Ease is something that we roll our teeth at.
Dizziness.
We gravitate toward sweat.
Sometimes.
Slightly out of breath.
Then not so much.
Climbing up, up!
Distress is like combing through the cremations.
Ease is at the top of stairs, at the top of tops.
Bustling.
Ease is this zipped up feeling that burns.
And we fall asleep like that.
Dizzy, horrible, twisted sweat.
The blackouts started earlier than I thought.
The hammock slammed shut.
Her current space cannot be traced
exactly how he programmed it
a strategic system of files, unreconciled
feminine frequencies pleading to split
white picket fences, painted in perfect pretenses
circuits circumvent so not to crash
the matrix, masked by flourishing flowers
when does beauty rise from the ash?
opposites attract, so they say
her inner self, silently suffocating
crafted by his cunning conversations,
sudden lightning sparks, blackouts bring
the shattering shock, sending signals, commencing strength
step outside the interchange.
now, wait.
His hold on hold...
and she is safe.
Courage, grit, unwavering faith.
Free to pen a brand-new page.
Smog and blackouts led to an off-track sleigh,
‘til Rudolph’s red nose could not save the day.
Santa refused to show stress,
So he used his G-P-S*
To get Christmas Eve trek back on its way!
Part One: What I Love
After seven decades I am satisfied
with the me I see, the inner self is beautified,
wounds of youth have healed well
and every scar to no longer dwell,
they were absorbed by tears I cried~
I write the words by which I tell
stories rich and maybe plied,
but absolutely bona fide!
Part Two: What I Regret
I admit I used to runaround,
party and carouse until I ran aground
against days-long blackouts
and poor decision fade-outs,
knowing my next stop was a grave mound~
Momma said the only way out
was for me to turnaround,
and become a sober devout.
Part Three: What I Hope
I have no grandiose plans for the future
because the future is unsure,
the present becomes my habitat
and I have no desire for idle chit chat,
time grows short, there is no cure
to stop death’s scat* whereat~
I will sing the words allure,
and dance upon the welcome mat.
* scat: singing jazz; the singer substitutes nonsense syllables for the words of the song and tries to sound like a musical instrument
I have written 100 poems since my sobriety and I hope my poetic share is helpful ...
I'm not drunk
Wasting my days away
I'm not drunk
Serenity has shown today
I'm not drunk
Supporting my daughter
I'm not drunk
Her gratitude for all I have taught her
I'm not drunk
I love being sober
I'm not drunk
I remember the days
No more blackouts
No more life haze
I'm not drunk
It's great to be me
I'm not drunk
6 years of sobriety
I'm not drunk
I go to meetings
I'm not drunk
I share my truth my feelings
Welcome to AA
I hope this poem
Finds you
Just For Today
He leads me through East London,
docks, pubs, among the stray dogs, the
River Thames lapping at low clouds.
We find the second-hand player in a street
where the shops are dusty holes under the arches
of viaducts and railway bridges,
Me carrying the portable Dancette record player
in its hard Bakelite box,
lifting it by its leatherette handle, and I,
small for my age
but wanting so much to lug it all the way home.
The plastic cuts my fingers,
sharp corners bark my shins.
Father talks of his life here, the blackouts
and bombs, rationing,
and the bloody Saturday night street fights.
He whistles tunes
from a songbook of dead crooners.
That evening sitting together, with Sinatra -
watching the dark blue Capitol label
spiral and blur,
hearing the unseen belt under the bobbing needle
as it chewed vinyl -
reliving the clunk-clunk of our boots
as we pushed back fog-muted miles.
Years later, finding that player again
in mother's attic, lifting the machine
feeling how light, it is,
willing to take another walk with him
yet not knowing how to catch up.
what appeared to be poisonous was merely phosphorus
deeply tattooed into the warrior’s skin from an ambush
in the land of never-ending wars against imagined foes
with a myriad of causes cascading from power and greed
what does a Welshmen have to do in bloody Afghanistan
he used to have a lilt but now the speed impediment
was carved deep into the persona of horror shame and guilt
the snake had promised paradise not a distorted Adam’s apple
the stars had been bright connected by nebula and a waning moon
what an omen for the self-righteous soldier misguided of course
by fame glory and that now elusive war veteran’s pension
dole money merely covered the cost of the shack under the bridge
he attempted to count his blessings tried gratitude and the booze
which gave him some solace because blackouts were better than bombs
and the stink of his urine improved no end when vodka battled with vomit
but the protagonist never rose above the faceless evil of legalised slaughter
(a silly series of Senryus)
It’s time to cram for
final exams, again, so
here we go, mug up.
My mind, coffee dark,
drifts in academic dreams,
—think roiling oceans.
A ‘mandatory’
society meeting? You’re
not the boss of me.
I’ll shun or eschew,
if I want too, sidestepping,
like a tap dancer.
I'm not lazy - I'm
high tech and in energy
saving mode now.
It’s a pointed and
conscious decision—I’ll do
me and you do you.
.
.
Songs for this:
Simply Couldn't Care by Tracey Thorn
Each and Every One by Everything But the Girl
massive snowfall
winter's blanket covers all
blackouts everywhere
Four Seasons have harmony.
One utilizes two years.
Four start same year.
All have three months.
December? Commerce and Celebration.
WINTER? Ice, Cold, Snow.
Forecast of the groundhog.
Blackouts and closed roads.
Thaw up; SPRING up.
Beautiful blossoms; singing birds.
Life explosion; Living colors.
Hibernators, eat and play.
Marry me this SUMMER.
Cool me in July.
Festivities in the FALL.
Give thanks in November.
Gadgets have twiddle-rings and grabbit-bars,
press-its, turn-its, handles, and plugs.
Blackouts have candles, torches, Scrabble, cards,
Too dark for darts,
Watch your hair - it nearly caught fire,
Waxy bits on the table,
And dried mashed potato on the plates
where the washer-upper didn’t see it.
The problems, they surmount, why is infinity so hard to count?
It’s because infinity has no end. It’s quite Elementary my friend!
How do I drive my hybrid car when we suffer blackouts near and far?
A battery and fuel tank is the trend. It’s quite Elementary my friend!
You answer each problem of mine making it sound so simple and fine?
My knowledge I am happy to extend. It’s quite Elementary my friend!
And so the problems, they surmount,
And why is infinity so hard to count?
It’s always because infinity has no end.
It’s quite Elementary my friend!
Still, I wonder why this can’t be,
A bird can talk why can’t fish in the sea?
Imagine all the bubbles they’d send.
It’s quite Elementary my friend!
Well how do I move my hybrid car,
When we suffer blackouts near and far?
Having battery and fuel tank is the trend.
It’s quite Elementary my friend!
How do you answer each problem of mine,
Making it sound so simple and fine?
My knowledge I am very happy to expend.
It’s quite Elementary my friend!
Dedication is to my Friends who avoid judging:
You are not the judge
But judge you must
For earthly matters and such
Leave hell to satan or demons
But Heaven in fragrances of your words:
Epitaph, apology, poetry, piety, congrats - -
Even angels fall, why not us (Adamic) mortals -
When pride and ego explode in ungodly challenge!
NoTE:
Between writing, editing, posting this simple offering ... the good & bad in Me & of South Africa today, asserted themselves: our electricity brownouts & blackouts affect internet, editing, posting, and consistent connection. My one service provider, MTN, has been back today for a few hours now (after more than a weak of zero internet connectivity). You pay a price: seeing many versions of this JUDGEMENT poem. Shalom
We live
under glare
of uncertainties,
and blackouts
of time...
we unlearned
the world...
and now
we are flooded
of deceit...
truths that
swear lies
as if they were
reverie truth...but
truly are
our reality...
naked and raw...
Our indefectible
involution
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