Hail needles the skin.
Wind cracks the spine.
The mountain holds,
breath seizes on the tongue.
Snow knives the summits.
Cracked hands fumble dry stone,
paper-thin air slices,
bald eagles tilt in the blast.
Alpine skiers parched,
no more Earth Day banners.
Cherry Creek scrapes its bed.
Feces in the bedpan,
chapped gloss smeared,
cocoa hair salted and smoked.
The Zephyr rattles east,
carrying the mountains backward—
Grand Central dissolves
Hail nails the skin.
Wind stabs the spine,
the mountain stretches,
breath freezes the tongue,
Snow visible on the summits
High-altitude crumbling
cracked hands claw at dry stone,
Paper thin air
sharp, jagged edges.
Bald Eagles circle overhead
Alpine sky, dry and broken—
no more Earth Day vegetation
Cherry Creek scrapes the sand
She lifts the bedpan
Chapped gloss superstar lips
Cocoa fur, stained by cigarette smoke
and the wind carries all,
The Zephyr rolls in
Grand Central Station
Peaks in background
When Mr Darcy brought my hand to his lips
Drenched in sweet longing before the scale tips
I, fraught with naivety and desire
Held trust cast into the furnace of mire
Dear friend, two offspring, a dog and a cat
In our fineries we waltzed to 'Take That'
Unbeknown to me, alas we were three
Lipstick etched upon my fine filigree
Teeth gnashing, I challenged indiscretion
He dismissed my genteel inquisition
Contact made with a bedpan appliance
Hence, now divorced in act of defiance
Dear reader, this ends with no tale of woe
On the dating app, I curtsey and go
It only hurts until you cry.
The slammed door quietens,
your baby eyes grow old,
in the dark, where no one sees
or cares.
"Life!" She said,
"You blink and it's still there,
waiting for your next move."
'Keep going!" Say’s the shopkeeper,
of your worn-down wares,
and you wonder is he,
a digitally created memory,
your ancestors sewed,
into your dreams.
The bedpan has been warmed.
A nurse throws up into a toilet bowl.
Father comes back,
catches you singing,
in your boxed-in bedroom.
slams your ears.
with wall-busting words.
"Cut!" The Director shouts.
The camera's keep rolling,
A movie now squats,
in an empty room - waiting,
for more directions.
The hurt has crawled back,
into its featherbed,
where mice still nibble
last year’s leftover straw.
in 1923 girl babies were named Nancy, Susan and Ann
boy babies were christened John, Michael, and Joe
then the flappers came along and changed everything
Now girls could be Lois, Louise, and Edna
Boys were approved for names like Samuel and Zeb
During the depression years babies were suffering
They were named for grandparents
Jim, Stuart, Johnathan, Eunice, Maude, Bessie
During the fifties, it was vogue to name your children with the same letter
A family could have Dirk, Deke, Deanna, Dillion and Dwayne
Maurice, Marlene, and Margo lived across the street.
In the sixties names were borrowed from Presidents
Back to the Johns and Samuels, I am not sure about girl names
Seventies arrived; now okay to name your children Freedom and Rainbow
After that, it has been everything and anything goes
Shanty, River, Drake, Tulip, Apple, Bedpan
Baby books cannot keep up with the flow
Thank you for your still laboring pains.
Thanks for the amnesia of suffering
the bedpan and the bible,
the sunny window
that ran with a watery blood
wherever the flying ducks
rushed toward your gun.
Fingertips tingle, the daily callus is softening,
becoming bearable
the way a fox forgets its trap shattered paw.
Thanks for the moonlight dispensed
in cloud-covered dreams.
The applauding grateful
must have partaken of your loaves and fishes
where hooked worms still dangle
bereft of hungry lips.
We are the tenderest of prey again,
the catch we have all been looking for.
What more can be said when gratitude runs away
with its desires still wriggling
and fleshy.
Thank you;
for your mastering love
hath consumed the apple in our mouths
and we are served up
in wide-eyed wonder once more.
7/7/21
Just a sample of who I am
Experienced hardship firsthand
Not a sham
They say never bite the hand
That feeds
Yet there is continual greed
Across the land
It's gotten out of hand
Never went according to what was planned
Feeling damned
And stuck in quicksand
Occasionally in wonderland
And unable to understand
This is not just another fad
It all goes full circle like a rubber band
Took a stand
Opposition was not a fan
And they wanted to kill a man
Doing bad
Going mad
Heartbroken and sad
Gave it a stab
Threw a jab
And took a dab
Spent a tad
Of time at the pad
It all really wasn't that rad
As a man
And easy-going lad
Never been part of any clan
Used to ride the tram
Always lived below a dam
Occasionally sprayed a dish with PAM
And ate lamb
Or yam
Rarely ever was it SPAM
Or toast with jam
Was in the front, middle or back of the caravan
Did or didn't use the pineal gland
As I stood still or ran
F*** you and your scams
You'd best scram
Or you'll need a bedpan
If you're not already a dead man
Going ham
Burning through dabs and grams
Then hitting grand slams
Like a madman
Or else it all goes down the trash can
The surgeon had successfully removed his libido,
then had fed it to the hospital cat. Afterward,
a series of stuttering expeditions through mind-tunnels
condensed days into moments.
Corridors became tubes,
empty except for a memory of a pretty nurse,
hospital gowns and white bottoms
exposed like beluga whales.
She stood by an incinerator watching him,
flames licked at its open iron door.
The woman undressed
threw her uniform into the fire
then jumped naked into the flames.
Stepping out of the oven,
the nurse returned.
Her body now reduced to molten silver.
She gleamed fluidly.
He wanted to flow through her,
to mingle his pale carcass
with her pristine silver rivering.
Suddenly he understood.
"You're my libido!" He said.
She smiled acknowledgement.
"Do I need to enter the fire?"
"No, you need to find the cat." she replied.
He had forgotten. "Yes that damn cat!”
"Meanwhile" she continued,
"s**t into this bedpan."
Alone. Screaming in agony
Out loud and also in my brain
Turn it off. Phase it out
GIve me something for the pain
Writhing under the sweat stained sheets
Trembling, shaking out of control
Can’t get up. Can’t make sense
How did this destroy my soul?
A slight lifeless turn to the right
The empty bedpan is filled once more
With the vitriol I’ve spewed
The disgusting mouth of a thought whore
Big H and smack are one in the same
You become a user and you get used
The tables turn quickly and when they do
The accuser becomes the accused.
The surgeon had successfully removed his libido,
then had fed it to the hospital cat. Afterward,
a series of stuttering expeditions through mind-tunnels
condensed days into moments.
Corridors became tubes,
empty except for a memory of a pretty nurse,
a few demented ghosts---their white bottoms;
beluga whales, peering through the slits
of ice-coated gowns.
She stood by an incinerator watching him,
flames licked at its open iron door.
The woman undressed,
threw her uniform into the fire,
then jumped naked into the flames.
Stepping out of the oven,
the nurse, in moments, returned.
Her body now reduced to molten silver.
She gleamed fluidly
He wanted to flow through her,
to mingle his pale carcass
with her pristine silver rivering.
Suddenly he understood...
"You're my libido!" He said.
She smiled acknowledgement.
"Do I need to enter the fire?"
"No, you need to find the cat." She replied.
He had forgotten. "Yes that damn cat!”
"Meanwhile" she continued,
"poop into this bedpan."
Old Age Revealed
In my youth, time was my friend.
With age, time has become the enemy.
I cannot say when you cross that line,
But it happens when you realize
The future is dimmed, and not as important
As it once was.
Reality sets in when you enter the room,
Of the old folks’ home, to see someone you love,
Confined to the deathbed, not a pleasant sight.
(The embarrassing bedpan within reach.)
In disgust, I watch the nurse
Spoon feed my friend.
I am at a loss for words and can only smile.
Senility eats away at the brain while the organs fail.
(I so want my presence to be positive.)
And the pain, never-ending.
We chatter away, our eyes revealing
Memories without meaning.
Blankets engulf the body as if mummified,
But it is still cold when our hands touch;
Because blood circulation
Doesn’t reach the extremities.
“Soon my friend.”—in deep thought I reflect,
“Will this too be my end?”
The drip is connected to my right arm
It works, as they say, just like a charm
I'm delirious with joy, must be morphine
Here comes the best nurse you've ever seen
My knee was connected to my thigh, they say
My back once connected to my spine, but nay
No more, they're disjointed now, I feel good
My legs, if I have any, are sticks of wood
The bedpan gives chills up and down my skin
Turn my head , let loose, it feels like a sin
Reruns on TV, watch the news ten times
No peace in the world, nothing but crimes
My ankles are swollen, I got a new cast
When can I get out, I'm having a blast (not)
The food is amazing, the soup is split pee
I call the grim reaper, " come rescue me"
Pressing the button, does this even work
Singing loud to a chorus, I wish I could twirk
I'm so gonna sleep now, have the wildest dreams
'bout my skeleton dancing alone with moonbeams
My stay on the fifth floor is finally done
Wheel me outside, I need to sit in the sun
Only one final thing is left here to say:
My much kneeded vacation, wasted away