Monthly Archives: November 2018

Rhapsody in Blue

In the methane blue
of Neptune’s stew
I wildly whip my wind lasso-
a-hunting for the Dragon of the Cloud!

Through icy fleece
I stalk the beast,
a thousand miles an hour at least,
beneath this sapphire atmospheric shroud.

I’m born of wind,
and thickly skinned-
with Neptune’s swirling vortex twinned.
I hurry hard and bellow out aloud!

To catch him fast
and so at last
undo his necromancy past,
and join again the nation of the proud!

Starvation

Insensitive remarks.
Things thrown.
Mother crying
Rotten bastard
Father restrains her.
Doors slam
Once, twice, thrice.
We two kids,
We see and hear
From the crack in our bedroom door
We want to stop our ears.
We cry too.
Too young to know why it is like this.
Want to come out and console,
But scared to open the door.
Calm comes, sometimes,
And there is what passes
For family love,
But these two little ones
Had now a cautiousness, a tentativeness
That precluded real joy.
Awaiting, with dread, what would happen next.
We were showered with gifts
At Christmas, if Dad had a bankroll.
Feast of presents,
Famine of spirits.
A month later, bailiff at the door.
Everybody hide, don’t make a sound.
They will go away.
Then, out for a ride,
We two captives in the back seat.
The bickering begins
Between mother and father.
At a stoplight, she makes her escape,
Screams at him from the open door,
Then runs the other way.
We cry again, until he is able
To cajole her back in.
We were never hit, but seldom touched.
No cruel or unusual punishment,
But, it is hard to remember times of love,
Under the shadow of these things that fester.
A learned apprehension that now comes so naturally.

Anonymous

There’s a man who stands bewildered in his garage. He can be heard to hum Heart of Glass, while he stands bemused, hands in pockets.  His grown kids rake the final leaves, hauling them out by tarpaulin load to the street.  Yesterday was his last shift at a patchy part time job.  So many youngsters there.  Such exuberant repartee.  Hard for him to follow at times, but always dispelling the lonely dark.  Dismissed by some as the sad old guy, still he has made one or two friends.  A girl who has hardly spoken to him these months shows surprise that he is leaving, and tells him awkwardly that it was nice to have met him.  Another who seemed standoffish at first had begun to chat with him these last days.  Although just a line worker with the rest, her manner of speaking and of taking charge  when others were losing their heads had made an impression upon him.  She saw his covert glances and wistful smiles, and knew him for a friend.  To think that someone with such confidence and ebullience would take the time to talk with him has touched his heart, and, this night, he has written a little verse about her.  It’s called To make you smile. She does not know it’s his last night there.  With trembling hand, he passes the note to one of the guys, asks that it be given to his Jenna girl, and leaves without saying goodbye.
She will know.

What it feels

fuzzy food in fridge
flushed today
smell lingers
can it be washed away?

desperate house plants
bought with good intentions
gave up ghosts through kitchen window
carcasses remain

breakfasts of cold toast and peanut butter

outside, a sanctuary of thistles

inside, the dark imbues the body bones
absorbed in daily doses
just enough to quell
thoughts that foment rebellion

these I gave to you, I think.
my remembered lover
my old optimist
my partner of journey
my willing prisoner

spurn me now
for I have killed you
the worst of all crimes
a spirit stilled

melancholic