Reality can Sometimes Sting

At one time he envisioned simple things
which were born of his own imaginings
All that transpired around him was always
construed as either benign misfortune or good
.

Until that day when he became a secluded target
and experienced a threshing like no other known
Lying in a puddle of his own self he wandered within
and others benign misfortune became his tragedy

.

When finally recovered the skin around his left eye
resembled a patchwork plication prepared by the blind
He never knew the replaced orb was created from cullet
but he was aware that it could only mimic what it once was

.

The same as he himself could only mimic days before
when all was good and evil was in their minds not souls
For now he saw differently and this was not good
not just singularly but now he knew deep down

.

That no matter how he tried to evade the torturous truth
he had become a mere minion to his own dire fear
He felt he now walked this earth distinctly wearing
a bulls eye; ready for the next to pounce upon their prey

.

A heart of cold

Chthonic verdigris like a mottled splodge
adorneth that gangrenous organ once which
upon so called healing seems a keloid map
covered with rime, unable to melt again.

"Life" is not a given

If the warmth of yesterdays sun was the last you'd ever feel
and the laughter of that small child was the last you'd hear
would you not have savored them more than you did?
.

If those Tulips from last spring were the last you'd ever see
and the last kiss you had was indeed your last kiss
would it not have been wise to ditch the blase indifference?
.

Each day, each taste, each emotion could be our last
and we sometimes act as if life will never run out;
as if the parade will never end until we are ready.
.

Life rarely runs like the classic movie we've seen over and over
where the beginning, middle and end are known but
more like a first run mystery that keeps us on the edge of our seats.
.

With twists and turns that sometimes haunt us yet
we can not allow these snags to dictate how we live today
because today may be all that's left; the finale unbeknownst to us
.

So we must laugh harder, smile wider and dance longer
and learn that there can be beauty and love in every body and thing
despite the fact that they too will die alongside of us sometime.

Imagine

If all it would take was to imagine each day
the time that I wanted as mine
I know where and when, I know I would stay
so jocular and oh so sublime

The emotions I felt when first in love I fell
could never be matched I am sure
As hard as I try that minute to excel
at best I can hope it to endure

So, it's easy for me to know where to be
where I want to live out my days
No, not me, I need no potpourri
I simply want to keep my heart ablaze.

I wish I could click my heels.....

Today, September 11th, 2008 marks the anniversary of that fateful day when the mighty World Trade Center was destroyed; when many lives and families were ripped apart and destroyed right here in our country. No one that was affected by this catastrophic event knew that mornings events would drastically alter their life, if not end it, and I'm sure that there are many that have yet to get over the havoc of that day; no one was prepared. Now, when I say prepared, I know this means a myriad of different things to a multitude of different people but I have to wonder if anyone can ever be truly ready to be eradicated from this world. Sure, there are many that are in pain that are waiting, hoping, some praying for their last day to come so that it will be over for them but the majority, I would have to imagine, feel that the days that they have had so far are not yet enough. They want more, they want to see tomorrow, they want a million different things that they don't yet have, they're not satisfied, they're not prepared to depart; "I" am not prepared.

It has been preached to me on many occasions that the acceptance of a supreme being as my saviour, taking this being into my heart and having blind faith in their existence will guarantee me a place in heaven; Nirvana. Once I truly, and I mean truly, blindly accept this "concept" as fact, I should have no fears of death at all because I will be better off than I am here on earth. I will once again see all of my loved ones who have died before me, none of them will be suffering, all will be whole and in the best of condition, I will never again suffer, there will be mansions, the streets will be paved with gold, there will be no more strife at all. Now, I don't know about you but this sounds idyllic to me, sounds like something that every rational human being should strive for, sounds like something that I definitely want for myself and for others...yet...as easy as all this sounds, as much as I would like to believe that it is indeed fact, why, tell me, why is it so damned hard to accept?

Why? Well, one reason is today's anniversary and many of the other reasons are simple one word answers. A handful of these single words are, war, rape, murder, hatred, poor, sick, cancer, disease, violence, animosity, just to name a few. Now the kicker, the explanation for these cute little words is " a test ", " trials and tribulations ". My response to this is simply, bullshit. I don't see how anyone or thing can show someone that they're loved, show them that they will always be there for them, show them that they are their salvation by constantly kicking them in the teeth; knocking them to the ground and kicking them back down each time they try to arise. Let's talk reality here, if a man or a woman were to consistently cheat on their spouse, if either were to constantly disappoint the other by doing adverse things, or better yet just sit by and allow adverse things to happen without as much as an attempt to stop them from occurring, how long do you think it would take before either stopped believing in their union? If any human were to hurt another over and over and over how long do you think it would take before the one that was hurt said "fuck it" and walked; stopped believing?

As I turn 50 I have to admit that there have been many, many good things that I have witnessed, many things that still leave me in awe and it's difficult to think that all of the good things were simply happenstance. Life in and of itself is amazing, flowers, the universe, a sunrise and sunset all miraculous yet that beautiful sunrise is no doubt approaching us after it leaves a war stricken country where death by violence is not shocking to anyone. The birth of a child is just mind boggling however so is the torturous life of someone who has been suffering with an illness for years. How? Why?? Is "because" enough of an answer???

I wish I had it in me to be able to blame a single entity, satan, for all of the bad and thank a single ever powerful entity, god, for all the good and just leave it at that but unfortunately I don't think I've yet to reach that plateau in my life. The worst part is that it's not that I don't want to believe, it's that for some reason within me I just can't. Perhaps if I were illiterate and completely uneducated it would be easier for me, I don't know. Perhaps if I were blind to all of the evil and vileness that this life has to offer all of us it would be simpler, or maybe, just maybe, I'm making it harder for myself...but...my beliefs or lack of do not control what goes on across the world, across the country let alone across the street. All I can honestly say is that I try my best to be a moral, upright, human being who helps all those I can and my actions, not those of others, are what allow me to continue with my meager life. Maybe I'll wake up some day with different views, that would be nice I think, but until that day I have to just hope that all of us that are hurt somehow can find peace or at least be "prepared".

Unfriendly skies

A flight schedule lapse
caused him to feel desperate;
his mind travelled far.

Believe it or not

In the past I have stated that I truly feel that each and every one of us is inherently good under it all. There is no doubt in my mind that there are "crazies" out there but another of my beliefs is that these same people have somehow been forced into the role they play; if the situation were right, and I mean just right, there would be no evil. Let me explain why this has been brought to my attention recently, so much that I felt the urge to write about it.

This past weekend, my wife and I took a few days and went out of town to have some fun. One of our favorite past times is going to a casino, any casino, and spending a few dollars enjoying the experience of the chase. We're not looking to become overnight billionaires (as nice as that may sound) but we actually enjoy playing but not the point I'm trying to make.

We were on our way to the airport to catch our flight home when my wife realized that her wallet was not in her bag. Immediately I thought that she had been robbed and we began to retrace our steps thinking of when it could have possibly happened. It was at that moment that she remembered taking out her wallet in the casino and most likely leaving it where we were last; she had been looking for a parking receipt.

At first we thought her wallet contained a drivers license, credit cards, some cash, debit card and the like. There was no parking stub because that was now in my front pocket. We had two hours before our flight so we had the cab turn around and head directly back to the hotel we were last at. We quickly unloaded our luggage and headed straight to the location in the casino we had left maybe 25 minutes prior, all the while I was saying this was a waste of time, it would be a miracle if we found it, but we had to try. We weren't even sure how we were going to get home without her identification. Our minds were reeling.

We made a bee line straight to where she was sitting and asked the woman who was now occupying her seat if she had seen a wallet. Of course, not to my surprise she had seen nothing. In a split second a man tapped my wife on the shoulder and as we turned around there he stood holding her wallet in his hands. Unbelievable!!!

Granted, we later discovered that the lost wallet did not in fact hold anything but some cash and a debit card. Earlier that day, before we had checked out of our room, she had moved most identification, credit cards and her drivers license to a different location in her bag - she's not even sure why, however the cash, debit card, one of my business cards, a picture of the pope, some other photos and a small wallet sized flash light were all there.

Now - I can go on to say that we were lucky, I can say that if there were more cash in the wallet, more valuables, if her Louis Vuitton wallet was not the suspected knockoff I believe it to be, if the person that picked it up was perhaps a bit more needy, that maybe, just maybe, we never would have found it - BUT - I choose to believe that this man had all intentions of returning that wallet by mail, and I choose to believe that there are a lot more honest people in this world than are given credit. Thank you sir, whoever you are.

going once, going twice.....

Who would have thought today would be too late
to discover those things I had in my possession yesterday
so I must cherish them like there is no tomorrow
.

Just an inkling in time, a minutia of life
is like a dew covered rain forest that disappears;
who would have thought today would be too late
.

Openly accepting the woman that lives within my heart
can only assist and sweeten my capacity
to discover those things I had in my possession yesterday
.

But the dreams that I may realize will not in any way
alter the feelings that I hold for these ever fleeting moments
so I must cherish them like there is no tomorrow

Not flawless

Strolling down Ditmars Avenue, thinking of all there was to do before I would propose, the home I would refurbish, that feminine wounded heart that needed to heal. I didn't even notice his hand or his pockmarked face, a pickpocket, as he lifted the diamond I intended for her. Three more things for the list; pay better attention, buy a new ring, and insure it.

Which witch is it?

Metaphysical bookstores new
seem to accrue
a clientele
under a spell

Yet christian bookstores seem to boast
the holy ghost
which sounds to me
like a banshee

So tell me can you really say
what store today
holds the appeal
of all that's real?

.

I've heard "It's in the eyes"

Like fog laden mirrors reflect only haze, the eyes of the dead can no longer gaze
although they appear to stare into space, the vision of such is damned hard to erase

Awkward to handle until rigor sets in, flopping around like a limp thespian
unaware of the crowd of bystanders there, all craning to see, some deeply in prayer
.

Or even make out a sheet covered form, that no longer breathes, lost to the storm
of uninterrupted, never ending malaise, those lingering, those fatal, long final days
.

There's always that one, you see is a skeptic, can't fathom that shell is no longer septic
I wish we could just remember the good, if only their trek could be more understood
.

I'm sure it's acceptance that is hard to find, I know there are some who feel left behind
but death is not where I want to follow, no matter how hard being alone is to swallow
.

I'll let it suffice, that my pillow be damp, and hide my fears like the greatest champ
move on, anew, forget that sickening glaze, the eyes of the dead that no longer gaze

.

Twenty Seven Red

An expensive high, I mustn't lie
it grabs and holds your attention
Temporary as it may be, at times
it can dwindle ones pension
.

During the roll, or as it is dealt
sensibility sometimes omitted
Laying down dough just on a hunch
really should not be permitted
.

A free country it is, where I can win
or end my days in a shamble
do as I wish, spend till I'm broke
after all it's only a gamble

The Itsy Bitsy Siren

Maybe a somewhat boring existence. For several days now I have been watching the antics of a spider, yes a spider who has taken up residence under one of the eaves of my house. I have watched from day one when it began its first web straight through today ( 3 webs later ) and it may sound odd but this little arachnid sure has stamina. This morning for the first time I watched "the hunt" and it spurred me to write the following; I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The Itsy Bitsy Siren


Glistening filaments coated with dew,
suspending neat packages, not just a few
looks nearly abandoned during each daylight
yet a buzz of activity all through the night

.

When it seems to encourage every mosquito and midge
to try to fly through it and adhere to a ridge
tangled and snared like flying rats in a trap
their seconds are numbered before it's a wrap
.

Lighter than air and stronger than steel
a floating boudoir with some desirous appeal
or hence it must seem to each unknowing moth
who when injected with enzymes turns into a broth
.

Airborne pieces of lint and small bits of hay
are culled from her web all during the day
to prepare for the eve when it's time to clobber
unsuspecting prey who are turned into slobber
.

Eight shiny legs, slender and pointed,
appear carefully tended, almost anointed,
ready to scurry and work on demand
delicately placed, each on a strand

.

The dew that I mention is truly a foe
which causes her mansion to actually show
I think she's a widow but does never wail
and where she has been there's never a trail
.

Disgust and fear she instills in most men
almost as chilling as World War Twos Bren
looks tiny, petite, but has venomous airs
and all over her body she sports tiny hairs
.

A master at hunting, knows how to enthral
she'll take them all on, the big and the small
apparently fearless and on the ball
yet if she could write I know it'd be scrawl
.

Call me ridiculous, call me a fool
but things like this can make me drool
knowing that this spider is fully content
doing the only thing she's alive for, what she was meant

.

.

DS

Nata 1918 - Morta 1920 - Little Rosalia

It was in Palermo I recall that overcast day
unlike the majority of my splendorous stay
Architecture so grand, regal and proud
Sicilians all hurrying despite the great crowd

.

The "Boot" of the mainland not far away indeed
was calling me back as if I were it's seed
But that same morning I had but one agenda
to see Rosalia Lombardo, yes, still ever so tender

.

See, she was the highlight, a Capuchin claim to fame
yet I wanted to spy it all, every monk, every lane
which housed her mates, all still in their death
straddled side by side, long since their last breath

.

All the ruins I had seen each day since the start
had not prepared me at all for the feelings today would impart
Not once did I ponder where all the people had gone
I was overly enthralled with the heft, with the brawn

.
But when I entered the cavernous mausoleum of sorts,
the catacombs with walls lined with lime not with quartz
there was a coolness in the air, it was natural they said
perhaps this is what helped in preserving their dead

.
Eight thousand in all literally hung in this abode
all shapes and all sizes, to many this had been bestowed
as the best place to lie, some stately some royal
some prone in mock coffins, some laid in a coil

.
Wilted bouquets, relics and toys lined almost each wall
dates to the sixteenth century could be made out in scrawl
Skeletons, mummy like, bones, hair and clothes
at first was horrific, should have been sacred, not exposed

.
Slowly I walked my way down each section and saw
that I was not the only person pulled by the draw
of the dead that were here for each eye to view
perhaps this is what helped make me construe

.

That this was not eerie, not disgusting not vile
I thought "these are their memorials" and managed a smile
Twas then the sensation hit me with a great whack
I had been "Stung by the Splendor of Sudden Black."

Seeya..........

Hands down, It needs to end, I'm tired, bored and sore
on call from dusk, til dawn, til dusk again,

screaming I want no more
.

There's only so much I can give before my mind gets charred,
you'd think I would have picked this up

the first time I was scarred
.

I need to float away from this, indeed before it's too late
so I can still walk with pride,

forgetting this feeling of hate

tick tock...tick tock...

Dating?

Not yet,

still waiting
for the day I know that I can
rediscover

myself,

not her
for though she's now gone,
I know I must continue;

live on

Debating?

Yes,

but waiting
till I once again can believe
without her

picture floating
through my mind leaving me
blind;

for its only her

I see

Ablating?

No,

just waiting
for the grand disappearance
to occur

so that I may begin
again wanting to sense,

to feel
new emotions;

not the unreal

Shocking Tale!

He arrived home from work late that rainy night and the short walk from his car to his 19th century bungalow had left him drenched. With the current real estate market being in the condition it was he had snatched up that property for a steal knowing full well that there were a few things that needed repair. He prided himself in finding good buys. His soon to be ex wife Kathy hated him for this quality but she'd soon be out of his life. To some the bungalow might have appeared as a discarded soapbox (Kathy) but to Charlie it was a treasure since someday the demand for this type of property in this neighborhood would be high; and he knew it and could wait.
.
Not only did the great price tag include this shell of a home but it also came along with a few acres, a rarity for sure. Charlie was usually a patient fellow and in the past this same patience had payed off so he wasn't really concerned that the roof leaked nor did he care that the old electrical system needed updating; time and a little cash could turn his investment into a goldmine.
.
As he was flipping through the days mail and sorting out the bills from the junk he simultaneously was slipping out of his soggy clothes and was thinking about a nice bourbon and coke. After getting about halfway through the mail he decided to go and actually change into something dry and warm. Although patient when it came to some things, he was not at all happy about dripping water onto the new oak floors he had installed in the little entrance way.
.
Just as he began walking back to pick up the rest of the mail the lights went out; typical he thought, "I probably should have had the electricity fixed first". He headed towards the back of the house where the old fuse box was located and as he approached it he realized that it must have been raining harder and longer than he had thought; the pot he had under the leak in the roof must have overflowed because he could feel the unmistakable dampness of water permeate his socks.
.
Without thinking he reached to open the fuse box and even though no one was around to see the flash or hear the pop Charlie stood there looking like a character out of a comic book with his hair on end seemingly glued to the box. That night was the end of Charlies dream to ever make good on his latest investment.
.
A few days after the funeral Kathy was at his house, now her house, when she noticed a stack of unopened mail on the hall table. Next to the table was a wastebasket with a postcard sized mailer sitting right on top and she couldn't help but grin when she read it; the bold type ad read "Our Rubber Soles Save Lives". Kathy literally said out loud " sorry guys, the lack of rubber soles is what just saved my life". You see 50/50 would have been a struggle but now that it was all hers, well, maybe it wouldn't be that hard after all, and maybe now she herself could be a little patient.

Camel Juice

Twinkle, twinkle, little sheik
you think you've got us up a creek
Costs above the dunes so high
like a golden bullion pie

Twinkle, twinkle, little tsar
keep your oil right where you are
If I need to walk for miles
blisters yes, but you'll see smiles

Choices slim, but they are there
don't include your palace chair
Twinkle, twinkle, little prince
thoughts of you just make me wince

It's our fault, I place no blame
but don't you think that it's a shame
For any country to have to
rely upon a petting zoo

Twinkle, twinkle little Prez'
please heed what your nation says.

Ring, Ring, go away...........

Phones, phones, phones, everywhere you turn today there are phones and personally, I believe they are misused. At the risk of sounding like my dead grandfathers grandfather, a decrepit dead fart, I will gladly voice my opinion, even on a phone if need be. As you all know, no revelation, in today's society everyone carries their phone on their person; whether it be on their hip, in their pocket or purse, or plugged into their ear looking like a huge blue palmetto bug about to dig in and make a nest. There was a time when two people were in a room alone and a voice was heard that the other would naturally turn to listen and offer a response. Today however, in the same situation, it is rare that the conversation is aimed at anyone other than a mouthpiece, a portal if you will, not the person you may be with.

You see people on line in the bank, standing at a grocery counter, driving vehicles, landing at an airport, in the backs of churches, I've even been in public restrooms and have heard people speaking from behind doors on the bowl! I don't know about you but I'd rather not have to hear someones blow by blow description of what last nights dinner has done to their stomach; especially as it's occurring! You know how those rooms can echo. Don't get me wrong, I know the importance of a cell phone, I carry one, my wife carries one, everyone I know carries one and it is very helpful and useful at times but there are many times when they are used as a mere distraction; not a need to convey information. Anyone that works or has worked with the public knows that due to a cell phone they have been interrupted in the middle of conversations or transactions while their customer has answered their phone; and it very rarely involves the matter at hand.

How many vehicular accidents have occurred due to these wretched little monsters and their availability? I'm all for the progression of civilization, I would never stand in the way of the evolution of anything, the leaps and bounds that man has achieved since my conception have been utterly amazing but sorry guys, I detest these little ringing nuisances. Again, no doubt, they have their place, everything does, but I feel that these things are not bringing us closer but actually pulling us farther apart on an individual level. We no longer recognize people by their voices or faces, we now know people by their numbers, by their ring tones. I'd be willing to bet that I could pick up someone else's cell phone, dial one of it's contacts, and have a conversation with a complete stranger and they wouldn't even know it was me; instead their brain would somehow make them believe that I was 851-5698, since I'm sure they would answer, "Hi (whatever 851-5698's name is)".

As much as I claim to hate these things and gripe about their misuse, unfortunately I myself am also guilty of the same as I complain about. I've never gotten to the point where I had to talk to someone while on the john, I can draw lines, but yes, I too have used it as a distraction at times. I do however try to curb it's usage to what I feel a conveyance of necessary information. Perhaps since so much of what I do involves using the phone that I try to limit using it as much as I do. Who knows? What I do know however is, if you feel like rebutting this or helping me to understand why I might feel this way about a wonderful addition to our technological lives, tell me face to face or write me, please don't phone me since I probably won't answer anyway.

You tell me

Mashed words
crumpled note
Cyber nerds
code they wrote
Unhinged door
no brainiac
Lack of rapport
don't mean jack
.

Cop a squat
near the throttle
Prozac yacht
in a plastic bottle
Hockey puck
slippery ice
A little luck
would be nice
.

Unwanted whiff
an oily rag
Dirty handkerchief
makes you gag
Supposed prose
what a joke
I must suppose
it's just a cloak

Clotted roads

An inundated mind becomes muddled
causing confusion as to where to turn next,
which step is right, which walked path will begin
the series of the correct progressions
.

My filtering abilities seem to be clogged
for the most part and simple tasks now
cause me to be overly cautious which in turn
leaves me too often feeling mentally paralyzed
.

Maybe I need a new vision, a new purpose
to enable me to let my newly chaotic existence
fall to the wayside and once again start
seeing and sensing an orderly life; like before
.

"It's only human" they quip, "part of the process"
I've read, but this cannot continue, this isn't me,
at least not the me that I have come to know,
the me that I have become comfortable being
.

I wish it was as simple as flipping some valves
into the backwash position and clearing the muck
from blocking the way, adding some clarifier tonight
so the morning would bring clearness to to it all

Lights, Camera, Action

It's "An inconvenient truth" but
"The first five people you meet in heaven", if you do,
could be "Stranger than fiction" not "Just friends"
.

I feel "Regret to inform" you that "Me and you
and everyone we know" who are seeking "A home at the end of the world"

might not make "The final cut"; it may not be our "Destiny".
.
So "Live forever" now, "Smile" at every "Shopgirl",
"Head of State", "Cop", "Waitress" and "Lonesome Jim"
ask them all "Shall we dance?", have "The time of your life"
.

because "Chances are" the "Fictitious marriage" between
"Heaven and Earth" is like a "House of wax", "Nothing Sacred",
"Liquid moments" "Frozen alive" ready to melt away
.

It's "Never too late" though, you see, "Laughing matters",

so be able to say "It was a wonderful Life" "Before the devil
knows you're dead" or you too may live "Happily N'Ever After".

The following movie titles are credited in creating the above writing:

BEFORE THE DEVIL KNOWS YOU'RE DEAD - Sidney Lumet - 2007

THE FINAL CUT - Director: Omar Naim - 2004

HOUSE OF WAX - Director: Jaume Serra - 2005

THE FIVE PEOPLE YOU MEET IN HEAVEN - Lloyd Kramer - 2004

ME AND YOU AND EVERYONE WE KNOW - Miranda July - 2005

A HOME AT THE END OF THE WORLD - Director: Michael Mayer - 2004

AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH - Director: Davis Guggenheim - 2006
STRANGER THAN FICTION - Director: Marc Forster - 2006

SHOPGIRL - Director: Anand Tucker - 2005

SHALL WE DANCE - Director: Peter Chelsom - 1937

JUST FRIENDS - Director: Roger Kumble - 2005

REGRET TO INFORM - Director: Barbara Sonneborn - 2000

DESTINY - Director: Fritz Lang - 1921

LIVE FOREVER - Director: John Dower - 2003

SMILE - Director: Jeffrey Kramer - 2005

WAITRESS - Director: Adrienne Shelly - 2007

HEAD OF STATE - Director: Chris Rock - 2003

COP - Director: James B. Harris - 1988
LONESOME JIM - Director: Steve Buscemi - 2005

CHANCES ARE - Director: Emile Ardolino - 1989

THE TIME OF YOUR LIFE - Director: Kirk Browning - 1976

FICTITIOUS MARRIAGE - Director: Haim Bouzaglo - 1959
HEAVEN AND EARTH - Director: Oliver Stone - 1993

NOTHING SACRED - Director: William A. Wellman - 1937

LIQUID MOMENTS - Director: Ian Stewart - 2005

FROZEN ALIVE - Director: Not Available - 1964
NEVER TOO LATE - Director: Giles Walker - 1997
LAUGHING MATTERS - Director: Andrea Meyerson - 2004
HAPPILY N'EVER AFTER - Director: Paul J. Bolger - 2006

rrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip

Thanks to Poefusion I have discovered Easy Street Prompts and given it a shot looks like it will be fun.

It's amazing how quickly
one can become tattered
after the loss of one dear

I never knew how much
of him was holding me
from unravelling, uncoiling

I knew I was patterned
after him but never had a
clue that he was my glue

Or thread if you will that
kept me in one piece,
held me together until

He was gone, then I knew
as the hole just grew
bigger and bigger by the day

Leaving me ragged, scathed,
almost torn in two parts
with little hope of repair

Paper, plastic or reality

OK, it's been quite a few days since I've written anything and this morning I had some time and checked out Friday Five - the words are brittle, aluminum foil, Polaroid, skunk and salt - not too easy - I decided to try something I've seen done before and combined the five words given as well as my own choice "cautioned" and put it all into the previous form - the Sestina - here we go, I must admit this was tough!



There is a dreamlike haze surrounding the streetlamp, nothing brittle
more like cloudiness than a sharpened, focused Polaroid
flaring nares inhale my fearful stench much like an angry skunk
while the beads that form on my brow are filled with borrowed salt
and my knee joints are reminiscent of crinkling aluminum foil
I could not deny being aware, just this very morning I had been cautioned

Call it a warning or call it an alert but yes I was cautioned
and despite the growing sense of dread my brains were brittle
and could not heed, I belted my knife like an aluminum foil
oblivious to the possible outcome, just seeing my minds Polaroid
in no way caring if perhaps my visions like bland food needed salt
in order to properly taste, sense, my enemy, that man, that skunk

Tonight I needed false bravado so I first got as drunk as a skunk
so as to care not that I had been first and foremost, cautioned
my concern was to lure him to this spot like a deer to a block of salt
and without his knowledge leap out and begin to pummel his brittle
bones capturing each individual assault to his body like a Polaroid
that I could relive and reuse as if it were yesterdays aluminum foil

Part of me knew I was wrong yet part still glinted like aluminum foil
at the thought of slaying, or even just deeply hurting this lousy skunk
I even considered having a friend stand by with a camera, a Polaroid
to be sure that each moment was saved for posterity, hmph, cautioned,
I'd rather savor this moment like a confection of nuts, a crunchy brittle
that has all the sweetness of candy yet still has that trace of salt

You see, my life has been like an ill prepared Martguerita, never any salt
on the rim and my desires never stayed hot enough, like aluminum foil
that when used and removed from the heat has merely become brittle
and tasty yesterdays can only conjure the lurid aroma of the nasty skunk
It's true, yes it is, it's me who does the warning, I'm the one who's cautioned
myself, I always do, and as long as I'm in control there will be no Polaroid

There will be no slaying, no intentional hurting, no, never a Polaroid
yet for some reason I seem to enjoy filling my wounds with plenty of salt
and always manage so, no matter if I have or haven't been cautioned
my tongue lashes upon itself like the sharpened edge of aluminum foil
and my only enemy is myself, I'm my own evil, my own stinking skunk
I often question my motives for why I've caused my heart to become brittle

My dreams like an old Polaroid photo have a way of fading into nothingness
whether my cautioned thoughts are reality or just my possessed fear

Maybe someday my brittle composure will again be like supple suede
and I will once more be able to smile while I taste the salt of the day

Perhaps the time will come when the skunk inside of me just up and dies
and I won't have to try to recycle my minds aluminum foil ever again


.

No green card needed

I know that we can't be alone
to think this we'd be ever so pompous
West of the moon, South of Cancun
I"ll bet they travel without a compass
.

What makes them all so gosh darn choosy
must I be driving a pick up truck
Perhaps I need a wife named Pearl
or maybe it's just plain 'ole luck
.

I'd gladly take them to my leader
all they'd have to do is ask
I'd even undergo some testing
don't they think I'm up for the task?
.

I could make millions selling my story
if they would let me snap some pics
All they'd have to do is pose
not perform strange farout tricks
.

Aside from the money and front page press
I think that this would be so rad
To end up with a martian penpal
would as they say it, be oh so "bad"
.

So if you know an alien or two
you just might want to steer them my way
because I know I'd love to meet them
and also sure I'd make their day!

eeney,meeny,miney,me

I wish that's all I ever was
just an April Fool,
Left with some eleven months
feeling like a jewel
But no, my life is lived like I'm
the third leg of your stool,
Knowing that I can't but help
to shoulder all the cruel
I wonder if it's in my head
this slimy, viscous gruel
And if I'm always slipping on
my constant dripping drool
Or are the feelings of alone,
sinking, drowning in a pool,
A course that I failed to attend
when I should have been in school....

Wonderella

Don't ask me if I still love you,
what more need I do to prove it to you.
What is it that I do or don't do
that even makes you condider this question
I've always done as I thought you wanted
always placing myself in the second row
Your needs, like my needs however, must be made known
or should love include reading scattered thoughts
If you really want to make me think and ponder
ask me WHY I still love you,

then give me a week

A weed indeed

Like mountain crests in alpine air peeking through the fog
Cypress knees protrude above the algae coated bog

.

The winsome spires conjure thoughts of a prehistoric day
when lifespans could be cut in half by your natural prey

.

To cure they gathered herbs and bark for potions they would make
and crushed and ground them into tonics the sick would gladly take
..

These medicines of theirs they cured all ailments, every sting,
they'd fling their fear into the wind and circle 'round and sing
,
Today our standards say they're quacky, these natural healing men
our doc's will try if you're insured, maybe, perhaps just then
.

Some times you feel they want it all, your cranberry colored blood
and when you're dry they'll toss what remains, into the primordial mud

.

So, if I had the chance to travel, back several millennia ago

I'd miss my lattes, sushi and my Hybrid car yet though

.

When I arrived I'd know that I could easily foretell

the days when roots and weeds become the biggest known "hard sell"

Crispy Critters

Solar rays like shredded glass
now wage a special war
Skin once pink and slightly pale
now itchy, red and sore
.

To bronze our skin was once the rage
chic at the very least
We'd march our tails down to the beach
half naked and well greased
.

A healthy look we thought it gave
we all feel so good tanned
Token days on towels with
big coolers at our hand
.

Remember when we thought it was
a good dose of vitamin D
Yet there was no question, that too much,
could cause a third degree
.

I think we used to have more time
to romp within the sun
It seems as if the fun's become
a deadly loaded gun
.

Since now we know the ozone's weak
earths filter is no more
The yellow ball we used to love
will now cook us to the core
.

So throw away your oils and balms
that claim to help you tan
Buy something with SPF 10
and stay out of the frying pan

Crack in a smile

Centuries ago it was decided
that when our loved ones leave this world
their remains should be saved for posterity
so that we could later visit and feel
.

I can't explain the reasoning
the ancients had when the choice was made
to keep the dead eternally prepared as if
Sunday dinner was just a week away
.

Nor can I understand the outings,
the family trips to the park like setting which
has become the new abode for ones we once
held so close, those we wish hadn't moved so far away
.

We go bearing gifts of flowers and the like
all standing around gazing at a stone
knowing full well any conversation will be one sided
yet the wrought emotions supposedly help
.

Are we not becoming one with the rock itself
as our unmoving, carved features just stare
at the granite, their granite slab of a roof
that only helps us remember the feelings of loss
.

Perhaps we are secretly hoping, attempting
to forget the separation, wishing that our hearts
become hardened to the experienced pain, the weight,
much like each layer of developing shale does
.

Although I may not get it, I do it, like the elders
before me I also peer at the etched memorial
my secret hope however it that I will know when
to move on before the stoniness takes me completely

duh

Have you ever written a post and then in looking through blogs that you haven't visited in a while discover that the post you just wrote is similar in content or at least topic to another very, very recent post of someone else? This has happened to me more than once, actually many times and I can't understand why. Sometimes I wonder if I go online in my sleep and read these posts and unconsciously write something similar..........it's not as if they're world news or something we have all heard of recently where the topic is on every ones mind..........what gives here?

bored

This is my answer to boredom........

Yellow roses still must die
wingless people yearn to fly
prophets secretly asking why
what's the reason I must try
why can't I just sit and cry

Bored or.......Zwkat

As I have mentioned before I truly love puzzles. They can be words, numbers, pictures, you name it and I will try it or already have; and I'm sure I enjoyed it. One of my favorites are those substitution puzzles, you know, the ones where sayings or adages have their letters replaced with a simple substitution code; I really like working those. Anyway, I tried my hand at creating one of those out of a simple poem I wrote and I thought I'd throw it out and see where it wound up. I wish I could say the one that cracks the code wins something grand but.....well, you don't. If by chance you're bored, like I was this evening, you might want to try to let me know what this says beneath the code. Like I said, I was bored.

Grffnd enprp phykk ciph kyr
dyuakrpp jrnjkr orqeu hn lko
jenjsrhp prberhko qptyua dso
dsqh'p hsr erqpnu y ciph heo
dso bqu'h y miph pyh quk beo?

Want a piece of me?

Carlotta was crystalline; made
of assorted layers and coats,
a sharded shield of misguided protection

One day she'd be sweeter
than jasmine in a springtime bed
and could attract any man she chose

Other days you had to be careful
of the venom she exuded from each pore;
heed her fangs, heed her claws

We never knew what the day would bring
until we saw her enter the room
her eyes would always betray her

First time acquaintances couldn't see
the thorns neath her blue silk chemise
nor did they know the sweet hid the sour

Yet a typical week can allow you the chance
to get a peek at every piece of her soul
to savor all that is Carlotta; as a whole

.............It's you who needs protection

Endless

I have to thank Rose Dewey Knickers for putting me on to One Single Impression and the haiku prompt "Circle".....again, thank you both.

.
Eternal in form
sashaying forevermore
blind to the corners

Snowbird Mania

This is inspired by a promt at Writing Companion "are we there yet". It seems that some of us long to be "there" yet won't admit it when we arrive. Here it is:

It is here now
but not there yet
as the bulbs
begin to bloom
.

As coldness fades
to warmer days
and sunshine
replaces the gloom
.

Deep in the south
spring has arrived
yet the northerner
still wears his coat
.

In this respect
they can't claim tops
so I guess
it's our time to gloat
.

These are the days
they pile in cars
and head
this way yet they fret
.

They'll spend a week
declaring we're slow
not admitting their words
"are we there yet"?

Scavengers three

This was almost too embarrassing to post yet these are the current feelings I have based on the last months conversations and what occurred to me the other day........I wish it were different.

It took all their lives
year after year
to collect and amass
the things that they loved

.

To them it meant more
than you'd ever know
to have and to hold
the things that they saved
.

The books and the lamps
the furniture nice,
what they deemed art
the things that they bought

.

Old computers and china
the silver and brass
all nicely upheld
the things that they owned
.

With clothing enough
to open a store
many tags still in place
the things that they had

.

Then one day they left
all their treasure behind
to be picked over slowly
the things that they loved
.

To others it meant
less than you'd expect
to keep and retain
the things that they saved

.

The cash, house and bonds
now that's what was sought
the big ticket items, not
the things that they bought
.

We all have our couches
our dining room sets
we'll sell all the jewels
the things that they owned

.

So don't leave for others
the things you hold dear
and expect them to love them
the things that you have
.

Many things become trash
when you're no longer around
so make them all happy
turn your cache into cash

Smorgasbord

Who else I might have been

It was about 1920, I think, when I last
had an appetite for doing the Charleston
with my favorite flapper, Flo; she knew how
to make my nights last forever and was
responsible for the good times, but then

.

I vaguely remember a hanging post
with gallows creaking beneath;
a rope of pinching hemp surrounds
my bristly neck in anticipation of the drop
which ends with a sharp twisting crack, and
.

As I stood waiting for the crowd to finish
the deed they had begun I recalled
a queen, a beautiful dame who was
deeply in love with her stable boy,
but at the time I thought I was dreaming, yet

.

Being a horses attendant, a queens "boy" was OK;
as I lay in a mound of hay I wondered why
all that my memory saw was that trip across
the ocean to that far off, unknown land that
was supposedly the place to be that day, however
.

Someday I might remember being me, today,
and perhaps question who else I might have been
if just one day, one hour, one second was different;
Or if I'm lucky I'll not remember at all and
the comparisons, the regrets, will never exist

W,O,R,D,S

All arduous askings avidly answered

by beloved brothers become bothersomely boring

causing classic coolness countrywide.

Dearest dominions defy dramatic disasters

every effervescent evening, each ego

freely forgets frought fondling, forever fooled.

Gleefully golden glimpses grazing goodness

have honeydew horizons held highly

inside individual introspective intentions.

Joyful journalists jibber-jab jealously, jibing

knock-kneed, kewpie kabuki's, keenly

lamenting lewd livid loveliness, lixiviating.

Memorializing monotonous morons motivates

nothing, no one, never needed Neanderthal

Opponents offer opposite oppression often.

Professional people persuade paliatism

quickly, queerly, questionable

results rapidly reappearing, rampant retorts.

Small stimuli sometimes stroke soundless

tenacious tendencies throughout temperate

undertows unless unwanted umbilicus uncloses.

Vandalized venomous variations vaticinate

without weighing wholly, wondering why

x-rayed xanthans xerophious.

Young yodelers yearlong yearnings yield

zig-zagging zealots zymogenic zombies.

A yard by any other name

This week at MadKanes the promt is either yards or gardens. I decided to do one on each however both mentioning yards, yet still different types of yards.

.

.....Limerick

..
Whoever invented the game
would likely think I were lame
since three hundred yards to me
is farther than I can see
and of course running it's sadly the same
.

.....Haiku

.
Trimming lawns and yards
has never been an option,

I have no mower

The Night Mare

Are they real
or need I wake
these things that make
me want to quake
A freckled child
a sylph, some scones
invade my mind
like sharpened stones
.

A dancing maiden,
dismembered thumb
all mixed together
where from they come?
Like a flat rootbeer
no longer fizzy
if I arouse will
I not be dizzy?
.

Some cows on ice
skates that gleam
all rabble 'round
within my dream
The suasion mounts
it does proceed
the laughing horse
begs me to heed
.

Haunted hours
spent in my bed
crazy thoughts
zip 'round my head
I toss and turn
why do they mock
I wish I'd hear
my alarm clock

Hidden but here

Part of me says I need to stay, not hide
yet part of me tells me otherwise
which part do I listen to, which should I heed
or should I just go and don a disguise?

Just a thought

Thoughts that meld
words that rhyme
a story to tell
this is where I belong
Asker of questions
teller of truths
defining lines
this is where I belong
Times of passion
causes to fight
numerical longings
this is where I belong
Loving freely
outstretched arms
faithful dreamings
this is where I belong
Childish reasons
happy moments
days lasting forever
this is where I belong

The girl's a nut

Sherry was not what you would call the average mother; at least not by the standards of the local child welfare agency. There was no doubt that she had given birth to the little boy nor could anyone question what she wanted in her heart but when it came time to actually loving the child she found it very difficult, almost impossible. This was not the way she expected her life to be but the raw deal that she had been dealt was obviously her fate as she had been told over and over again.

When she was just fifteen, she had been sent to visit her aunt Martha and uncle Burton in Chicago while her parents went to Hawaii to attend a coworkers daughters "destination" wedding. She had wanted to go with them, simply for the trip to Hawaii but her parents funds could not be stretched to take her along. After much consideration she had been shipped off to her godparents for the week. They were much older than her parents, almost old enough to be grandparents, but they did after all have a nice apartment overlooking the lake and it would be a treat; sort of Sherrys own vacation.

She liked aunt Martha and uncle Burt enough, that was never a problem, and from the gifts, cards and letters she had gotten from them over the years she knew it was reciprocal. It wasn't until her third night there when it all began to go downhill. Apparently her aunt and uncle were very heavy drinkers and by 7pm each night aunt Martha was passed out cold, almost dead to the world. The night that uncle Burt came into her room and forced himself on her was the worst night of her short life and once she was finally able to free herself of him she wanted to die. The next morning when she confronted aunt Martha, with uncle Burt sitting right there, they both just laughed at her and told her it must have been a bad dream; what she was proposing could never ever have occurred....foolish child!

By the time she realized that she was pregnant she was back in Connecticut, at home, and she had never told her parents of that night in Chicago. She knew she would never see her uncle again but had decided not to say anything since they both acted as if she had been nuts...laughing at her...who would have believed her anyway? She told her parents that she was pregnant in the hopes that they would help her with an abortion only to discover that they wanted her to go through with the pregnancy and have the child...they would help her get it adopted afterwards.

During the nine months that followed, Sherry would pray every day that the baby inside of her would die, that she would die, that the world would end...anything that would halt her from having the child, anything that could help her forget that night. She contemplated suicide, but could never go through with her plans. She just couldn't wait to have this thing out of her and no one understood why, except maybe that bastard uncle Burt.

The strangest thing happened though. When she gave birth she felt a love for the child, so sweet looking, he had her blond hair, her blue eyes; she decided to keep the baby boy and loved him deeply as did her parents. It wasn't until a few years later when she again realized that she wanted to kill the baby. Her precious Jason was beginning to look like his father, like the son of a bitch who raped her that night and her love for him immediately began to fade. Sherry didn't know what to do but she knew she felt numb inside; she knew she now hated Jason, simply for what and for who he stood for.

Although she hated the boy she knew she could never kill him but also knew she could not go on like this; he had her parents to take care of him. She finally got up enough nerve to do it. The night she swallowed the entire bottle of her mothers Valium was the calmest night she had in years. At eighteen years of age Sherry was finally at peace yet no one left behind, not Jason, not her parents, not even her drunk aunt and uncle could understand why she had chosen to end it........well, maybe uncle Burt did.

Life outside the Beaker

I often question if there is more than just

the obvious
outcome to the parade I've
marched in for so many years;
not headlined, not starred,

steadily marched
.
I ponder where it is headed, where I myself

am headed
if in any direction at all;
would it matter if I knew beforehand
and if so would I really, truly,

be happy I knew?
.
Might being aware of the truth, of the results, change

the way
that the days are spent;
would the droning still tire me
or would this sacred knowledge offer healing powers

otherwise unavailable?
.
Onlookers wave as I pass; a bevy of casual smiles become

less and less
meaningful as I continue to trod
past others who must wonder as well;
I think I sense the fear in many of them much like my own;

perhaps I hope
.
They should, they have to, mustn't they? I cannot be alone

in my thoughts
yet knowing so provides no answers
to where and when "cut" will be called,
when the curtain will drop and the show abruptly ends;

no encore
.
I could experiment a bit, sure just a bit, cutting ahead of the line

and taking
a peek at the beyond but what if it
is not what I'm hoping for; what if it's as I think,
what if the parade ends at a dead end and there are

no former participants?
.
Perhaps it's better to leave the laboratory to the rats,

let the proverbial chips
fall where they may and hope for the best but be willing to just sleep,
still knowing that acceptance doesn't really matter.
So can you tell me why the hell I'm wondering

about this?

Dirt Roadkill

I thought I'd try writing something using exactly 50 words. I have seen it before and read it was difficult, and true to what I read, it is! But here's my attempt at a short, short, short, story. This was fun!

Dirt Roadkill

The Rodeo Clown found a new racket on the side. While busy distracting bulls he'd pick up each trampled varmint. There were green ones, red ones, colors that would boggle the mind. During one stint a shoemaker who made snug fitting footwear from the skins hired Jocko "the snake trapper".

Automat

Then..........

.

Auto this, Auto that, do you recall

the Automat?

Buster Brown, Buster Keaton, mowing grass for

Mrs. Seaton

.

Cracker Balls, Cracker Jacks, visiting the mail box

not the FAX

Penny Candy, Penny Lane, summer days long and

inane

.

Shooting marbles, Shooting stars, would we see man land

on mars?

Mister Greenjeans, Mister Magoo, Saturday mornings with Captain

Kangaroo

.

Golden eggs, Golden rule, days we woke to go to

school

.

Now.......

.

Morning coffee, morning paper, let's read about the latest

caper

Digital Cameras, digital watch, preferring vodka over

scotch

.

Wedding rehearsals, wedding rings, sometimes lose their status of

favorite things

Driving kids, driving range, sleeping in is oh

so strange

.

Days become, days gone by, years have passed where did

they fly

Counting blessings, counting bills, current thoughts regarding

wills

.

Growing up, growing old, rarely ever so pleasant

as sometimes told

.

So.......

.

Auto this, Auto that, what happened to the days of the

Automat

Liquid Lies

Like water connecting with chalk
on childhood sidewalk writings
yesterdays memories can become smudged
when beloved prompts disappear

.

Ideations of lost years; loves
are never thought of, not once
until they no longer exist and then
are considered twice, thrice, eternally
.

The rest of lifes offerings simply
fill the voids between the emptiness which
seems to encumber the days of the ones who wish
to remember the happiness and forget your pain

.

Yet like the runny words of yore, mix and bond the cement we're trapped in..........

Pick a line, any line...

The cruiseship intact
when found on the sea bed
just lonely and waiting
some windows seemed steamed

The log that had entered
her bow still protruding
would never be thought
to make her go down

Advertisements did claim
this was her maiden voyage
but the log did not care
as it forcefully did ram

As the hole was widened
and saltiness rushed in
the creaking and moaning
proved her floating was done

Now all that is left
is a shell of its past, she has sailed

her last trip, now an unneeded piece

of the puzzle called "fleet"

Can't hide

He tried to appear kempt
although a string hung
from his jacket sleeve
bearing the price he had paid

.
Attempting to impress like a fresco,
a mural on the most crisp,
white linen background, ninety nine
of one hundred percent pure

Buttonholes dilated from wear
made it obvious to all
that rather than champagne taste
he'd often swig wine vinegar

Countdown

A mere second more

is all that I really want

just to say "so long"

.

.

.
.
I never really knew
left was oh so few
blessed hours
time empowers
emotions now askew

Come fly with me

The
ancient
pyramids
got their shape
from varying pieces
of stone that were placed
side by side, on top of each
other to form a triangular image
that has lasted thousands of years
and could only have been accomplished
with complex plans and the greatest of care.
It's hard to imagine that such a feat was possible
outside of modern civilization with the only machinery
being the bones and muscle of man, yet there is no other
explanation except that perhaps some alien culture of beings
created marvelous forms which eventually became known as one
of the wonders of the ancient world where Pharoahs were laid to rest.

Murderess

Across the bare wood floor
hurriedly ran the roach
as it scurried from its dark
haven of clumped dust and hair
.

As it quickly neared
the center of the room,
distant from safety
there was not a single hesitation
.

Marissa leapt to her feet
with nothing to consider
and picked up her boys sneaker,
an immediate plan of attack
.

Whap, crack, the roach was dead
left lying among the other
carcasses of insects; kin.
No apology was needed or given

Dads Departure

I did not provoke
the punch to my heart
nor did I expect
the emptiness; the cleft
.

Like a T-Shirt snagged
on a roses thorn
when finally released
a gaping hole was left
.

Though you were hurting
and I knew you would go
I never did think
I'd feel such a loss
.

I try to remember
all that you went through
you thought I was burdened
yet were never my cross
.

Early that morning
I was wakened from sleep
and knew that the call
could be nothing but bad
.

In the short time it took
to jump out of bed
and run to the phone
I was already sad

.

They all say you're better
no longer in pain
I wish I could see it
as beautiful travel
.

The last memories I have
are of you in that bed
staring at nothing
my fear you'd unravel
.

I'm sure I should heed
the words that I spout
to those that I counsel
it just seems so rough
.

I know you are painless
that's great but I know
your last endless days
like sinew were tough
.

I guess it will take time
for the horror to subside
when memories turn nice
I knew that it would
.

I must remind myself
minute by minute
that although the pain has shifted
for you, "it's all good"

.

.

Thank you for all the love you've freely given to me, for all the times you've held me when I was in pain, for just being my father...I will miss you dad.

Searching

This prompt is compliments of Mad Kanes Humor Blog and asks for a Limerick and Haiku about a bad job or jobs you have had - here's what I came up with:

Haiku

Door to door salesmen

often have black and blue toes

and hate the word "NO"

Limerick

When first I met a conveyor belt
it gnawed my hands, left many a welt
I just wanted to quit
tell them all to "eat shit"
til I'd recall the rent where I dwelt