Things That Should Grow on Trees
Things that should grow on trees include:
big sea birds with
extremely long wings, old-fashioned shoe
horns, tape recorders who
play sporadically cries of
grief, blank
photographs, stamps with
printed eyeballs, people with
colourless or
very nearly colourless hair and
skin and
pinkish eyes, the word
unfortunately, the word
regrettably, the word
even though, miniature
pianos, vampire
teeth, leaf
blowers, False
IDs, illuminated loyalty
cards, the watchful and
attentive, damp
clothes, pom
poms, glass
shards, pack of
cards, rope knot
balls, plastic
trinket boxes, ashtrays (glass only), lips (too
animal lips), spines (too
animal spines), toast, headache
tablets, running
shoes, and
whores.
It was Christmas, and we were young,
when the snow was deep
and the lights were strung,
along Stony hill, Allen and Main.
And my uncle`s dead
but he too would light up
on a fifth of bourbon a day.
And on Christmas eve
would stand outside our front door
singing carols with a smile on his face
that lit up like a glow plug on a diesel.
While inside the food was
heaped in comfort and the sound of
joy and jingle, and laughter and clink!
as ice met glass and the liquor splashed
and the holly hung with garland,
and tinsel, and a phone on the wall
with it`s curly cord stretched
and closed behind a door,
because I had a sister, and brother,
and glass amber ashtrays
in all the rooms because
everyone smoked it seemed
and everyone drank it seemed
and everyone was young, except
the old people who would say things like,
it`s later than you think.
Or, have some fruit cake it`s good.
And over the years their wisdom`s
been proven true...
All but the fruit cake being good that is.
It was Christmas, and we were young,
when the snow was deep
and the lights were strung,
along Stony hill, Allen and Main.
I sent my daughter to the finest schools
where she learned all the golden rules
Race-baiting pays, one's pronouns are weighed
with marijuana fill up the ashtrays
'B-' student in high school, all 'A's' in college
'Hmmm,' I thought to myself, 'No way!'
Then I glanced at the names of her courses
'Kweer Poetry' and 'Intro to Transphobic Horses'
So, I told my daughter she'd have to transfer
into 'Business' ~ to be a hemp entrepeneur
A corner has been turned
A chapter has been burned
A stipend has been earned —
Was it by me?
You can’t unearth a friend
If he’s stuck in the deep end
And he sure as hell cannot pretend
He’s free
Someday, you'll be as real as me
Look in the beggars mind
And here is what you’ll find
A sunrise that once shined
Now cold and gray
In crocodile remorse,
Wives file for divorce
Then send their husbands through
the bootcamp course, so gay
Someday, they’ll all be real as me
Real though I may be,
I’m just a totem pole
A wooden icon, disengaged
From body and from soul
Take your protein straight
No dispensaries of hate
Those confined must separate
Their rooms so deep
While down here in the maze,
With the labyrinth of your gaze,
I wander hungry as you smolder in ashtrays
Then sleep
Someday love, you’ll be
As real as me
Trousers are ashtrays
Traveler's affectation
Embracing the dirt.
Hearts faded with time.
Skinny jeans and smokey air
The sound of laughter and pool balls on a table
The smell of damp carpet and stale beer
Full ashtrays and sweaty skin
Those were the dives I lived in
Youngsters eager for adventure
Dark alleys and hallways
High heals and red lipstick
Firemen and cops
My first love
Ice cold beer in a tall glass
Uncomfortable wooden bar stools against an uneven stone floor
Names of high school sweethearts inscribed on the counter top
Hearts faded with time
One of them was mine….
Before corporate café`s took over and Starbucks became so ubiquitous, on every corner of your city, small business cafés thrived. There was Antique Row Café Ave; four café`s that stood alongside each other, noted for their unique furniture and boasted their own peculiar interior. The antique row cafés were so cool, as you could amble around and observe intriguing artifacts and some for sale, and pictures of famous stars whom you grew up with. Very nicely decorated.
Tiperillo, sweet and husky tobacco smoke ascending from golden ashtrays, and lava lamps bohemian chic—purple plush couches, and stylish bars. We met twice a week, Flor, Cece, and I, and a few other college buddies. We studied, shared ideas and asked one another for advice.
I met Joey the manager of the café’s, resembling a young Salvador Dali`. He answered my questions about the unique and endearing bar café`s his father once owned, before they were drowned out under the heavy hand of corporate takeover. Hoping one day they’ll return with their indispensable charm and upbeat youthful ambiance. Until then it’s corporate dull and uncomfortable seating at the Starbucks!
Earnings
help wanted
long evenings
a service toil of trays
which exhausted smile
the tip
Earnings
high cut mini
her service
always the management's eye
for sex
The table shines
coins in ashtrays
ashes in plates
faces crowded with food
Her service
"Are you finished?"
always the managements eye
for neatness
Earnings
nightly telephone music
always the same
always the management's ear
for music
Rude
they were loud
and their tip was conservative
Earnings
final tally
her husband walked out
her child to clothe
a decent respectable living
her service
always the management's eye
for atmosphere
Published Black Buzzard Press - 1982
Trans-Atlantic memories
float with me today:
a menu, a cookbook a clever keychain
I envy my brother
He travels the web
in search of these little treasures.
Menus from those elegant meals
served with wine, even for little kids
ashtrays and sugar cubes
Italian Spaghetti Westerns
We snuck in with giggles at Bonnie Breastfull,
the heroine in need of a hero.
These memories still rattle around in my dreams.
Not lost,
they are where my hope comes from.
A result of long faded lifetimes spent on endless adventures.
several formica red tables
glass shakers of pepper and salt
big plastic tomatoes I wanted to squeeze
and shaped bottles of sarson’s own malt.
netting on all of the windows
scratch marks from chairs on the floor
ashtrays with notches to rest cigarettes
and 'open' and 'closed' on the door.
menus upright in a v-shape
the 'royals' adorning the wall
food through the fog of benson & hedges
with no one complaining at all.
my past was a foreign country
before chains, regulations and brunch
places I knew from those misty-eyed times
are no more and have all 'gone for lunch'.
If hate was fuel, our country would burn right now
If hate was food, our grocery stores would be empty
If hate was a cigarette, it would be butts in ashtrays of ashes
If hate was the wind, it would be fiercely howling
If hate was candy, people wouldn’t have any teeth
If hate was a computer, it would malfunction and crash
If hate was the rain, we would be flooded by now
The hate is spreading across our land, at everyone’s feet
Filling the air we breathe and reaching our ears day to day
What will you do to counter it, stay dry and tune it out?
What will you do to survive without flowing in it?
Heidi Sands
10/28/19
Poems cannot be compared with each other.
For it would be like comparing ashtrays to elm trees.
Or comparing sunbeams to caterpillar’s feet.
Poems can be chosen as favorites by us
At this second based on our own experiences
and how our heart and soul has reacted to her words
But if you asked us to compare them tomorrow
We might come up with totally different likes and reasons why
Because of our experiences or dreams tonight.
So let’s not compare them,
let’s just enjoy them.
Okay?
Please don't kiss Grandma
With your wrinkled worn out skin
Your breath like stinking ashtrays
With an undertone of gin.
I really love you Grandma,
But when it's time to leave
You always try to kiss me
And it really makes me heave
What is this life if other folk,
dictate where we can drink or smoke.
No ashtrays now in bars are seen,
nor happy drunks on village green.
The 'health police' now make all the rules,
they treat the rest of us as fools.
'You can't drink this', 'Oh dont eat that',
'too high in salt' or 'too much fat'.
They curb your pleasure, stop your fun,
'eat more greens', 'avoid the sun'.
We used to love crisp chips and pies,
'no, no' they cry, 'more exercise'.
But just you wait, the day will dawn,
when in their care homes, sad, withdrawn;
They might reflect on pleasures spurned,
and of the bridges that they burned.
With triple chins and swollen knee, in voices weak and quavery,
they'll try to make their carer see,
how great life is at ninety three.
I'm not drinking anymore (but I ain't drinking any less)
I wake up every morning
It always starts the same
Trying to remember yesteday
It's just part of the game
Lord, I can't go on not remembering last night
I can't keep livin' hard I must confess
Lord, I 'm here to say I'm not drinking anymore
But, then again, I ain't drinking any less
I'm not drinking anymore
I'm not drinking any less
I'm tired of sleeping on the floor
My life is one hot mess
A room of empty bottles
Ashtrays full up to the brink
I look at them and all I feel
Is that I need another drink
This can't go on forever
I can't deal with all the stress
I'm not drinking anymore
But, I ain't drinking any less
Lord, I can't go on not remembering last night
I can't keep livin' hard I must confess
Lord, I 'm here to say I'm not drinking anymore
But, then again, I ain't drinking any less
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