Why do I have to write I never asked to be a writer someone who had to watch people all the time sometimes they used to do unexpected things but not often but when they did I always seemed to be there at the right place to say what I saw. Now they even seem quite happy as they walk around or go for a run or bike ride maybe they are happy about not seeing anybody else just the way I am. I only found them because i had to have something to write about now I don't need them at all GUESSI will meet you there you can be as long as you like that is where I will be where the day becomes night and the night becomes day. It is quiet there a nice place to wait I have others to see there who have waited for me. So only come when you are ready When you are sure When all the birds fly off for fear the final day has come |
Duane Anderson currently lives in La Vista, NE, and volunteers with a non-profit organization as a Donor Ambassador on their blood drives. He has had poems published in The Pangolin Review, Fine Lines, Cholla Needles, Tipton Poetry Journal, Poesis Literary Journal and several other publications. He is the author of ‘Yes, I Must Admit We Are Neighbors’ (Cyberwit.net - 2021). |
Out of Order
Six washers, sitting side by side,
all of the same make and model,
three in working order, with the other
three each wearing ‘Out of Order’ signs,
signs laminated with white letters on a blue
background intended to be used multiple time for the
unending problems occurring with these machines,
and their long wait time before getting repaired.
Quickly scanning the other rows of washers and
dryers in the other aisles of the laundromat,
I find each washer and dryer had been assigned with
a number rather than giving each one a proper name,
like Busted, or Neglected, or Crippled, or Defective.
Many of the other machines sported the same decor,
with the ‘Out of Order’ sign sometimes taped to the side,
while other times taped on the top.
I did not bother tallying all the washers and dryers
identified as not being in working order,
but quickly noted an epidemic was taking place,
slowly contaminating the machines, one by one.
Even the third washer that I was using,
after plugging in the appropriate number of quarters,
finished first for whatever reason before
the other two which each had an earlier head start,
shorting me the minutes I paid for.
I would have to trust that it got those clothes as
clean as the other two machines, but maybe it was
telling me it was the beginning of another disorder,
indicating this machine would be next
to sadly display the ever present ‘Out of Order’ sign.
all of the same make and model,
three in working order, with the other
three each wearing ‘Out of Order’ signs,
signs laminated with white letters on a blue
background intended to be used multiple time for the
unending problems occurring with these machines,
and their long wait time before getting repaired.
Quickly scanning the other rows of washers and
dryers in the other aisles of the laundromat,
I find each washer and dryer had been assigned with
a number rather than giving each one a proper name,
like Busted, or Neglected, or Crippled, or Defective.
Many of the other machines sported the same decor,
with the ‘Out of Order’ sign sometimes taped to the side,
while other times taped on the top.
I did not bother tallying all the washers and dryers
identified as not being in working order,
but quickly noted an epidemic was taking place,
slowly contaminating the machines, one by one.
Even the third washer that I was using,
after plugging in the appropriate number of quarters,
finished first for whatever reason before
the other two which each had an earlier head start,
shorting me the minutes I paid for.
I would have to trust that it got those clothes as
clean as the other two machines, but maybe it was
telling me it was the beginning of another disorder,
indicating this machine would be next
to sadly display the ever present ‘Out of Order’ sign.
Discount Department Store Shopping
The clerk asked me if I was finding everything
alright as I pushed my cart down the aisle of a
large discount department store even though
my shopping cart was completely empty.
I guess everything was going just right
if it was my way of getting in my morning walk,
pushing an empty cart up and down the aisles,
or if I was a magician and had caused the items
I was going to purchase to magically disappear,
but I had just started my shopping and had yet to reach
the area where I hoped to find the items I was looking for,
which to my dismay, found they were all out of on this trip,
but instead of going home right away,
I thought, oh what the hell, I might as well get
some benefit from my futile effort and
decided to get my morning walk in after all,
since it was sixty degrees warmer inside the store
than it was outside in the frigid winter wonderland.
alright as I pushed my cart down the aisle of a
large discount department store even though
my shopping cart was completely empty.
I guess everything was going just right
if it was my way of getting in my morning walk,
pushing an empty cart up and down the aisles,
or if I was a magician and had caused the items
I was going to purchase to magically disappear,
but I had just started my shopping and had yet to reach
the area where I hoped to find the items I was looking for,
which to my dismay, found they were all out of on this trip,
but instead of going home right away,
I thought, oh what the hell, I might as well get
some benefit from my futile effort and
decided to get my morning walk in after all,
since it was sixty degrees warmer inside the store
than it was outside in the frigid winter wonderland.
Car Lot People
Somehow these neighbors liked their vehicles
with two cars in the garage,
three others in the driveway,
and two along the side of their house.
No matter how many times I walked by
it always looked like they were having a party
or maybe had a large family
with several children old enough to drive,
except I had only ever seen the two of them,
a husband and wife living in the house.
Another observation about the vehicles,
as strange as it may be,
was that they only seemed to use three of them.
The other four vehicles didn’t ever seem to get moved,
so why did they have them, maybe for show,
but still the reason remains unknown.
So I assigned them a name of my own making.
I call them the Car Lot people
since I do not know their names,
and they live several blocks from me.
They could be storing some of the cars
for some friends and relatives I guess,
but if they do, I can only hope
they charge enough for their troubles,
especially in winter when they scrape
the frost off the windows, or brush the snow off
and get into a cold car.
Whatever the reason for having all the vehicles,
it is a part of their life and choosing.
As for me, I choose to keep the car I drive
safely in our garage each night.
I too have my own priorities.
with two cars in the garage,
three others in the driveway,
and two along the side of their house.
No matter how many times I walked by
it always looked like they were having a party
or maybe had a large family
with several children old enough to drive,
except I had only ever seen the two of them,
a husband and wife living in the house.
Another observation about the vehicles,
as strange as it may be,
was that they only seemed to use three of them.
The other four vehicles didn’t ever seem to get moved,
so why did they have them, maybe for show,
but still the reason remains unknown.
So I assigned them a name of my own making.
I call them the Car Lot people
since I do not know their names,
and they live several blocks from me.
They could be storing some of the cars
for some friends and relatives I guess,
but if they do, I can only hope
they charge enough for their troubles,
especially in winter when they scrape
the frost off the windows, or brush the snow off
and get into a cold car.
Whatever the reason for having all the vehicles,
it is a part of their life and choosing.
As for me, I choose to keep the car I drive
safely in our garage each night.
I too have my own priorities.
Mrs. Crabby Appleton
I walked my dog by a neighbor’s home,
several blocks away from where we lived,
as we turned the corner and travelled
a few more houses one street over,
I noticed a lady driving her car
on the wrong side of the street
and I wondered what the hell she was doing
as she pulled over by the curb near us.
At first, I thought that maybe she was lost
and needed directions to some street
in the neighborhood, but I was wrong.
Instead, she started scolding me
as if I had done something wrong,
telling me she didn’t want my dog peeing on her grass,
as if an occasional dog pee was going to kill it,
especially when they had an automatic
sprinkler system installed in their yard,
but it wasn’t something that my dog was guilty of doing
on her grass that day anyway.
She had only walked on the grass,
but then I guess that was a sin too.
So each time on future walks when going down that street
I walked on the other side of the street
or made sure my dog didn’t stray from the sidewalk
so not to upset her again.
Maybe my dog would pee on their sidewalk if she had to go,
but at least that wouldn’t be on their grass, after all,
she never said anything about peeing on their sidewalk.
Also, on future walks I was always tempted
to greet her by calling her Mrs. C. A.,
and not letting her know that the C.A.,
the name I had assigned specifically for her,
stood for Crabby Appleton,
the unsavory cartoon character,
and arch-foe of Tom Terrific
that I used to watch on the Captain Kangaroo
television show when I was growing up.
Crabby Appleton was rotten to the core
doing a bad deed every day
and couldn’t stand anyone having fun.
I’m not saying I was like Tom Terrific,
because I was no saint myself,
but if she would ever ask me what C.A. stood for
I would just smile and walk on,
me knowing the secret meaning of the initials,
and glad for one other small miracle,
that she wasn’t my neighbor living directly next door.
several blocks away from where we lived,
as we turned the corner and travelled
a few more houses one street over,
I noticed a lady driving her car
on the wrong side of the street
and I wondered what the hell she was doing
as she pulled over by the curb near us.
At first, I thought that maybe she was lost
and needed directions to some street
in the neighborhood, but I was wrong.
Instead, she started scolding me
as if I had done something wrong,
telling me she didn’t want my dog peeing on her grass,
as if an occasional dog pee was going to kill it,
especially when they had an automatic
sprinkler system installed in their yard,
but it wasn’t something that my dog was guilty of doing
on her grass that day anyway.
She had only walked on the grass,
but then I guess that was a sin too.
So each time on future walks when going down that street
I walked on the other side of the street
or made sure my dog didn’t stray from the sidewalk
so not to upset her again.
Maybe my dog would pee on their sidewalk if she had to go,
but at least that wouldn’t be on their grass, after all,
she never said anything about peeing on their sidewalk.
Also, on future walks I was always tempted
to greet her by calling her Mrs. C. A.,
and not letting her know that the C.A.,
the name I had assigned specifically for her,
stood for Crabby Appleton,
the unsavory cartoon character,
and arch-foe of Tom Terrific
that I used to watch on the Captain Kangaroo
television show when I was growing up.
Crabby Appleton was rotten to the core
doing a bad deed every day
and couldn’t stand anyone having fun.
I’m not saying I was like Tom Terrific,
because I was no saint myself,
but if she would ever ask me what C.A. stood for
I would just smile and walk on,
me knowing the secret meaning of the initials,
and glad for one other small miracle,
that she wasn’t my neighbor living directly next door.
Alex Andy Phuong earned his Bachelor of Arts in English from California State University—Los Angeles in 2015. He was a former Statement Magazine editor who writes passionately and daily. Emma Stone inspired Alex to submit writing actively to publications after hearing the Oscar-nominated song, “Audition (The Fools Who Dream)” from the “Best Picture” nominee La La Land (2016). He now writes hoping to inspire the ones who dare to pursue their dreams. |
Resilient
Resisting arrest
Doing one’s best
Persevering via perseverance
Pursuing passion passionately
While respecting boundaries
That is being resilient via resilience
Doing one’s best
Persevering via perseverance
Pursuing passion passionately
While respecting boundaries
That is being resilient via resilience
Blind Spots
Even without sight,
People can still try
With all their might
To do anything right,
For the righteous are
The ones who promote change,
And benefit the world
Without ever worrying about
The ones who fail to see
The truth about reality
People can still try
With all their might
To do anything right,
For the righteous are
The ones who promote change,
And benefit the world
Without ever worrying about
The ones who fail to see
The truth about reality
Circular Wheel
Time does tick tock
Round and round the clock
Time itself never stops,
Yet there is no need for fear
For this current moment is here,
So simply hold it dear,
And never disappear.
Instead, make oneself
The true self,
And love righteousness
Even as the constant wheel
Keeps on moving like a spinning wheel
Until the Sleeping Beauty slumber
Round and round the clock
Time itself never stops,
Yet there is no need for fear
For this current moment is here,
So simply hold it dear,
And never disappear.
Instead, make oneself
The true self,
And love righteousness
Even as the constant wheel
Keeps on moving like a spinning wheel
Until the Sleeping Beauty slumber
Café Spot
Coffee shop
Convenient
Servers brewing
Without letting trouble
Come about
Baristas are people, too
So offer respect
R-e-s-p-e-c-t
And savor their
Culinary concoctions
While sipping
A comforting cup of tea
Or coffee
Convenient
Servers brewing
Without letting trouble
Come about
Baristas are people, too
So offer respect
R-e-s-p-e-c-t
And savor their
Culinary concoctions
While sipping
A comforting cup of tea
Or coffee
Color Wheel
Iridescence
Rainbows
Neat like a bow
Strive for more
Never fall short
For the ones who
Pursue passion
Live colorful lives
Rainbows
Neat like a bow
Strive for more
Never fall short
For the ones who
Pursue passion
Live colorful lives
Sara Kil lives in Orange County, CA. She is part of the Fashioned Magazine and West Angeles Church Blog. She has her blog, kilsara.blogspot.com. Check out her other writings on fashionedmagazine.blogspot.com. You can find her work in Blue Guitar & Blue Guitar Jr. magazine, Scarlet Leaf Review, and featured in Voyage LA twice. Contact her at kilsarablog@gmail.com.
The Blood
The little girl in a white dress;
led to a small room with a bed.
She's told, lie down on the bed and be still,
It's hard for her; she's just a little girl,
There are people there to restrain her,
From the outside, she sees a black shadow slowly creeping into the room.
It's a tall man with a goat mask on
It's creepy, it's disturbing,
With his short stubbed horns,
With his beady eyes,
His pointy face,
And his beard.
It's evil in it's purest form.
Slowly he is moving toward her with lust, enjoying every moment.
He rapes her. She is screaming for help. People held her down.
There's blood all over the bed; she loses conscience.
Who's blood is this? His or Hers or both?
So confused, red color everywhere.
She can see his smile, on his face the smirk,
His evil grin plastered all over his face.
The girl doesn't know what happened; she cries in pain. How can nobody help; she was screaming at the top of her lungs?
Nobody came to help.
The man slowly walked out of the room.
There is silence.
She just died inside.
The people change out the bedsheets. People get excited over the blood, licking their fingers.
She doesn't quite understand the fuss about the blood.
She leaves the room and goes to the bathroom.
She takes a bath.
She gets forcefully dunked in the water a few times
and she gets cleaned up for her next client.
led to a small room with a bed.
She's told, lie down on the bed and be still,
It's hard for her; she's just a little girl,
There are people there to restrain her,
From the outside, she sees a black shadow slowly creeping into the room.
It's a tall man with a goat mask on
It's creepy, it's disturbing,
With his short stubbed horns,
With his beady eyes,
His pointy face,
And his beard.
It's evil in it's purest form.
Slowly he is moving toward her with lust, enjoying every moment.
He rapes her. She is screaming for help. People held her down.
There's blood all over the bed; she loses conscience.
Who's blood is this? His or Hers or both?
So confused, red color everywhere.
She can see his smile, on his face the smirk,
His evil grin plastered all over his face.
The girl doesn't know what happened; she cries in pain. How can nobody help; she was screaming at the top of her lungs?
Nobody came to help.
The man slowly walked out of the room.
There is silence.
She just died inside.
The people change out the bedsheets. People get excited over the blood, licking their fingers.
She doesn't quite understand the fuss about the blood.
She leaves the room and goes to the bathroom.
She takes a bath.
She gets forcefully dunked in the water a few times
and she gets cleaned up for her next client.
Hospital Stay
The girl’s stomach hurts.
The parents know it’s not a big deal,
But the doctor says it’s something worse.
The doctor tells the parents for the child to stay for two nights.
She will spend the night.
The child waves goodbye to her parents.
She is in her yellow outfit holding the nurse’s hand walking through those double doors.
The girl looks back one last time, and her mom is crying.
And then the door closes, and she can’t see them anymore.
She is alone in her room.
At night, the room is dark,
Then late at night, a man opens the door,
He opens the door slowly, just a little, peeks in. Immediately the bright light shines only for a brief moment,
The man comes inside, and his shadow follows,
The man gestures to the child,
To stay quiet.
He lifts the blanket,
He puts his hand under the gown.
The child will never forget
His face,
His skin,
His round glasses,
His hair,
Then he quickly leaves the room, just as he came.
She didn’t understand, what just happened, and this moment will change her life.
But the next day, a kind female nurse takes care of her.
There is a bad,
There is a good,
But what do we focus more on?
This one night, the child will never forget, will never be the same.
That is until later on when she meets Jesus, will never be the same again.
The parents know it’s not a big deal,
But the doctor says it’s something worse.
The doctor tells the parents for the child to stay for two nights.
She will spend the night.
The child waves goodbye to her parents.
She is in her yellow outfit holding the nurse’s hand walking through those double doors.
The girl looks back one last time, and her mom is crying.
And then the door closes, and she can’t see them anymore.
She is alone in her room.
At night, the room is dark,
Then late at night, a man opens the door,
He opens the door slowly, just a little, peeks in. Immediately the bright light shines only for a brief moment,
The man comes inside, and his shadow follows,
The man gestures to the child,
To stay quiet.
He lifts the blanket,
He puts his hand under the gown.
The child will never forget
His face,
His skin,
His round glasses,
His hair,
Then he quickly leaves the room, just as he came.
She didn’t understand, what just happened, and this moment will change her life.
But the next day, a kind female nurse takes care of her.
There is a bad,
There is a good,
But what do we focus more on?
This one night, the child will never forget, will never be the same.
That is until later on when she meets Jesus, will never be the same again.
Keep on Walking
There is a house full of rooms.
As you walk by,
You hear something strange.
You hear screams.
You hear nothing.
You keep on walking.
Until it’s your turn,
The room is dim.
Someone holds you down.
Something strange is happening.
I am screaming at the top of my lungs.
I am nothing!
No one is listening to me.
It’s over!
As you walk back,
You know,
Your soul is crying.
Your body is numb.
You’re heartbroken.
Your mind says,
Keep on walking!
As you walk by,
You hear something strange.
You hear screams.
You hear nothing.
You keep on walking.
Until it’s your turn,
The room is dim.
Someone holds you down.
Something strange is happening.
I am screaming at the top of my lungs.
I am nothing!
No one is listening to me.
It’s over!
As you walk back,
You know,
Your soul is crying.
Your body is numb.
You’re heartbroken.
Your mind says,
Keep on walking!
We Love LA
Tom Montag's books of poetry include: Making Hay & Other Poems; Middle Ground; The Big Book of Ben Zen; In This Place: Selected Poems 1982-2013; This Wrecked World; The Miles No One Wants; Imagination's Place; Love Poems; and Seventy at Seventy. Two new collections, The River Will Tell You and Maybe Holy: Six Old Monk Poems are forthcoming. His poem 'Lecturing My Daughter in Her First Fall Rain' has been permanently incorporated into the design of the Milwaukee Convention Center. He blogs at The Middlewesterner. With David Graham he recently co-edited Local News: Poetry About Small Towns. |
POEM 1 from
"The Woman in an Imaginary Painting"
Morning uncrosses
its legs and goes
for a walk. It
soon comes to noon.
The woman in
the painting doesn't
know noon from
after so she
waits. And those
of us standing here
in front of her,
we wait with her.
its legs and goes
for a walk. It
soon comes to noon.
The woman in
the painting doesn't
know noon from
after so she
waits. And those
of us standing here
in front of her,
we wait with her.
POEM 2 FROM
"THE WOMAN IN AN IMAGINARY PAINTING"
She who watches
every day as we come and go
sees us enjoy her nakedness.
Light in the museum
on her beauty makes shadow,
makes sadness, that silence.
You think because
we can leave the museum
we are somehow superior.
She who watches
knows your world is even sadder
than the one she inhabits.
She knows and you do not.
Only the poet loving her can see it.
Only the artist who painted her.
every day as we come and go
sees us enjoy her nakedness.
Light in the museum
on her beauty makes shadow,
makes sadness, that silence.
You think because
we can leave the museum
we are somehow superior.
She who watches
knows your world is even sadder
than the one she inhabits.
She knows and you do not.
Only the poet loving her can see it.
Only the artist who painted her.
POEM 3 FROM
"THE WOMAN IN AN IMAGINARY PAINTING"
What is the narrative
as she holds her naked
pose? She doesn't move,
so we can't speak of
motion. The light stays
and the shadows keep
their place. Blue sky out
the window makes no
promises. You want
a story. Every
naked woman should
have a story, you think,
yet the world stands still
in this instant, and those
who want more have to
learn how to live without
what she would tell them.
as she holds her naked
pose? She doesn't move,
so we can't speak of
motion. The light stays
and the shadows keep
their place. Blue sky out
the window makes no
promises. You want
a story. Every
naked woman should
have a story, you think,
yet the world stands still
in this instant, and those
who want more have to
learn how to live without
what she would tell them.
POEM 4 FROM
"THE WOMAN IN AN IMAGINARY PAINTING"
We might say she loved
the artist as models
always do. The artist
loved her too, as artists
always must. But love is
not enough. It fails.
As always the only
hope is that hope remains.
the artist as models
always do. The artist
loved her too, as artists
always must. But love is
not enough. It fails.
As always the only
hope is that hope remains.
POEM 5 FROM
"THE WOMAN IN AN IMAGINARY PAINTING"
They want great
themes from the
great artists,
great poets.
They want hard
truths. I want
her to be
her, he says,
the artist
who painted
this woman.
Nothing can
be great if
you can't see
that she is.
themes from the
great artists,
great poets.
They want hard
truths. I want
her to be
her, he says,
the artist
who painted
this woman.
Nothing can
be great if
you can't see
that she is.
POEM 6 FROM
"THE WOMAN IN AN IMAGINARY PAINTING"
Of all the things she wants,
perhaps fresh bread is first,
steaming and slathered with
butter the color of
the light in her hair. Wait!
You can almost taste it.
perhaps fresh bread is first,
steaming and slathered with
butter the color of
the light in her hair. Wait!
You can almost taste it.
POEM 7 FROM
"THE WOMAN IN AN IMAGINARY PAINTING"
And the light
against the wall
casts her dream
as silence.
We do not know
how long she
has been waiting
here. We do
not know what
the artist wants
from her. We
do not know
what she hopes
for. We can
only say for
sure she has
found a stillness
we cannot have.
against the wall
casts her dream
as silence.
We do not know
how long she
has been waiting
here. We do
not know what
the artist wants
from her. We
do not know
what she hopes
for. We can
only say for
sure she has
found a stillness
we cannot have.
POEM 8 FROM
"THE WOMAN IN AN IMAGINARY PAINTING"
What we were is
what we are and
it's no different
for the woman
in the painting.
She is a hundred
thousand moments
of joy and sorrow,
of light and
the darkness which
comes with it.
She is daughter
and sister and
cousin. She is
her father's final
disappointment.
The sun goes down
on the hills of
her childhood and
here she is now,
lonely and
only a painting.
what we are and
it's no different
for the woman
in the painting.
She is a hundred
thousand moments
of joy and sorrow,
of light and
the darkness which
comes with it.
She is daughter
and sister and
cousin. She is
her father's final
disappointment.
The sun goes down
on the hills of
her childhood and
here she is now,
lonely and
only a painting.
POEM 9 FROM
"THE WOMAN IN AN IMAGINARY PAINTING"
Before
every-
thing she
dresses
and un-
dresses
the thin-
ness of
what light
gives her.
every-
thing she
dresses
and un-
dresses
the thin-
ness of
what light
gives her.
POEM 10 FROM
"THE WOMAN IN AN IMAGINARY PAINTING"
Can we imagine
a bead of sweat
on her lips or
in the sweet place
between her breasts?
The artist would not
paint it, the proof
of her endurance,
yet her flesh was flesh
and the day was warm.
We lie to ourselves.
We turn from the truth.
Dream another dream,
if you must, but this
world is broken. When
we reach for the light
we've already touched
a farther darkness.
a bead of sweat
on her lips or
in the sweet place
between her breasts?
The artist would not
paint it, the proof
of her endurance,
yet her flesh was flesh
and the day was warm.
We lie to ourselves.
We turn from the truth.
Dream another dream,
if you must, but this
world is broken. When
we reach for the light
we've already touched
a farther darkness.
Samuel Ludke is an American Poet and Western Writer from Wisconsin. His poetry books and western novels are available at Barnes and Noble's website, as well as other online retailers.
Nothing is out of the question
Could not have made him understand
What is the point?
You are not afraid
You are not prepared to die
Prepared to meet your maker
I'm not afraid to make a future for myself in heaven
Whatever you need
You blessed my head with water
And kept my sane through all of the pain
But nothing was safe on Earth
Until the world accepts you
We will always miss the mark
This is beautiful, what you have created
And yet we tarnish it
We bring this enemy down upon us and then cry about it
We are not ever going to reach you
We must put gender differences aside
And realize we are all going nowhere
What is the point of this life then?
To be yourself
Be what you want to be
There is nothing that we can do to make things right
But God, let's keep on trying
Let's make this world much better than it already is!
What is the point?
You are not afraid
You are not prepared to die
Prepared to meet your maker
I'm not afraid to make a future for myself in heaven
Whatever you need
You blessed my head with water
And kept my sane through all of the pain
But nothing was safe on Earth
Until the world accepts you
We will always miss the mark
This is beautiful, what you have created
And yet we tarnish it
We bring this enemy down upon us and then cry about it
We are not ever going to reach you
We must put gender differences aside
And realize we are all going nowhere
What is the point of this life then?
To be yourself
Be what you want to be
There is nothing that we can do to make things right
But God, let's keep on trying
Let's make this world much better than it already is!
Your grave
Your grave is deep
Dig you up
Skeleton dances with me
I want to be your love
But you didn't understand
You made me feel good
Dancing under moonlight
You got me to move
Ending up under the dirt
You are supposed to be my love
And when you dance
You proved that you missed me
Hands made of bone
And pelvis made of stone
Making me see the world differently
You could have killed me
But I lost myself
Dance with me skeleton
I'm dancing with my daughter
I'm dancing with the slaughter
And you never knew what you meant to me.
Dig you up
Skeleton dances with me
I want to be your love
But you didn't understand
You made me feel good
Dancing under moonlight
You got me to move
Ending up under the dirt
You are supposed to be my love
And when you dance
You proved that you missed me
Hands made of bone
And pelvis made of stone
Making me see the world differently
You could have killed me
But I lost myself
Dance with me skeleton
I'm dancing with my daughter
I'm dancing with the slaughter
And you never knew what you meant to me.
Ready
I was ready to go to God
I want to find him
So I took a moment
To load my rifle
Going out to the woods
And we find the beautiful little mule deer
We find the trees
The beautiful little grass strands
And the squirrels are chattering
Make me happy
Make me freeze out here
May they find me there in peace.
I want to find him
So I took a moment
To load my rifle
Going out to the woods
And we find the beautiful little mule deer
We find the trees
The beautiful little grass strands
And the squirrels are chattering
Make me happy
Make me freeze out here
May they find me there in peace.
Why the laughing?
Why the laughing?
Did you forget your place?
Amoungst the stars?
You are mine and yet you fight
For a man that is not yours
I am flattered by your house
But money cannot buy me.
Did you forget your place?
Amoungst the stars?
You are mine and yet you fight
For a man that is not yours
I am flattered by your house
But money cannot buy me.
Waving through the clouds
Waving through the clouds
I love the way the world turns
Because of men and men alone
We found the way home
Nothing in the morning
In the night
We can find the light again
We are the champions that light the world
I would be happy with nothing at all
You and I are meant to be
We glide through the silver worlds
And remerge outside!
I love the way the world turns
Because of men and men alone
We found the way home
Nothing in the morning
In the night
We can find the light again
We are the champions that light the world
I would be happy with nothing at all
You and I are meant to be
We glide through the silver worlds
And remerge outside!
I don't really understand
I don't really understand
I want to be somebody but I can't
I am one man so I struggle
I don't think I can be this way
I don't think I can get up in the morning
I don't think I can fight with my hands
Because I am me
I am trying to see myself through your eyes
But I cannot
I don't fight men who lie
Because they hurt me
I don't fight you
Because you walk where you cannot find yourself.
I want to be somebody but I can't
I am one man so I struggle
I don't think I can be this way
I don't think I can get up in the morning
I don't think I can fight with my hands
Because I am me
I am trying to see myself through your eyes
But I cannot
I don't fight men who lie
Because they hurt me
I don't fight you
Because you walk where you cannot find yourself.
If you walked with me
If you walked with me
We could see the sunshine
One thing to remember
Is that the day was better with you
We loved each other
There is my life
There is yours
I loved you when you left me anyway
Because the rain told me too
It spoke to you
It made you notice me
It made you kiss me
There is something in your mind
That hurts me!
We could see the sunshine
One thing to remember
Is that the day was better with you
We loved each other
There is my life
There is yours
I loved you when you left me anyway
Because the rain told me too
It spoke to you
It made you notice me
It made you kiss me
There is something in your mind
That hurts me!
Hope
Hope you love me
Hope you need me
I hope you and I will always stick together
If we don't
At least we made each other
I am really happy
Because I try to make you happy
Somedays I feel like nothing
Round of applause for me
I really hope that you can still see me girl
In the mirror I watch you dance
Naked tonight
If you touch me, you will be a momma
But you already knew that
You are perfect
You are perfect for life
But life spits you back out.
Hope you need me
I hope you and I will always stick together
If we don't
At least we made each other
I am really happy
Because I try to make you happy
Somedays I feel like nothing
Round of applause for me
I really hope that you can still see me girl
In the mirror I watch you dance
Naked tonight
If you touch me, you will be a momma
But you already knew that
You are perfect
You are perfect for life
But life spits you back out.
Now I'm grown
I'm grown now
I keep my love inside me
But somedays I just don't know what to do
I found her in my life
But still I walk this lonely road
Kiss my neck and I grab your ****
I'm grown but I will always make you feel like a kid again
This is what I need to do
I need to make you feel good again, for your sake
You are so stressed, why?
Can't I love you baby?
Can't I make you feel the right way? If I can always love you, I will
Just stay here for me please!
I keep my love inside me
But somedays I just don't know what to do
I found her in my life
But still I walk this lonely road
Kiss my neck and I grab your ****
I'm grown but I will always make you feel like a kid again
This is what I need to do
I need to make you feel good again, for your sake
You are so stressed, why?
Can't I love you baby?
Can't I make you feel the right way? If I can always love you, I will
Just stay here for me please!
Where are the best?
Do they wander in the valleys?
Did the free find there own destruction?
Yes, yes, we can try to avoid it
But where would man be without the serpent?
Would they water thier fields and tend to thier flocks?
No there would be death, withering plants, and starlight avoided
You cannot tell me that you would never walk amoungst the flowers again
Taste of the wild berries
There is more to life than you think
And the best is yet to come.
Did the free find there own destruction?
Yes, yes, we can try to avoid it
But where would man be without the serpent?
Would they water thier fields and tend to thier flocks?
No there would be death, withering plants, and starlight avoided
You cannot tell me that you would never walk amoungst the flowers again
Taste of the wild berries
There is more to life than you think
And the best is yet to come.
Can you?
Can you spare me the pain?
Can you find the lost cause again?
There are many stories of fear and doubt
But you found yourself wishing, wishing for me to return
Did I let you down?
Did I find you at your worst?
There was hope and freedom at your grasp
And you abandoned it
For greed and money you did lose it all!
Can you find the lost cause again?
There are many stories of fear and doubt
But you found yourself wishing, wishing for me to return
Did I let you down?
Did I find you at your worst?
There was hope and freedom at your grasp
And you abandoned it
For greed and money you did lose it all!
What ails the sheep?
They stir at night
There was nothing we could have done
The wolves prowled and never left
Now the Christ has come
To lift the spirits of all those who would have thier spirits won
What else could we do?
Pray?
Maybe, but the price has already been paid
So be it
You cannot be afraid of the past
The God of hope redeems you when you are ready
That is all.
There was nothing we could have done
The wolves prowled and never left
Now the Christ has come
To lift the spirits of all those who would have thier spirits won
What else could we do?
Pray?
Maybe, but the price has already been paid
So be it
You cannot be afraid of the past
The God of hope redeems you when you are ready
That is all.
Fotoula Reynolds is a writer of poetry, born in Australia of Greek heritage. She lives in the Dandenong Ranges in southern Australia. She convenes a poetry reading group in her local community and regularly attends and participates in spoken word events in and around the city of Melbourne. She is the author of three poetry collections and is published in five Australian anthologies. Fotoula is a 2019 Pushcart Prize nominee. |
Never
He never taught me
How to drive a car or
Change a tyre
I don’t know if he ever
Prayed for me and
All my baby teeth
I never got to jump
On the bed and
Wake him up
I never got to tell him
About falling slowly through a tree
And breaking branches along the way
I never heard his laugh echo
All the way to me from
Wherever he may be
I never learned how to catch fish
A handful of water to grasp or
The art of skimming stones
He never walked with me
Hand in hand along a leafy street
Or see Pegasus in the clouds
I don’t remember his voice
Ever saying my name
Not even in a long distance call
Fifty years later, I look out windows
To days that keep coming
He was supposed to be in them
How to drive a car or
Change a tyre
I don’t know if he ever
Prayed for me and
All my baby teeth
I never got to jump
On the bed and
Wake him up
I never got to tell him
About falling slowly through a tree
And breaking branches along the way
I never heard his laugh echo
All the way to me from
Wherever he may be
I never learned how to catch fish
A handful of water to grasp or
The art of skimming stones
He never walked with me
Hand in hand along a leafy street
Or see Pegasus in the clouds
I don’t remember his voice
Ever saying my name
Not even in a long distance call
Fifty years later, I look out windows
To days that keep coming
He was supposed to be in them
Unspeakable grace
In the stillness of clouds
When floating is suspended
The sun creates a shadow-board
And I see the art of aging
I open the front door and let
The Florentina-blue sky greet me
Happiness is near, it tremors and
Hiccups and knocks inside my soul
I trace the outline of my birthmark
And I’m blessed by its existence
I search the pages of
A dictionary of angels
In the house of god
A thurible swings in prayerful time
And the burning of sage clears the way
I read the tombstones of
People I don’t know
Words etched inside decades
Sunlight stretches over
Marble and stone and
The glorious dahlias
Colour-wash the grey cemetery
I walk beside a trail of pinecones
Sparrows in the sky-high trees
Whistling birdsongs in the avenue
Poetic verses of love and loss immortalised
Wings of alabaster on the statue of
Saint Joseph and Santa Muerte
Archangels made of rock bow their heads
And kneel before the dead
An infant’s name embossed in gold-leaf
A mother whispers his name with
Unspeakable grace
He will not be starting school today
But he will be heard singing in the choir
When floating is suspended
The sun creates a shadow-board
And I see the art of aging
I open the front door and let
The Florentina-blue sky greet me
Happiness is near, it tremors and
Hiccups and knocks inside my soul
I trace the outline of my birthmark
And I’m blessed by its existence
I search the pages of
A dictionary of angels
In the house of god
A thurible swings in prayerful time
And the burning of sage clears the way
I read the tombstones of
People I don’t know
Words etched inside decades
Sunlight stretches over
Marble and stone and
The glorious dahlias
Colour-wash the grey cemetery
I walk beside a trail of pinecones
Sparrows in the sky-high trees
Whistling birdsongs in the avenue
Poetic verses of love and loss immortalised
Wings of alabaster on the statue of
Saint Joseph and Santa Muerte
Archangels made of rock bow their heads
And kneel before the dead
An infant’s name embossed in gold-leaf
A mother whispers his name with
Unspeakable grace
He will not be starting school today
But he will be heard singing in the choir
In the wings
I’m grateful that
My family are
Accessible to me
No member is in
My bad books or
Listed on the
Missing Persons Register
I’m grateful for my kitchen
The measure of hunger is
A salted and sobered gift
Providing spitikó food and
A drizzle of love in every
Kafethàki
I’m grateful for the noise
Under the tiles and the
Echoes and creaks in
The corridors where
The picture of my
Wedding day pales in
The empty sunlit room
I’m grateful for the
Old garden bench
Life there takes pause
The sun warms my soul
Under a river-blue sky and
On the banks of childhood
A faun stands motherless
I’m grateful for the clouds
As white as Carrera marble
Where God’s animals’ shapeshift
And on days where the pages of
My books turn on the fantail of
A currawong in the pink breeze
Love is invisible until dragonflies
Rise and fall revealing poems
In the membranes of their wings
Grateful for all the common things
My family are
Accessible to me
No member is in
My bad books or
Listed on the
Missing Persons Register
I’m grateful for my kitchen
The measure of hunger is
A salted and sobered gift
Providing spitikó food and
A drizzle of love in every
Kafethàki
I’m grateful for the noise
Under the tiles and the
Echoes and creaks in
The corridors where
The picture of my
Wedding day pales in
The empty sunlit room
I’m grateful for the
Old garden bench
Life there takes pause
The sun warms my soul
Under a river-blue sky and
On the banks of childhood
A faun stands motherless
I’m grateful for the clouds
As white as Carrera marble
Where God’s animals’ shapeshift
And on days where the pages of
My books turn on the fantail of
A currawong in the pink breeze
Love is invisible until dragonflies
Rise and fall revealing poems
In the membranes of their wings
Grateful for all the common things
BEHOLD THE AWAKENING
When I wake
That is
My first mistake
I remembered the adventures
Of our midnight sobs and shakes
What a way to start the day
I still call you cupcake
Until I wake
But it does release me
From the what ifs?
And such
It does release me
From your clutch
Slow motions of promises made
Snapshots as they filled a grave
Oh look
Another day
Without a payoff
Must be something I did
Back in my way
When I wake up
That is when I come down
Down to the business
On finding the paths of least resistance
Of course, I never do
But I bet I could find them
If I wanted to
Last night I heard her crying
I did nothing I confess
I can still hear her tears
As I listened to her stillness
She was the one that got away
It seems like it was just last Sunday
She is the one that will never come back
She was the one who took my wheels off their tracks
Soon all the lights will go out
There she is
In her shade
Drinking one last lemonade
Hearing one last serenade
That is
My first mistake
I remembered the adventures
Of our midnight sobs and shakes
What a way to start the day
I still call you cupcake
Until I wake
But it does release me
From the what ifs?
And such
It does release me
From your clutch
Slow motions of promises made
Snapshots as they filled a grave
Oh look
Another day
Without a payoff
Must be something I did
Back in my way
When I wake up
That is when I come down
Down to the business
On finding the paths of least resistance
Of course, I never do
But I bet I could find them
If I wanted to
Last night I heard her crying
I did nothing I confess
I can still hear her tears
As I listened to her stillness
She was the one that got away
It seems like it was just last Sunday
She is the one that will never come back
She was the one who took my wheels off their tracks
Soon all the lights will go out
There she is
In her shade
Drinking one last lemonade
Hearing one last serenade
THE BIG WINNER
He saved a bird once.
Or did the bird save him?
Trapped in his neighbor’s torn window screen this bird was.
His neighbor was old and crying over the little bird’s loud flapping distress in Hell while Biscuit, her cat, only saw the dinner bell.
Mrs. Parker her name was.
Angelo heard the commotion and ran out, saw the deal and took the window screen off with the bird still attached and gently, slowly extracted the little birdy from the now somewhat shredded screen. The little birdy, took a look at Angelo, then took a breath, and flew away.
Angelo the surgeon of the occasion noticed the old lady looking at his hands. They were bleeding.
He told her, “ Don’t worry, from the screen, it will make a great war story”.
She was OK with that.
This woman had been sick. Sick, tried, and pale.
But nothing like the sick, tired, and stark white of the present, that made her old shade of pale look black.
Angelo took care of all that and she was now flush and thriving.
Soon she will be back to her natural pale pallor.
He once upon a time or two thought about getting a pet, but he had seen how fast and terrible they go and could not, would not handle that, or the vet bills.
His pets were on you tube and any neighbor that would let him walk or pet their livestock.
He liked children, as long, as they were not his.
He could not for the life of him figure out how he always felt alone but cool.
He was brought up good, he was decent in school. No beatings. No divorcing parents.
His folks didn’t even have the desire to sexually or verbally abuse him.
Not even a little bit.
A little birdy
Stuck in a screen
Reminded me
Of a world so mean
He could have decided right there to become a doctor. Maybe a surgeon considering the way he worked that screen. Maybe an E.R. guy. Something.
But he did not.
You see, Angelo was not a misanthrope. But kept his distance with his mind but made up for with his heart and hands.
His love life was come and go. Mostly go.
His fantasy was to meet a cute girl with a nice pet that did not need a cigarette.
So far, no candidates.
He had a low opinion of High Tech.
He liked voices instead of text and E. and sounds.
Like animals do.
Angelo’s life would become a number of things.
Maybe something other than, “Take a number please”.
The gratitude Angelo was shown from his neighbor overwhelmed him and from that time on, it never turned off. He showed nothing but love and was the type of man that is here on this earth to lend a hand.
Most responded to that aura of his in a reciprocal manner.
That was nice, and it stayed that way throughout Angelo’s days.
Angelo liked life but as he looked around, he didn’t feel a part of it.
He always knew that if he dropped dead, not a thing would change, and he wouldn’t or couldn’t blame it.
Humble in victory, humble in defeat was the way Angelo tried to play on his streets and under his sheets.
Humble in loneliness from the beginning was always calling and became his calling.
In his story, loneliness was number one on the charts, the villain , and forever hold that ranking.
Angelo, no matter what day it was, was an early riser.
Four or so early.
Didn’t have to be at work till nine.
He would make instant coffee then wait for the coffee shop on the corner to open and have what he would call his real coffee, face to faces with all the different races.
His thing was to put groceries on the table with a bit extra to dish out to whoever or whatever.
Another neighbor in the apartment building he lived in was quiet in a loud style. She was on the slow side but optimistic . Always did her own shopping although it wasn’t easy.
A lot of it from all the stores in walking distance.
She had this way about her . Maybe it’s her vulnerability.
Under any other circumstances Angelo might have bedded her down but one day she asked him what the movie, “Cowboys And Aliens”, was about. That did it, and led to, don’t do it.
That and having to live under the same roof that would become a roof of shame was not in the house of cards his fantasy mind built.
He helped her in an out a lot with her daily haul. He referred to it as a haul ever since she told him she was into stealing some of it.
When she grew up, she said she wanted to be a spy.
She was 45.
All he liked doing, other than his job, was writing little stories and poems. He was happy that when he sent them in to magazines that at least when they rejected them, they sent a letter making it all official like.
He liked that. He was getting close!
So, Angelo was a writer, and he called his little apartment, “A writer lives here’’.
He never gave anything he wrote out to anyone to look at because he did not want to put them on the spot, and he felt it was like giving out homework assignments.
It was enough to keep it to himself and the rejectors.
After high school he got a job in a department store run by a swell family that also happened to run the small town he lived in.
He started in the stockroom and his beautiful spirit of a soul soon put him in the complaint department.
People would feel guilty about complaining after a bit of time with Angelo.
But he made good on everything bad.
One day a women thew up on Angelo’s complaint counter and Angelo lovingly comforted her and wiped her mouth clean with his sleeve.
She even got a new coffee machine.
The store was his half life. The writing was the other half.
He loved his job and his job loved him.
The hours just flew by as he turned the customers complaints into play dates.
He got along with everyone as usual except one guy.
Just didn’t like him like he liked everyone else.
This guy was always putting everything and everyone down.
And you could tell he really liked it.
This guy did not like working. He didn’t like anything except bad news for others.
Well don’t we all .
Not Angelo. He would gladly die for your sins.
He would rather have bad news for himself than hear someone else’s.
All his co-worker wanted was to retire at age 40 and get high and watch T.V.
And Angelo was all for that, but, kept his opinion to himself.
But this card - carrying prick was only 37.
Anyway, we all become the worst minority.
Old and alone.
One day the woman who threw up came in the store and gave Angelo a lottery ticket with a birthday card,
“Fill in your birthday and thank you”, she said.
It was her birthday and she wanted to show Angelo her gratitude for showing her that the human condition was not in that bad condition.
Angelo lost the ticket and did not lose a second regretting it.
Angelo knew that the human condition has never changed, and that the human condition would never change except for the invention of air conditioning.
All you could hope for is a dash, or sprinkle, or ration of happiness once in blue or any other color moon.
Angelo was happy all the time.
Not idiot happy but confident happy.
He missed his job on the weekends.
Time crawled by. Sometimes over the weekends it stopped completely.
If he ever got a tattoo it would read. “Thank God It’s Monday”.
He missed the people he worked with.
Except one of them.
Only at work did his mind play happily.
He began to study thru the,” Internut, as he called it, the machine he wanted to take over form the guy he wanted to run over.
He didn’t have a car but a bus would do in a pinch.
He couldn’t wait to get back to work where he could see and hear the machine he was devouring knowledge on.
He also enjoyed reading rise and fall stories.
The Roman Empire, Persia, Germany, France, Great Britain and on and on.
What goes up, must go down.
He liked to see what the Hell happened.
He never thought of the concept of why.
He knew why.
They were humans.
He also found out how to get an untraceable pistol.
He didn’t have a plan yet, but, thought he would need one when the next civil war broke out.
He didn’t have to know all the answers of why he was lonely as Hell and always would be.
Anyway, it saves money.
But he liked that lend a hand stuff and was pleased, after research, to determine that he wasn’t a sociopath.
His job at the small factory in the big city was his path.
There was one thing blocking to way to Bliss Blvd.
That prick that also worked there. Angelo, every time he was near the guy it reminded him of those stories on T.V. where a guy is in prison for 40 years for losing his temper in a bar or wherever after knocking a skull in.
They always ask the inmate if he is sorry.
They usually say. “No fucking way”.
This particular guy, who Angelo worked with, knew how to operate this particular machine, so that was that for the time being.
He cursed in front of the owners pre-teen children who helped in the store/factory.
Angelo did not like that or the way he looked at them.
In Angelo’s rather tiny social orbit this guy took up a lot of real estate.
Only person he ever met that made him feel this way.
He must be asking for it.
Begging for it.
It would be an understanding jury.
One day into night after Angelo finished his shift. They had a day shift, and a night shift, Angelo once asked the head of the family he so adored if he could work both shifts, the owner asked him sincerely when would he sleep, Angelo had to admit he forgot about that part of his life.
His dreams were nothing to dream about.
They were mostly of his first and only love that did not work out and he was always begging for her to reconsider this, reconsider that in dreamland and she always said no, you’re dreaming honey.
Maybe it was for the best he reasoned in the morning.
She was a family girl.
He was not a family man.
Not his own family anyways.
One Saturday his neighbor was sitting on the porch listening to a book
He asked her what she was listening to, and she said, The Count Of Monte Cristo:’, It’s about revenge.
William Shatner was doing the taking.
.
She started in as usual proclaiming she felt good about the lottery tonight.
Angelo could not count the times she banged on his door to tell him that she thinks she won the lottery and would he be kind enough to double check for her and there would be certainly something in it for him when she gets her hands on the cash!
He always had to tell her, “Not this time Sweetie”.
Then Angelo would say, said, “Yeah, not this time cupcake, but, you’re due!”.
.
She went back to her book of revenge and Angelo went back to his
Angelo would look in the mirror with the gun and repeat, “You talking to me?’’, a lot.
That soon morphed into, “Who am I kidding. You?”, “You kidding me ?”.
Angelo filled a certain sex prescription in his name for the foreman on the night shift that did not want his wife to know he was fucking. She thought he went off the sex trail a month after the honeymoon, not that he simply left the reservation of passion.
Like her mother told her it would be.
He let Angelo come in at night just to touch the machine he was studying at home on.
The machine was saying to Angelo, why don’t you shoot the guy who is working me in the head, then you can be at my controls instead?
On Angelo’s walk home he felt a bit of a fever coming on and thought of what Pete Townsend wrote, “Sickness will surely take the mind where minds don’t usually go”.
It made sense.
His way home was blocked thanks to his running up to him lottery neighbor wanting him to verify if she was due liked he promised.
This time was different.
This time, she didn’t even get one fucking one number right.
They walked back together to the place they lived separately under the same roof and saw an ambulance out front and a gurney carrying Mrs. Parker out.
Angelo picked up the pace and walked alongside the gurney telling Mrs. Parker that what ever the fuck it was, it would be alright.
She asked if the bird he saved ever came back to visit with him.
He said, all the time,
She smiled and closed her eyes as she was taken away.
Way away.
A few weeks later Angelo found a card under his door from a lawyer that wanted to contact him.
When Angelo contacted him, the lawyer asked him to come his office and bring identification.
When he went to the lawyer’s office, he produced his drivers license for the car he didn’t own, and a passport that never went anywhere.
He wanted to ask the lawyer if he wanted a stool sample too on his desk but kept his mouth shut which he always thought was a good idea rather letting one of his witty thoughts out.
He was told before he went there he was left something in Mrs. Parker’s will and figured it would be something like a pillow with some kind of embroidery on it that he would who the Hell know what to do with or where to put.
He only knew he would not throw it away.
She left him a hundred thousand dollars, and the lawyer would pay the taxes.
Neighbors.
Go figure.
After a few days he got fifty thousand in cash out of the bank in one hundred-dollar bills and re-deposited it in a suitcase he had that travelled as much as his passport.
He went to work the next morning and offered the suitcase with all of the fifty thousand in it to that machine operator he wanted to shoot in the head to take the money and disappear.
When asked why Angelo simply said he wanted his job and was paying for it.
The guy asked Angelo if he won the lottery.
Angelo said no.
You did .
Or did the bird save him?
Trapped in his neighbor’s torn window screen this bird was.
His neighbor was old and crying over the little bird’s loud flapping distress in Hell while Biscuit, her cat, only saw the dinner bell.
Mrs. Parker her name was.
Angelo heard the commotion and ran out, saw the deal and took the window screen off with the bird still attached and gently, slowly extracted the little birdy from the now somewhat shredded screen. The little birdy, took a look at Angelo, then took a breath, and flew away.
Angelo the surgeon of the occasion noticed the old lady looking at his hands. They were bleeding.
He told her, “ Don’t worry, from the screen, it will make a great war story”.
She was OK with that.
This woman had been sick. Sick, tried, and pale.
But nothing like the sick, tired, and stark white of the present, that made her old shade of pale look black.
Angelo took care of all that and she was now flush and thriving.
Soon she will be back to her natural pale pallor.
He once upon a time or two thought about getting a pet, but he had seen how fast and terrible they go and could not, would not handle that, or the vet bills.
His pets were on you tube and any neighbor that would let him walk or pet their livestock.
He liked children, as long, as they were not his.
He could not for the life of him figure out how he always felt alone but cool.
He was brought up good, he was decent in school. No beatings. No divorcing parents.
His folks didn’t even have the desire to sexually or verbally abuse him.
Not even a little bit.
A little birdy
Stuck in a screen
Reminded me
Of a world so mean
He could have decided right there to become a doctor. Maybe a surgeon considering the way he worked that screen. Maybe an E.R. guy. Something.
But he did not.
You see, Angelo was not a misanthrope. But kept his distance with his mind but made up for with his heart and hands.
His love life was come and go. Mostly go.
His fantasy was to meet a cute girl with a nice pet that did not need a cigarette.
So far, no candidates.
He had a low opinion of High Tech.
He liked voices instead of text and E. and sounds.
Like animals do.
Angelo’s life would become a number of things.
Maybe something other than, “Take a number please”.
The gratitude Angelo was shown from his neighbor overwhelmed him and from that time on, it never turned off. He showed nothing but love and was the type of man that is here on this earth to lend a hand.
Most responded to that aura of his in a reciprocal manner.
That was nice, and it stayed that way throughout Angelo’s days.
Angelo liked life but as he looked around, he didn’t feel a part of it.
He always knew that if he dropped dead, not a thing would change, and he wouldn’t or couldn’t blame it.
Humble in victory, humble in defeat was the way Angelo tried to play on his streets and under his sheets.
Humble in loneliness from the beginning was always calling and became his calling.
In his story, loneliness was number one on the charts, the villain , and forever hold that ranking.
Angelo, no matter what day it was, was an early riser.
Four or so early.
Didn’t have to be at work till nine.
He would make instant coffee then wait for the coffee shop on the corner to open and have what he would call his real coffee, face to faces with all the different races.
His thing was to put groceries on the table with a bit extra to dish out to whoever or whatever.
Another neighbor in the apartment building he lived in was quiet in a loud style. She was on the slow side but optimistic . Always did her own shopping although it wasn’t easy.
A lot of it from all the stores in walking distance.
She had this way about her . Maybe it’s her vulnerability.
Under any other circumstances Angelo might have bedded her down but one day she asked him what the movie, “Cowboys And Aliens”, was about. That did it, and led to, don’t do it.
That and having to live under the same roof that would become a roof of shame was not in the house of cards his fantasy mind built.
He helped her in an out a lot with her daily haul. He referred to it as a haul ever since she told him she was into stealing some of it.
When she grew up, she said she wanted to be a spy.
She was 45.
All he liked doing, other than his job, was writing little stories and poems. He was happy that when he sent them in to magazines that at least when they rejected them, they sent a letter making it all official like.
He liked that. He was getting close!
So, Angelo was a writer, and he called his little apartment, “A writer lives here’’.
He never gave anything he wrote out to anyone to look at because he did not want to put them on the spot, and he felt it was like giving out homework assignments.
It was enough to keep it to himself and the rejectors.
After high school he got a job in a department store run by a swell family that also happened to run the small town he lived in.
He started in the stockroom and his beautiful spirit of a soul soon put him in the complaint department.
People would feel guilty about complaining after a bit of time with Angelo.
But he made good on everything bad.
One day a women thew up on Angelo’s complaint counter and Angelo lovingly comforted her and wiped her mouth clean with his sleeve.
She even got a new coffee machine.
The store was his half life. The writing was the other half.
He loved his job and his job loved him.
The hours just flew by as he turned the customers complaints into play dates.
He got along with everyone as usual except one guy.
Just didn’t like him like he liked everyone else.
This guy was always putting everything and everyone down.
And you could tell he really liked it.
This guy did not like working. He didn’t like anything except bad news for others.
Well don’t we all .
Not Angelo. He would gladly die for your sins.
He would rather have bad news for himself than hear someone else’s.
All his co-worker wanted was to retire at age 40 and get high and watch T.V.
And Angelo was all for that, but, kept his opinion to himself.
But this card - carrying prick was only 37.
Anyway, we all become the worst minority.
Old and alone.
One day the woman who threw up came in the store and gave Angelo a lottery ticket with a birthday card,
“Fill in your birthday and thank you”, she said.
It was her birthday and she wanted to show Angelo her gratitude for showing her that the human condition was not in that bad condition.
Angelo lost the ticket and did not lose a second regretting it.
Angelo knew that the human condition has never changed, and that the human condition would never change except for the invention of air conditioning.
All you could hope for is a dash, or sprinkle, or ration of happiness once in blue or any other color moon.
Angelo was happy all the time.
Not idiot happy but confident happy.
He missed his job on the weekends.
Time crawled by. Sometimes over the weekends it stopped completely.
If he ever got a tattoo it would read. “Thank God It’s Monday”.
He missed the people he worked with.
Except one of them.
Only at work did his mind play happily.
He began to study thru the,” Internut, as he called it, the machine he wanted to take over form the guy he wanted to run over.
He didn’t have a car but a bus would do in a pinch.
He couldn’t wait to get back to work where he could see and hear the machine he was devouring knowledge on.
He also enjoyed reading rise and fall stories.
The Roman Empire, Persia, Germany, France, Great Britain and on and on.
What goes up, must go down.
He liked to see what the Hell happened.
He never thought of the concept of why.
He knew why.
They were humans.
He also found out how to get an untraceable pistol.
He didn’t have a plan yet, but, thought he would need one when the next civil war broke out.
He didn’t have to know all the answers of why he was lonely as Hell and always would be.
Anyway, it saves money.
But he liked that lend a hand stuff and was pleased, after research, to determine that he wasn’t a sociopath.
His job at the small factory in the big city was his path.
There was one thing blocking to way to Bliss Blvd.
That prick that also worked there. Angelo, every time he was near the guy it reminded him of those stories on T.V. where a guy is in prison for 40 years for losing his temper in a bar or wherever after knocking a skull in.
They always ask the inmate if he is sorry.
They usually say. “No fucking way”.
This particular guy, who Angelo worked with, knew how to operate this particular machine, so that was that for the time being.
He cursed in front of the owners pre-teen children who helped in the store/factory.
Angelo did not like that or the way he looked at them.
In Angelo’s rather tiny social orbit this guy took up a lot of real estate.
Only person he ever met that made him feel this way.
He must be asking for it.
Begging for it.
It would be an understanding jury.
One day into night after Angelo finished his shift. They had a day shift, and a night shift, Angelo once asked the head of the family he so adored if he could work both shifts, the owner asked him sincerely when would he sleep, Angelo had to admit he forgot about that part of his life.
His dreams were nothing to dream about.
They were mostly of his first and only love that did not work out and he was always begging for her to reconsider this, reconsider that in dreamland and she always said no, you’re dreaming honey.
Maybe it was for the best he reasoned in the morning.
She was a family girl.
He was not a family man.
Not his own family anyways.
One Saturday his neighbor was sitting on the porch listening to a book
He asked her what she was listening to, and she said, The Count Of Monte Cristo:’, It’s about revenge.
William Shatner was doing the taking.
.
She started in as usual proclaiming she felt good about the lottery tonight.
Angelo could not count the times she banged on his door to tell him that she thinks she won the lottery and would he be kind enough to double check for her and there would be certainly something in it for him when she gets her hands on the cash!
He always had to tell her, “Not this time Sweetie”.
Then Angelo would say, said, “Yeah, not this time cupcake, but, you’re due!”.
.
She went back to her book of revenge and Angelo went back to his
Angelo would look in the mirror with the gun and repeat, “You talking to me?’’, a lot.
That soon morphed into, “Who am I kidding. You?”, “You kidding me ?”.
Angelo filled a certain sex prescription in his name for the foreman on the night shift that did not want his wife to know he was fucking. She thought he went off the sex trail a month after the honeymoon, not that he simply left the reservation of passion.
Like her mother told her it would be.
He let Angelo come in at night just to touch the machine he was studying at home on.
The machine was saying to Angelo, why don’t you shoot the guy who is working me in the head, then you can be at my controls instead?
On Angelo’s walk home he felt a bit of a fever coming on and thought of what Pete Townsend wrote, “Sickness will surely take the mind where minds don’t usually go”.
It made sense.
His way home was blocked thanks to his running up to him lottery neighbor wanting him to verify if she was due liked he promised.
This time was different.
This time, she didn’t even get one fucking one number right.
They walked back together to the place they lived separately under the same roof and saw an ambulance out front and a gurney carrying Mrs. Parker out.
Angelo picked up the pace and walked alongside the gurney telling Mrs. Parker that what ever the fuck it was, it would be alright.
She asked if the bird he saved ever came back to visit with him.
He said, all the time,
She smiled and closed her eyes as she was taken away.
Way away.
A few weeks later Angelo found a card under his door from a lawyer that wanted to contact him.
When Angelo contacted him, the lawyer asked him to come his office and bring identification.
When he went to the lawyer’s office, he produced his drivers license for the car he didn’t own, and a passport that never went anywhere.
He wanted to ask the lawyer if he wanted a stool sample too on his desk but kept his mouth shut which he always thought was a good idea rather letting one of his witty thoughts out.
He was told before he went there he was left something in Mrs. Parker’s will and figured it would be something like a pillow with some kind of embroidery on it that he would who the Hell know what to do with or where to put.
He only knew he would not throw it away.
She left him a hundred thousand dollars, and the lawyer would pay the taxes.
Neighbors.
Go figure.
After a few days he got fifty thousand in cash out of the bank in one hundred-dollar bills and re-deposited it in a suitcase he had that travelled as much as his passport.
He went to work the next morning and offered the suitcase with all of the fifty thousand in it to that machine operator he wanted to shoot in the head to take the money and disappear.
When asked why Angelo simply said he wanted his job and was paying for it.
The guy asked Angelo if he won the lottery.
Angelo said no.
You did .
ON THE SIDE
I have an emptiness inside
I have got you
Under my hide
Sometimes it’s not what is said
Sometimes not what is written
There are still new things to start and end
And Some things ain’t worth fixing
We were thrown together by a war
She had worked in a car dealership
I was a waiter-writer living on tips
During the noise of it all
During the horrible smells and sights
I wrote about our love every night
It was not an easy partnership
Nor was it a hardship
It was our ship
The scariest thing
Were the landmines all about
Talk about treading softly on eggs
Let’s try to keep our heads and legs
She was the sharp one in the pride
She would loan money and cigarettes
And do credit on the side
I didn’t smoke
Or need money
But there was a stir
Whenever I was near her
With all our guns and knives
We kept things between us
On the side
When she would say, “You look good in kaki”.
Boy, did that make me happy
Then an explosion she could not hide
A part of her pretty self was lying by her side
That was the end of her military career
Wait for me, my dear
After I got out alive
I got out
I would not say we started off great
She was pissed off at her new-found gait
I told her I liked the way she walked , and let’s go get a cup?
She told me to shut the fuck up
But
Away we did strut
The Pacific Ocean
And a hamburger stand
Taste a lot different than the sand of Afghanistan
I have got you
Under my hide
Sometimes it’s not what is said
Sometimes not what is written
There are still new things to start and end
And Some things ain’t worth fixing
We were thrown together by a war
She had worked in a car dealership
I was a waiter-writer living on tips
During the noise of it all
During the horrible smells and sights
I wrote about our love every night
It was not an easy partnership
Nor was it a hardship
It was our ship
The scariest thing
Were the landmines all about
Talk about treading softly on eggs
Let’s try to keep our heads and legs
She was the sharp one in the pride
She would loan money and cigarettes
And do credit on the side
I didn’t smoke
Or need money
But there was a stir
Whenever I was near her
With all our guns and knives
We kept things between us
On the side
When she would say, “You look good in kaki”.
Boy, did that make me happy
Then an explosion she could not hide
A part of her pretty self was lying by her side
That was the end of her military career
Wait for me, my dear
After I got out alive
I got out
I would not say we started off great
She was pissed off at her new-found gait
I told her I liked the way she walked , and let’s go get a cup?
She told me to shut the fuck up
But
Away we did strut
The Pacific Ocean
And a hamburger stand
Taste a lot different than the sand of Afghanistan
YOU AND YOURS
You and yours
Were once mine all mine
Until the day you said you didn’t care
My estate shut down that day
In need of disrepair
It was not enough to become dilapidated
All I ever was, or will be, was decapitated
So I thought at the time
So I went about to escape it
You and yours
We shared a roof and bed
Now we share papers from lawyers instead
You can’t manufacture passion
You constantly reiterated
So I said fake it
Your and yours
And my ex-in-laws
You once laughed at that stuff
Not anymore
The future vacations we all will take now
Starts with a door
You and yours
Once were ours and mine
Never thought
I would live this rhyme
I met someone new
That was the problem
They were not you
I’ll keep swimming upstream
To spawn and dream
Like that dear James Brown tender ballad
“Sex Machine”
Well
There is always a paradox
When it comes to my cock
I wind up calling you
After they leave
Searching for
An impossible reprieve
My hope will never leave
You and yours
My imagination and my memories are sore
Tomorrow may be the day
We will all find our cures
Were once mine all mine
Until the day you said you didn’t care
My estate shut down that day
In need of disrepair
It was not enough to become dilapidated
All I ever was, or will be, was decapitated
So I thought at the time
So I went about to escape it
You and yours
We shared a roof and bed
Now we share papers from lawyers instead
You can’t manufacture passion
You constantly reiterated
So I said fake it
Your and yours
And my ex-in-laws
You once laughed at that stuff
Not anymore
The future vacations we all will take now
Starts with a door
You and yours
Once were ours and mine
Never thought
I would live this rhyme
I met someone new
That was the problem
They were not you
I’ll keep swimming upstream
To spawn and dream
Like that dear James Brown tender ballad
“Sex Machine”
Well
There is always a paradox
When it comes to my cock
I wind up calling you
After they leave
Searching for
An impossible reprieve
My hope will never leave
You and yours
My imagination and my memories are sore
Tomorrow may be the day
We will all find our cures
SURVIVAL
I lay in my bed
As I run in my head
My survival
Has been nothing more
Than a tired road show revival
My look is not presidential
My failures have not been accidental
Like you and all
I like to self-destruct
Like you and all
I like playing in the muck
I don’t want to get involved
I don’t want to get hurt
My acts of kindness
Come in spurts
Most of the time
I waste time
Counting up what is mine
And what is yours
And how low
I have climbed
Inch by inch
Step by step
I choose the wrong
Things to regret
I take nothing accomplishments
And give them too much respect
I don’t need to fly
I’m ok just getting by
Take my pride
I offer it to survive
As I run in my head
My survival
Has been nothing more
Than a tired road show revival
My look is not presidential
My failures have not been accidental
Like you and all
I like to self-destruct
Like you and all
I like playing in the muck
I don’t want to get involved
I don’t want to get hurt
My acts of kindness
Come in spurts
Most of the time
I waste time
Counting up what is mine
And what is yours
And how low
I have climbed
Inch by inch
Step by step
I choose the wrong
Things to regret
I take nothing accomplishments
And give them too much respect
I don’t need to fly
I’m ok just getting by
Take my pride
I offer it to survive
BOBBY Z is an avid writer and Blogger, also has video’s, audio’s a podcast and has Authored the Book Tales Of The Junkyard Dog. A rather abrupt and unusual Collection of Poems providing insightful and comical commentary on life, the Convergence of the past and the present, and the trails and tribulations of Relationships---BLOG https://talesofthejunkyarddog.wordpress.com |
THERE ARE THOSE
There are those that see.
Those that don’t.
And those that won’t.
There are those that can.
Those that can’t.
And those that won’t.
There are those that try.
Those that sigh.
And those that won’t.
There are those that care.
Those that impair.
And those that won’t.
Then there are those that Dare.
Those that compare.
And those that won’t .
So let it be known that those that “SEE” “CAN” “TRY” “CARE”
and “DARE” are those that always make it thru the day.
PRAY TELL, WHICH ONE ARE YOU????????????
Those that don’t.
And those that won’t.
There are those that can.
Those that can’t.
And those that won’t.
There are those that try.
Those that sigh.
And those that won’t.
There are those that care.
Those that impair.
And those that won’t.
Then there are those that Dare.
Those that compare.
And those that won’t .
So let it be known that those that “SEE” “CAN” “TRY” “CARE”
and “DARE” are those that always make it thru the day.
PRAY TELL, WHICH ONE ARE YOU????????????
The mysteries of life
THE MYSTERIES OF LIFE.
IS ONE THAT NEVER UNFOLDS.
STORED IN THE MINDS OF MANY.
FOREVER TO BE UNTOLD.
THEY CONFIRM WHAT IS EVIL.
AND CONFIRM WHAT IS GOOD.
THE COMBINATION OF THE TWO.
WILL ALWAYS BE MISUNDERSTOOD.
THE DESIRE TO SEARCH FOR THEM.
HAS BEEN ATTEMPTED BY PLENTY.
NEVER TO BE REVEALED.
THOUGH PURSUED BY SO MANY.
LOST IN TIME.
CONCEALED FROM THE LIVING.
TO REVEAL THEM NOW.
WOULD BE SO UNFORGIVING.
TO OFTEN WE THINK.
WE KNOW THE TRUE MEANING.
NOTHING CAN BE FURTHER FROM THE TRUTH.
SO JUST CONTINUE DREAMING.
TOO REMOVE ALL DOUBT.
WHOSE DESIRES ARE CONCERNING.
THE SEARCH BEGINS WHEN WE LEAVE.
AND WILL NEVER BE RETURNING.
IS ONE THAT NEVER UNFOLDS.
STORED IN THE MINDS OF MANY.
FOREVER TO BE UNTOLD.
THEY CONFIRM WHAT IS EVIL.
AND CONFIRM WHAT IS GOOD.
THE COMBINATION OF THE TWO.
WILL ALWAYS BE MISUNDERSTOOD.
THE DESIRE TO SEARCH FOR THEM.
HAS BEEN ATTEMPTED BY PLENTY.
NEVER TO BE REVEALED.
THOUGH PURSUED BY SO MANY.
LOST IN TIME.
CONCEALED FROM THE LIVING.
TO REVEAL THEM NOW.
WOULD BE SO UNFORGIVING.
TO OFTEN WE THINK.
WE KNOW THE TRUE MEANING.
NOTHING CAN BE FURTHER FROM THE TRUTH.
SO JUST CONTINUE DREAMING.
TOO REMOVE ALL DOUBT.
WHOSE DESIRES ARE CONCERNING.
THE SEARCH BEGINS WHEN WE LEAVE.
AND WILL NEVER BE RETURNING.
SPIRITUAL REINCARNATION
Crawling thru minefields---of greed and deception.
Standing at the altar awaiting---another immaculate conception.
Searching for corpse's ---that have no destination.
You"re in dire need---of a mental castration.
Misguided by fear--prone to malfunction.
Consumed by envy---you sense total destruction.
Contemplating complete isolation--you're overwhelmed with emotional amputations.
Consumed with mistrust--always searching for a hostile confrontation.
Conspicuously searching--for a long lost relationship.
Your always looking--for a corrupt situation.
Overflowing--with vile anticipation.
you're in dire need--of a SPIRITUAL REINCARNATION.
Standing at the altar awaiting---another immaculate conception.
Searching for corpse's ---that have no destination.
You"re in dire need---of a mental castration.
Misguided by fear--prone to malfunction.
Consumed by envy---you sense total destruction.
Contemplating complete isolation--you're overwhelmed with emotional amputations.
Consumed with mistrust--always searching for a hostile confrontation.
Conspicuously searching--for a long lost relationship.
Your always looking--for a corrupt situation.
Overflowing--with vile anticipation.
you're in dire need--of a SPIRITUAL REINCARNATION.
Keith Burkholder has been published in Creative Juices, Sol Magazine, Trellis Magazine, Foliate Oak Literary Journal, New Delta Review, Poetry Quarterly, Scarlet Leaf Review, and Birmingham Arts Journal. He has a bachelor's degree in statistics with a minor in mathematics from SUNY at Buffalo (UB).
Astrology: An Interesting Concept
It is interesting,
And fascinating,
More helpful than a self help book,
The cosmos is fascinating all in one,
We are comprised of various signs in the zodiac,
There are people who believe in astrology,
And others that feel it is not real,
Self help books do not really help people,
They give the reader an illusion of help,
We are all different people,
No two people think and act alike,
This is evolution at its best,
Believe what you want here,
Astrology is not for everyone,
It can be helpful to certain people,
For now, take care and be good,
May COVID-19 disappear as quick as possible,
May the future be brighter with optimism as time passes,
Again, many times over, carpe diem.
And fascinating,
More helpful than a self help book,
The cosmos is fascinating all in one,
We are comprised of various signs in the zodiac,
There are people who believe in astrology,
And others that feel it is not real,
Self help books do not really help people,
They give the reader an illusion of help,
We are all different people,
No two people think and act alike,
This is evolution at its best,
Believe what you want here,
Astrology is not for everyone,
It can be helpful to certain people,
For now, take care and be good,
May COVID-19 disappear as quick as possible,
May the future be brighter with optimism as time passes,
Again, many times over, carpe diem.
Weather phenomena is not the result of God
God is not here,
Or ever was,
Weather phenomena is a result of science,
Atmospheric occurrences on planet Earth,
Look at how the weather varies around the world,
It is warm in certain places,
And other places rigidly cold,
The four seasons are all science driven,
God is a story,
Something to make people feel good,
A mere fantasy,
Like Playboy is to a teenager,
Fantasies all over the place,
Believe what you want here,
You have a viewpoint,
So do I,
Science is my reality,
Take care for now,
Be good and safe,
And may the future be better as time carries forward.
Or ever was,
Weather phenomena is a result of science,
Atmospheric occurrences on planet Earth,
Look at how the weather varies around the world,
It is warm in certain places,
And other places rigidly cold,
The four seasons are all science driven,
God is a story,
Something to make people feel good,
A mere fantasy,
Like Playboy is to a teenager,
Fantasies all over the place,
Believe what you want here,
You have a viewpoint,
So do I,
Science is my reality,
Take care for now,
Be good and safe,
And may the future be better as time carries forward.
Being single and friendless is more than okay
Being single is great,
Having many friends is overrated,
People really don't care about you,
This can be liberating,
This can allow you much freedom,
Why should make someone happy?
If in essence, they really don't care about you,
God and Jesus are not realities,
Never have been at all,
Being single gives you a clear head,
The same with being friendless,
You only need one or two in a lifetime if you are lucky,
Believe what you want here,
This is opened to debate,
Take all of this in,
Be good or try to be,
For tomorrow will come and a new day will arise with aspirations at hand.
Having many friends is overrated,
People really don't care about you,
This can be liberating,
This can allow you much freedom,
Why should make someone happy?
If in essence, they really don't care about you,
God and Jesus are not realities,
Never have been at all,
Being single gives you a clear head,
The same with being friendless,
You only need one or two in a lifetime if you are lucky,
Believe what you want here,
This is opened to debate,
Take all of this in,
Be good or try to be,
For tomorrow will come and a new day will arise with aspirations at hand.
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