Sometimes I laugh while reading in the library
Sometimes librarians come over and tell me to be quiet
Sometimes they ask if everything is okay
And always always I answer "yes"
Another day and the dishes have piled up yet again
So back I end up in front of the window
I do not glance up, but concentrate
On the dull, dirtied objects before me
I do not hear the voices from yesterday
I still wallow in the grime of gray
I smile in malcontent
As I lather the dishes with soap
Against my will, I look up
To see a lone, fat man opening a refrigerator
He is shirtless, bulgy, and he looks pregnant
My first supposition is to laugh
But I only look back down at the dishes
Not wanting to stare at the fat man
Not wanting to think he looks pregnant
For sure not wanting him to be my neighbor
Across the way
Against my will again, I look up
The fat, pregnant man is gone
I see ornaments on the refrigerator
Some pictures, some magnets
Family; not so different from my life
But yet, there is a transparent fancy of mystery
A flashy rage of difference in the silence
Oh, so quiet
The blazing sun sprays its light upon the hour
Not only are my hands wet from the soapy water
The deafening tone of quietude
Revels in me a mixture of loneliness and physical heat
A burning desire for something not seen
A desire for utter disgust of my newly found neighbors
But I find myself not disgusted at all
Until I look up again and see a fully naked man at the window
Across the way
Cinderella Bites Back
Once upon a story; in a fairy tail
lived a shy and lonely girl
who's friends were Mop and Pail
She was really quite a clever girl,
but suffered hate and spite
until an invitation came
and she wished with all her might
‘if only I could go to the ball’
she cried when no one was around
then out of a tiny hole
she heard the faintest sound
'Of course you can go to the ball
What makes you think you can't?'
'Just because that witch said no
doesn’t mean you shan’t!'
'But my dress is in rags
My feet dirty and bare
There's nothing in my closet
that I could really wear'
‘Don't worry’ said the little mouse
for I know just the thing
By the time I've finished
you’ll have a wedding ring
'Oh no’ said Cinderella
that's not what I had in mind
I was rather hoping for a career;
a chance to serve mankind
The mouse thought for a moment
sized up her situation
'It’s not a wardrobe you need
but an education'!
So when you read this story
or listen to this tale
about a sad and lonely girl
with a mop and pail
Remember that the dream you wish
or star you hope to find
has always been there with you,
tucked safely in your mind!
Like sick allergies,
Boredom can be passed around
I call it: THE BOREDOM DISEASE
Like a horrid storm,
Boredom can catch you off guard
Hold on for DEAR LIFE!
Like the whooping cough,
Boredom can be serious
If I were you, I’d
Get a vaccination !
One more alien... an extra terrestrial. Bloody foreigners.
Green bark a prism creates,
Feel the pull of earth, you must.
Rotates, a slime of endless hates,
Can hold me not, this world’s crust.
Friendship’s ties, isolation Deflates,
Succumbs, my spaceship, to bitter rust.
Mist, my soul forever permeates,
Lift-off, booms the rocket’s thrust.
My spirit when light returns, elates,
Swamps swell, swallowed hope’s swirling dust.
Trapped, I am, until student from fate
Arrives to learn; Cloud City or bust.
Yet he lets bad things happen
How can he exist?
Lonely Lou was no fool.
He went to an all-girls school.
The principal said: “What The Hey!”
He expelled the boy on his first day.
Lou did get a couple of phone numbers so now he’s cool.
Soy sauce drains
Into the white, clustered rice
spills . . .
Soy sauce taints
The whiteness of the grain
It slips out of my hands
No use...no point in crying out in rage
Though I was starving,
I'll just eat another thing and start on a new page
I'm hungry like a swine
I wish I can earn back my snack!
I'm as angry as a bull
I'm about ready to attack! Attack!
Soy sauce packages
Fall unto the dirty school ground
By bratty, conceited teens
They really need to eat their greens
Instead of junkfood and pizza
They should drink some water
Instead of drinking sugary drinks or
Sucking on popsicles obnoxiously
Why did the soy sauce spill? Seriously....
Oh lonely Inevitable Bear,
Padding claws, death in white
Sorrow in recurring nightmare
Instinct’s test; fight or flight?
Camouflage against the fence,
A challenge; my subconscious fear
Ominous slowly moving silence,
“Let me in, there’s a bear out here!”
If its money I got its money ill keep.
If its money I have its money ill weep.
If its love that I give its love ill receive.
For I am but no one who just see's beneath.
Some say your only as strong as you feel, but how could we change..in a place that's so unreal. People are hearing but..not really hearing. Why is the world so blind. I keep on screaming and screaming and screaming for things to be revolutionized. I am just a small song in a world full of cries, laughter, tears and french-fries.
There is this guy
They call him Popeye
He fell in love with an olive skinned lass
Only to be kicked out on his ass
Dedicated to an author by the name of William Golding... Enjoy!!!
~Two boys meet on an island
~~One is skin 'n bones
~~~The other one is chubby
They discover a lagoon~
Ralph teases him by calling~~
him "Piggy" - how mean!!~~~
Piggy asks him if
There are other people on
The island with 'em
He has no clue
But this'll answer Piggy's question --
Other boys appear -
All diverse shapes and sizes
What'll happen next??
Have you ever read The Lord of the Flies?
I recommend it if yah haven't read it yet - I must admit
It's a book full of adult words and it's simply...FASCINATING! - no lies
You should read it - or you'll regret it!
No party for pity.
Question the absurdity.
Friends, use discretion
if you get an invitation.
Don't believe it.
if you receive it.
Discard immediately. Don't contemplate.
It'll lead you nowhere. Don't save the date.
No early, late, or on time arrivals.
The doorbell is silent.
No lively dinner guests,
dressed in their best.
No hors d'oeuvres served on a fancy plate.
No thought-provoking conversations.
No guestbook to sign.
No vintage wine.
No catered food.
No live music for the mood.
No celebration for pity's pains.
No "congratulations," for complaints.
No party here. Discard the invitation.
Pity's alone, in bitter contemplation.
I am just finishing my morning meditation when I hear my doorbell ring. It actually sounds more like that buzzing sound you hear if you fry a fat fly on one of those electronic bug swatters. On my way to the door I hope it's not my new neighbor who just moved in the first floor apartment below me yesterday. Nobody wants a too friendly neighbor, right? I'm from the "fences make good compassionately mindful neighbors" school of thought about neighborly interdependence, much less intimacy.
I open the door to a 60-something blotchy, ashy, white-skinned man wearing grey polyblend sweatpants, slightly too short, over a pair of black Crocs, screaming "I gave up on myself years ago," and a lighter grey zip up the front, grimy hoody with a ripped left pocket, sleeves pushed up over old-red-haired-man, possibly ex-athlete, thick creepy hairy forearms.
Before I have a chance to let him know this feels invasive to me, or even say "Hello, who and why are you at my door during my meditation time?" the new downstairs neighbor starts flapping his jaws as if my ears were born to listen to his cheery wisdom.
"Hi, I'm Oliver. My two neurally challenged teenagers, Ivy's the bratty girl, and Daquan is the perfect, but sometimes a little loud, sort of like a really ticked off roaring lion, but you'll get used to it, son, and I are your new downstairs neighbors, and I wanted to meet you right away because I don't want you to freak out and call 911 when you hear us yelling or screaming or crying or jumping endlessly hour after hour because Ivy is really hyper and because Daquan can't speak but often seems to have a lot to bark and roar about what sometimes seems like its just gas and sometimes means he's wet and is trying to tell me I need to put the novel down, or stop writing that dreadful sad poetry, or writing predictable lyrics for country-western songs, much less living them, and sometimes he's just playing Tarzan, yodeling in his make-believe jungle. He's legally blind and uses a wheelchair for school but at home he scoots and thumps around, surprisingly athletic, on his butt, kind of like an upside down inchworm if inchworms had feet and arms, which of course they don't."
I don't have the first clue where this is going but we have no time, and apparently not the least commitment, to discern my own thoughts about Oliver's communication and rationality skills, or lack thereof.
"My husband lives about a mile upriver in our cottage that we are trying to expand before the rest of us move in. He is tall, dark and handsome in an AfricanAmerican kind of way and is usually depressed, at least when he's around us, which I can't really blame him because Ivy is Oppositionally Ordered, I don't know why they keep saying Fetal Alcohol kids have Oppositional Disorder because her capacity to oppose everything is most certainly not out of order, or in any way under-developed. She will pitch a fit if all you're trying to do is get her up from her feeding trough to help her out of a poopy diaper. You would think that somebody was going to eat her food after she has already marked it with her drool. I have no idea why they would call that Oppositional Disorder. No one I have ever met has been more oppositionally wired synaptic than my daughter."
"Anyway, Valentino, that's my husband, he suffers from chronic depression which is too bad because he used to have this really nice soft sense of humor and romance, if you know what I mean, but now he's just quiet and sad and afraid to retire because then he won't have any friends that don't drive him crazy like his family does, including me."
"He complains that we're too loud and stinky and the house is always filthy and my cooking is terrible but he likes to cook and clean so I don't really get it why it's not OK for me to not like to cook and clean, or do the laundry, or the dishes. Do you know what I mean? So, tell me about you."
Finally, a question other than the parenthetical "do you know what I mean."
"Ditto. Except mine are named, respectively, Yang, Yin, and Attila. Do you happen to like Ginseng tea with lots of honey?
chocolate hearts and candies in boxes
play their part in having me nauseous
passion a project for the masses
roses in package, romance the passage
red, white and pink, fed right in the link
bed time in sync, just what you think
that one day out of three sixty five
your partner should get recognized
consumption used to fortify
love thatll last the rest of our lives
trickier than lovers that are porcupines
a sort of lie, could put a hole in your heart
bigger than a quarters size
beyond the balloons, heart strings in the loom
the only thoughts i consume,
is i need a sun with my moon
The Saga of the Lonely Cactus: “Lucky Cactus” Fifth Part
By Miriam McCue
The lucky Cactus is not just one only.
He is no longer sad and lonely.
Now he sits and sweats,
In the desert taking bets.
He works in a Casino they built there,
(Though it blocks him from the air).
Instead of New York’s noisy fights,
His eyes are lit up by neon lights.
Some think the desert is becoming a dump,
‘Cause of the Casino built there by Donald Trump,
But here the cactus stays and does not ramble.
He takes advantage of those who gamble.
He’s wheeling, and dealing, and holding tight,
All though the day and into the night.
So let us give the cactus his due,
When his four Queens beat our lowly two.
Here the cactus has adjusted quite well,
In what preachers may call “the gambling hell”.
At least here the sand does abound,
And other cacti are around.
All are learning to play the game,
And raking in cash, all the same.
So Good Bye to the Big Apple,
Rain and snow.
Hello to the nights of neon glow.
THE END of the Saga of the Lonely Cactus.
( We love a happy ending!)
Saga of the Lonely Cactus: "The Lonely Cactus In New York City" Third Part
by Miriam McCue
The Lonely Cactus in New York City.
He cries ‘cause his life is a pity.
He misses the desert every day.
In New York he does not want to stay.
His tears are so very strong,
So his barrel will not have water in it very long.
The dogs use him for a fire plug.
The street addicts like to give him a slug.
They bother him day and night.
All they ever do is fight.
They scream all night and sometimes day.
The cactus never gets to play.
The police wake him with sirens loud,
This is no place for a cactus proud.
But he hopes and hopes,
And at night he prays,
That someone will come and take him away.
Back to the desert to get some peace,
Away from the junkies and police,
Where the night is so very still and dark,
Three thousand miles from Central Park.
Crazy how when one problem is solved,
Another one arises,
When one thing is lost,
we find another one,
When we give up
someone else moves up,
When we think its the end of the road,
the journey has just began.
Crazy how when one stops hurting,
worry wants to take over,
When we are down and crushed to dust,
freedom calls, wanting to sweep you away like the wind.
Crazy how when i cry,
I realize am normal,
I have emotions and tears.
Funny how When my life is out of control,
When am broken and hurt,
Scared, thinking that this crazy world,
Is going to bring me down,
i find a reason to smile
I realize AM ALIVE NOT DEAD.
The “Saga” of the Lonely Cactus
by Miriam McCue
Characters in order of appearance:
Lonely Cactus: He is a 6 foot Saguaro cactus with two arms (kind that looks like a man from
a distance.) (In real life these cacti have to be around 75 years old to get an arm.)
Kieran - My granddaughter
Aunt Mikey - My youngest daughter
Alphabet City - Part of the Lower East Side of NYC
Desert - This refers to desert surrounding Phoenix AZ
Manhattan - Name for the island of NYC, not including Brooklyn, Queens, etc.
Super - Nickname for the superintendent of a tenement or apartment building.
Assorted city street characters - Anonymous
Greenwich Village - West of the Lower East Side NYC
Lower East Side - Part of NYC ( name of it describes where it is)
Alphabet City - Part of the Lower East Side of NYC
Assorted city street characters - Anonymous
Central Park - Large man-made park in Center of NYC
Big Apple - Nickname for NYC
U.P.S - A delivery service (In poem pronounced by letters, no as “up sss” )
Casino - We all know what that is.
Donald Trump - Famous prominent business man
Saga of the Lonely Cactus
Part 2: A Present from Kieran
by Miriam McCue
A present from Kieran came one day,
To Aunt Mikey in Alphabet City, so far away.
It was a cactus from the desert forlorn,
Complete with a red bow stuck on his thorn.
He arrived with a note which did say,
“I came to keep you company today.
I was restless in the desert.
And did want to roam.
So Kieran sent me to Manhattan,
Far away from home.”
Mikey then stated, “This is really great!
Now I’ll not be alone, early nor late.
I’ll go get the Super to help take you upstairs”
An then she ran up, unawares.
Along came a wino with a shopping cart,
He stole the cactus to pawn it,
At the Greenwich Village Mart.
He stumbled and mumbled,
“First, I think,
I’ll go and find a good stiff drink.
He pulled up the cart and put the cactus inside,
And took the scared plant to the Lower East Side.
It was strange and scary.
It fill the cactus with fear.
He cried, “I’m sorry I left the desert for here!
I want to go back to my home far away,
In fact, I want to leave TODAY !
(To be continued)
She came across a bend
On a lonely road.
She walked upon some little rocks
And found a horny toad.
She cried as her heart then broke
cause that little toad there died.
She couldn't understand,
confused she stood and sighed.
That little horny toad
never moved or moaned at all.
As she stood there and stared,
not believing in that there she saw.
She wondered why she stumbled
on that little horny toad.
Where that toad there then died,
here upon a lonely road.
I do not know?
Illegitimi non carborundum ;-)
...Staggering, my vision cloudy,
I fall to the hard ground.
when life’s sharp left-jab leaves my face bloody,
and all that surrounds me, is the desolation of loss I feel all around.
I see myself slipping,
down the abyss to where nothingness exists,
still, I cling on, groping for a foothold,
for my will to stay persists.
I clamber up, I stand my ground, though battered and bruised I may be,
my curtain is not falling yet, I have some fight still left in me.
It is then, in the pit of despair, when all seems bleak and painful and dull,
I summon the strength from deep within,
I rise, slowly, to face the day,
I refuse to sink,
to wallow, to surrender, to throw in the towel,
for I am stronger now,
indeed I am, after all the years, and all the battles,
I stand, bruised and bloody,
I refuse, to sink, to drown,
for they can try, to punish me some more,
but I shall not allow them to grind me down…
There was a boy named Chew Too Who.
He fell in love with a girl named Sue.
He gave her a flower,
But it was too sour.
She fell in love with someone new.
At the foot uv Pikes Peak sprawls the old minin' town uv Cripple Creek.
They wuz nigh on fifty-thousand folks thar when minin' wuz at its peak!
Ol' Bob Womack, a cowpoke, struck gold in Poverty Gulch stakin' his claim.
'Tis said he sold out fer 500 bucks and a jug o' booze - whut a pitiful shame!
Others with more business acumen moved in and made millions off'n them hills!
Platoons uv gamblers, soiled doves and saloons wuz thar fer the miner's thrills!
They wuz even a few preachers and churches to tame them rowdy souls!
The Ladies Cultural Society strove to guide the rabble to reach more noble goals!
To the west, Mount Pisgah, bare and bleak, stood sentry over the raucous town,
Located thar is the cemetery containin' the bones uv some uv dubious renown!
But it must be said that thar is some decent souls sleepin' on that dreary hill.
Thar lonely graves are swept by the winter winds that shriek so bleak and chill!
Pearl DeVere is buried thar, 'madam' uv the classiest cribs in Cripple Creek!
She catered only to upscale gentlemen, those with clout, men uv wealthy clique!
The undertaker done her up right smart and the town turned out when she died.
They saw her off in style with a grand parade and finest hearse fer her final ride!
'Doc Susie' Anderson is also buried at Mount Pisgah and wuz the inspiration,
Fer "Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman" and is remembered with great admiration.
Saint and sinner, lawman and desperado lie side by side on that desolate hill.
Their lonely graves are swept by the winter winds that shriek so bleak and chill!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I take your look most seriously.
I take that look furiously.
In my journey I be.
Waiting at the finish line I imagine time after time.
Inside wine after wine bottle
With each key stroke
What you will think.
With each love
In each moment
Its simple to you
But not here
Its easy for you to love me.
But I only know I love writing
And that I’m alone.
I have yet to really meet your beautiful soul.
So if you must smile and walk
Walk smiling up to my front door.
And if you don’t like it cheesy,
Take it easy
You’re the greatest,
but that’s not poetic
But some things you have to make clear
so you don’t regret it.
Saga of the Lonely Cactus: “The Return of the Cactus” Part Four
Aunt Mikey searched the Big Apple far and wide,
‘Till she found the Lonely Cactus on the Lower East Side.
“Oh, Cactus, I’m sorry this happened to you,
But I know just what to do.”
“I see you are homesick,
No more, no less.
I’ll pick up my cell and call U.P.S.
They go to the desert on their
They’ll send you to Kieran,
Without a doubt.”
Kieran waited and waited for many awhiles,
‘Till the U.P.S. truck delivered the cactus all smiles.
“Oh, Cactus,” said Kieran with a joyful sob.
“I think what you need is an interesting job.”
“Over the hill and behind the stone hump.
Is a casino being built by Donald Trump.
The Donald told me he would hire a cactus like you,
Who knows how to deal the one and the two.”
“He needs cacti who are smart and cacti who are able,
To deal with the tourists at the blackjack table.
Poker and Keno are also his game.
I’ll miss you,
But it is best you go just the same.”
I wear a beard of aging, upon a cliff-face chin
A year has passed and grown its hairs out from my mottled skin
Mistakes sit there unchallenged, to each fibre clings a sin
Yet despite my facial mask of age the clubs won’t let me in
I enter an ad on the internet
that I hope will get
me a call: "We found you a girl;
a pretty girl. We'll fix you
up. Hey, she picks you;
so, give her a whirl."
I open my 'In Box,'
and midst spam and my docs,
her email jumps out at me.
My heart starts to sound
like a dog at the pound
who's lonesome and sad and noisy.
But, here's my dilemma:
too many a nemma-
tode* wants to wiggle in
and jiggle in my hard drive.
So, to stop 'em I've
got to block 'em: to tell how, I can't begin.
Do I 'open' or not?
The question is fraught;
it rattles, it addles my brain.
Then her aura drifts for me,
and as it wafts o'er me I hit the key:
* A nemmatode is a round worm that infests humans not computers, but I plead poetic license.