about
form and fortune
I wonder, how did
you go
from writing
those recent upbeat,
funky articles –
They are all
about the latest
Art Gallery showings–
To where you
ended up –
on our infamous
high bridge
is my conjecture
– after all, you found
dead in the river
bisecting this town–
It usually follows,
even if it doesn’t
bear too much
thinking about –
But, really –
what happened?
As one who
has experienced
a long period
of relative stability
I feel the chilly
finger of fate
tickling my spine,
tapping my
healthy synapses
swinging the gates
between them,
toying with
the idea
of slamming
a few shut;
After all,
the mental health
game is a capricious
one obviously…
What did it take
to set your
chess pieces
So cruelly
in motion
that you were
suddenly in
check-mate
Could see
no option
but to forfeit
the game?
I know how
selfish this is,
I go back and forth
Mourning your loss,
fearing for my own
–and I experience
some of the stages
of grief as I go –
not the least
of which is anger
There are periods
when I want
to scream at you,
“Why? Why?”
into the void
What was it
that pushed you
over finally?
I have asked this
question of
other suicides
To no avail
of course, but it
does not keep
me from speculating
So—where are you
now, I can’t
help wondering,
You an atheist,
Me an agnostic
who has trouble
believing that surely
this is not all there is
After all, science
says that energy
cannot be
destroyed, correct?
And even
with my woefully
inadequate grasp
of scientific concepts,
I believe that one thing –
that energy cannot
be destroyed
and that
it is energy
that animates
these shells
we call bodies,
Energy that
provides what
We so cavalierly
refer to as life,
spirit, the soul
– whatever –
when we are alive
When we continue
to breathe
and have a pulse,
we are filled
with energy
And when we die,
when we cease
to have a heart-beat,
when breath deserts
us for the last time
and the body
becomes the husk
we know it to be
Then the energy
that imbued it,
that made it us
who we are –
where does it go?
Do you have that
answer now?
You who professed
to believe
in nothing
and nothingness
When that light
of yours
finally went out,
what of your energy?
If it couldn’t
be destroyed
Where, oh where,
did it go?
Was it left
up on the bridge?
Is it in the river?
Is it floundering?
Bewildered, wondering
what it should
do now?
Does that happen
to energy?
I find myself questioning
the oddest things
now, and always
after someone takes
their life
Or even after
someone dies
of ordinary causes,
Where is their energy?
I can’t help
but speculate…
It always comes
back to that -
So, where are
you now?
If you could
tell me,
would you?
S.E.Ingraham
And I thought I was long winded!
Great piece, Sharon.
Yeah – it’s a tome, I know – and I’ve tried paring it down actually but just cannot do it yet … so it stays epic. Thanks Walt.
The Answering Machine Break-Up
Her eyes landed on the blinking light
as soon as she walked through the door;
her heart sinking as she heard the words,
falling down to the cold hard floor.
No decency or respect had he shown for her
in saying he no longer wished to carry on.
She should have known what to expect
from such a conceited person,
but she had fallen too hard, too fast
and the mourning lasted too long
until voices rang from up above–
God filled her hole with song.
On the bus
from my new
home to my
old one,
to catch
a last smile
from my
dying father,
I looked
out the window
at a familiar
pass shrouded
in forest fire
smoke, but
off to the right,
there was a
clearing, unseasonably
green and glowing,
like one of his
paintings and I
knew he was
finally home.
Filching Apples from Wallingford’s
I asked, and he pulled the truck
over beside the orchard, so I
could wade through thigh deep
grass, and choose two apples.
They were McCouns, clean,
sound, with full red shoulders,
roundly resting in my hands.
I struggled back to the truck
with them.
I was still a girl, impetuous,
with no notion of my own
power. When he took the
apple I gave him, he didn’t
know that he was saying
yes to me then, now, yes
to every forbidden thing.
Was this in the Market of Eden?
Love the modernization!
No, an old boyfriend reminded me that I actually did this. Worse, I knew the owners of the orchard perfectly well. At 15, the symbolism of that act was quite lost on me!
Hmmm. i think i like it this way better:
WINTER.
Because it seemed right that she should be sitting
on a shelf in Nebraska waiting for the Spring thaw
(ashes to ashes)
having been a hard woman from the beginning
having beaten me motionless with her words
(dust to dust)
I’ll admit to a smile stealing slowly across my face
(ashes)
because at the last, the frozen ground proved colder
(to ashes)
than her bitter words scrawled on the photo’s back,
(dust)
my face X’ed out in red Sharpie, splitting my smiling lips
(to dust)
as a shard of her icy heart pierces mine.
(ashes, ashes, we all fall
d
o
w
n.)
I love it, either way.
thanks sonja! i appreciate that.
WINTER.
Because it seemed right that she should be sitting
on a shelf in Nebraska waiting for the Spring thaw
(ashes to ashes, dust to dust)
having been a hard woman from the beginning
having beat me motionless with her words
(ashes to ashes)
I’ll admit to a smile stealing slowly across my face
because at the last, the frozen ground proved colder
(dust to dust)
than her bitter words scrawled on the photo’s back,
my face X’ed out in red Sharpie, splitting my smiling lips
(dead to me, dead to me)
as a shard of her icy heart pierces mine.
(ashes, ashes, we all
fall
d
o
w
n.)
iROMANCE
He loved her…
her words lit up his
computer…
and his life.
At long last, when they met, her
eyes lit up his heart.
She loved him…
his words lit up her
computer…
and her life.
At long last, when they met, his
smile lit up her heart.
Soulmates, forever.
Aww… so sweet, Paula.
Awww! Love it!
WOW! Is it warm in here, or is it just my computer?
White Mountains
It was innocent.
Just a way to help her young students
raise money for the missions.
A third grade teacher
shares her watercolor paintings
of downhill skiers.
Matted and covered in plastic
they raised a lot of money.
And eyebrows.
For tucked under the paintings
were explicit life drawings
of bare breasted
nudes reclining
that became a trading
playground mission.
Painting the teacher
a deeply embarrassed
red.
Oh, No! Too funny!
I’m hesitant to post anything since nothing I’ve posted to the 201 thread ever showed up.
Give it another shot, JW. The gremlins seem to have been vanquished!
I love this narrative poem of yours, Robert. Nicely ironic ending too. Back soon with something new….
Yikes! It usually adds us to the bottom of the list. Getting moved up top is more than a little scarey. E
Shadow-Self
It might be my skin, but I don’t like it.
Never have. Never been comfortable in it.
So I have spent my life play-
acting, pretending, positive that
if people could see my real self,
it would never pass scrutiny, pass
muster, pass the point of
close inspection.
So with all this experience at
deception, it hasn’t been too difficult
to fake my death. I can no longer
continue to wonder what people
really think about me.
So here I am, hiding behind
a tree at the cemetery. Just
close enough to hear, but not
too close. After all, I can’t chance
being seen.
But what I’m hearing makes no sense.
People are saying things like:
“She always had this invisible wall
between us. We could have been so much
closer without it.” and,
“She was so good at reading
you—telling you what you
wanted to hear. But you
constantly wondered if it
was really her speaking.” and,
“Too bad she never understood
what a beautiful soul she had.
We could all see it hiding
behind her constructs and
disguises, but she never could.”
What I’m hearing—it must be a dream.
The real me is okay!
I jump out of my hiding place just as
everyone turns to leave.
“Hey everybody, here I am!”
And I am stricken in disbelief
as they pass right through me…
Ellen Knight
More true than I care to admit…
Consignment
I put twenty copies of my chapbook
on consignment at the Sunrise Tea Room.
Six months later, when I called to settle
accounts, they could not account for fifteen
of the copies. They seemed very contrite,
and said they were just completely baffled.
But something seemed a bit fishy to me.
Sure enough, it didn’t take long to find
one of the books serving as a hot mat
in the kitchen. Another copy was
wedged tight beneath the dessert cabinet
to keep it level, while the remains of
at least three more were serving as packing
material around an exhaust fan.
At the phone, a waitress was scribbling
a long order on an ominously
familiar-looking pad of paper.
It was with considerable relief
That I found the men’s room stocked with normal
two-ply tissue – but then I washed my hands
and found I could read the paper towels…
On the way out the door, the owner asked
if I would like to come do another
reading there. I said I’d think about it.
OH. MY. WORD!!!!!!! SOOOOO creative and fun!! Unless, of course, it is true …
Really liked this Andrew !! There will always be those who possess callous tendencies.
Love the end!
TWO ABREAST
Two men standing as witness,
to the reckless carnage displayed.
Two twisted masses of metal,
nearby, two bodied laid
out, lacking motion; life.
“A damn shame”, I said,
“what happened?”
“Far as I can tell, he’s a mess; that one’s dead.”
We watched the tragic and insane
attempts to revive, with little luck.
The one still alive, a miracle – barely.
As the response continued, a tow truck
cleared the immovable objects to the objections
of no one. A life in the balance,
one tipping the scale of despair,
the pair not ignored. The gallant
efforts to save gave hope in the resuscitating breath
life continued to offer, still painful
but not painfully still. The will of Him had deemed
that the innocent prevails, the other a disdainful
lack of respect for the life so given.
I glance at the other man, a face
familiar and distant, an instant recognition
accounting for the condition of this place.
A sad smile graced him and I faced him
smelling the alcohol that laced him.
“You going to be okay?” you say,
but his sadness won’t go away.
“Can I give you a ride?” I asked
as he basked in the flashing red beacons.
“Appears I have already one” he reckoned.
Two men standing witless,
walking off in their own direction.
This dissection of life laid strewn
on the splattered crimson pavement
during a long ago June.
I walked into the midst of chaotic activity,
fists pounding my chest repeatedly.
An ear pressed to hear a heart still in motion
and a devotion to stay in this earthly commotion.
I gasp and cough; a stabbing pain intruding,
a rib protruding from my side and legs
that begged for some sense of feeling.
These were the cards life was dealing.
And I noticed him watching; standing witness
alone. The sad smile still shown
and a nod in reverence for my perseverance.
Into each others path we were thrown,
And he climbed into the waiting ambulance,
a chance to escape with dignity; to hide
his inebriate waste of life. No urgency in his departure.
no siren blared. He left two scared sons and a wife.
I stand today as witness myself, scarred and marred,
and with a shard of pity for this man I did not know,
who had come to change how I conducted my life.
Mostly that I can tell my tale; a show
and tell of my survival, a glad revival of spirit,
“He’s a mess; that one’s dead”
In my head I still hear it. I’m alive.
and he decided to drink and drive,
Oh my goodness…
Walt, is your writing single because I would like to marry it.
BROTHERS IN HEART AND MIND
I had come to visit my brother. It hadn’t always been something I did with regularity. But as the years pass, the distance between us has narrowed. We hardly acted like friends; never acted as brothers.He was Joseph and I am Walt. No embraces ever soothed the aching hearts. The was never laughter between us that brought joy. There was just two “boys” in search of identity and acceptance. As was the case, I talked – Joseph listened. A good springboard, he never interrupted or interjected. No argument or contradiction ensued. In the company of brothers, it did not need to come to that. I was always elevated by these visits, coming away feeling I came a bit closer to understanding. Joseph was never demanding or insistent. He remained at rest. I could never tell if he found me at peace. He would never say a word.
Brother lost in though,
wishing to have been closer.
Death brings peace to one.
Ghosts of Yesterday
Where once stood a life
a life that filled each room
now nothing but darkness and gloom
each wall glossed with matted charcoal
almost the colour of a dark soul
Once whispers and laughter
fun filled the air
now sadness is all that one can see
looking at the damaged life that once
lived there
Material isolation
nothing can be repaired
silence of the nothing
leaves eyes in despair
child looks on in fear
Snow thickened on the ground
with every deep footstep
a heart felt pound
fills the white coverered sound
Hear her calling out your name
their lives would never be the same
no one was at fault
no one was to blame
lives lived on
material items
were all that was claimed
Bushes lay in the background
as eyes wept through dark filled skies
now wondering after all of those years
how no one has forgotten those fears
As a perfect reflection
caught her eye
it is no wonder she walks around
with dreams in her eyes
these replace her tears she once did cry
Now the walls are covered in what they used to be
now the laughter fills each room you see
whispers of the days gone past
are like guests of yesterday
new and wonderful events
each and every day
So as the night time falls
and light it filters out
no eyes will cry a tear anymore
only happiness filled throughout