As if startled awake
from fitfull sleep
Of dreams both cartoonish
Yet with meaning deep
My life having passed
as this very repose
A young woman
Now grand dame all as I dozed
For I must have been asleep
At the wheel
Alternately engaging
disengaging at will
One eightying along I sped through my life seventh decade now coming to pass
How will I cram in
All this life left to live before I run out of gas
Hey you young motorist
Yes I'm talking to you
I once thought of myself
As Immortal too
One day you'll arrive here as
Sure as night follows day
So listen to the words
I am moved to say
Make it count slay regret at its birth
Live fully and thoughtfully for all that your worth
To arrive at destination (well done)
Throughout my life dad and I have done many things together
graduating from Crayola, fishing and wiffleball
to tune-ups, casinos and funerals.
After one particularly salty funeral:
Dad and I were carrying out
memorial flowers in separate vases.
As we said our goodbyes and headed for better times,
the eulogist barked out some odd but wizened advice.
"Don't forget to poor out the water from the vases.
So, side by side and on cue,
dad and I clownishly poured the rose water
onto the funeral home parking lot.
It hit with a surprisingly cartoonish smack...
getting our shoes soaking wet.
I like to think that brother angel
was giggling with us... again.
You have blocked yourself as well
Not just only me
Take your time, I’m sure it tells
More than you can see
And that troubled person who
Liked to give advice
May have find another true
Lover to surprise
Possibly you think this way
Trashing me to bits
And I don’t know what to say
Cause I lack the wits
I would rather be a rat
Digging in your soil
But you blocked yourself from that
Personal turmoil
I would rather be unborn
In this cruel world
But I’m here to be torned
By your loving word
You have pulled a winning ticket
In the lottery of chances
And my ticket was a wicked
Gallery of circumstances
Queen of spades can’t play it cool
In the game of hearts
And whatever does the fool
He will fall apart
Problem is, life carries on
Gives another great last chance
Not to miss the prudish tone
And cartoonish arrogance
Now your time will never tell
What it tells for me
Cause you blocked yourself as well
From my company.
Suits, smiling & svelte
between
the sunshiny glass,
spinning…
Spinning fast, the Suits
near the speed of light,
cartoonish in fact.
I get caught up
in their whirlwind -
animated by the
out of control
maneuvering.
Caught in the matrix,
I laugh
as my cell rings.
…ready for a revolution
dark glasses intact.
Artificial Intelligence,
its satellite department
on the phone.
I am carried away,
still spinning -
spinning fast,
near the speed of light.
I see you
through Alice’s glass.
You look smart
in your coat and slacks.
My head is a bowl of whirling thoughts
My mind,a rugged sea of jagged waves and shattered dreams
A caricature of a fulfilled life
Cartoonish belief in hope
The earth is my oyster and my grave
The paradox of a tortured soul
Spat on as I stagger,drunk of the blood of my repeated failures
Cursed to wander the earth in blood and ashes
Torn out of my chest
My bloody,thumping heart
Do you like me, or are you just kind?
Do I misconstrue
Your affectionate words,
Your gestures of a sweet nature,
As symbols of adoration?
Am I am idiot sapphic?
So unaware of flirtatious musigs
And romantic advances
That all opportunities for love pass me by?
I used to fear the gaze of other women.
Fear of judgement, of disgust, of pity,
By women inherently more perfect than me
In my eyes.
Now I long for it.
Craving the pure intimacy
Of feeling as though someone is watching
With cartoonish heart-eyes.
Do you like me, or am I an idiot sapphic,
Desperate to love and be loved,
Yet so unsure what is romance
And what is kindness?
Polly Purebred was a bit too stuck up for my taste.
But Underdog was always there, with a heave and a haste.
I remember being shocked when I saw him in color in 1964.
Picturing him in blues, not reds, now seeing him down to his core.
He flew across the screen at Polly’s first whistle.
His cape was smooth and clean, without thorns or a thistle.
Polly Purebred never stop yelping, not a favorite with me.
But Underdog always saved her, with a bit of cartoonish glee.
There is a hilarity in this canvas
Not often found in Van Gogh's art
And recognizable faces
Also unprecedented
They might be sneaking contraband liquor
Outside away from the prying eyes of the women
For it is three men, and a boy who is taking a taste
It gives me a new feeling about Van Gogh
An artist myself, I enjoy his art, for it is cartoonish like mine
I use neons, which he did not have access to back in his time
I am confident if he had access to neons, he would have used them
Can't you see his Irises and his reflections on the water
in florescent? I sure can!
This painting makes him more real to me than he has ever been
which is why it is my favorite of his.
It is crazy to be this compulsive about so many things.
I draw out three or four cartoons a week that I paint.
It may take me another week, but I work on four at once.
My daily poem quota is ten, but I sometimes write thirty.
Okay. I lie. I once wrote thirty in one day.
Out of three years, this only happened once.
When I am done, I am done.
When it is over, it is over.
I thought poetry would be over by now.
It has been a three year obsession.
It is nowhere near over.
I thought painting would be over by now.
I have over five hundred paintings.
Two hundred on the walls, three hundred stacked in piles.
Cartooning will never be over.
I have been drawing cartoons since I was four years old.
It is my go-to, do this and you can shut out the world hobby.
I am about to attack four new canvases.
My cartoonish mind is ready.
I love cartooning the best.
A sixty-four year obsession….
we found it uncomfortable
to hear him rant.
we found it less considering to
try to understand his logic
his disposition
and even his words.
" YOU HAVE A FAMILY
I THINK YOU CAN UNDERSTAND
I DON'T LIKE YOU
AND YOUR BUSINESS IS MY BUSINESS
AND WHAT BRINGS US TOGETHER
IS THAT YOUR RESEARCH IS FOR ME: ( PAUSING TO LAUGH)
YOUR WORK SHALL BE MINE
ALL YOUR LABORS ARE IN VAIN,
SEE YOU MAY BE WEALTHY, BUT I'M THE BOSS
YOU FOLLOW MY ORDERS, AND EVERY THING WILL BE FINE,
CALL IT BULLYING: OR A MEASURE OF DISCONTENT
WHAT LACKS EMOTION OFTEN BRINGS PEOPLE TO BE LESS
CONSIDERATE, YOU WEALTHY PEOPLE NEED TO UNDERSTAND
YOU CAN' AFFORD NOT TO GIVE ME WHAT I WANT
AND YOU CAN'T AFFORD NOT TO DO WHAT I SAY
I'M THE FREAKIN BOSS HERE!"
IT TOOK EIGHT MEN IN TUXEDO'S TO GET THIS MAN OUT OF THE
BANQUET HALL.
WE WERE HAVING A GREAT TIME DANCING AND SHARING THYMES TOGETHER AND
THIS JERK CAME IN DEMANDING THE PLANS AND THE CASH FROM
MR. JEHOSHAPHAT, HE LOOKED SCARED AND COWARD DOWN TO HIM
UNTIL MY HUSBAND TOOK THE SITUATION AND BOUGHT A LEVEL OF DIGITY TO THIS CARTOONISH JERK!
I am not saying this just because
he is my grandson but
He is the most athletic person
in the family
and he is
four
I am not saying this just because
she is the smartest person in the
family, but she is the smartest
person in the world, she is my
granddaughter, and she is seven.
I am not saying this just because
she is my granddaughter but
her art work makes mine looks
cartoonish
and she is
fourteen
I am not saying this just because
I am a braggart, because I am
not, but my grandchildren are
so advanced in every area,
they should have their
own TV shows
I am not saying this just because
he is my grandson but he has
the sweetest heart we have
ever met, and he is
only twelve
I am not saying this at all
because there are way too many
grandmas and grandpas in this room
and who wants to get all this competition
started?
I paint myself daily, sexy and cartoonish
Betty Boop and Jessica Rabbit sexy.
But I camouflage that it is me.
I pretend it is not.
I paint me over and over and over
Pretending it is someone else.
Not me, certainly.
I am not a 3-D woman, I am a
Two-D caricature, not complete or deep.
Not human at all really…
Others look at me and see a real live girl.
I see a cartoon crone,
A disappointed in-life hack,
Carefully and gingerly tiptoeing around,
Trying to hide the damage life has assailed.
Careful to not show my destruction
And devastation, I prance and dance through life,
Hiding empathetic me, until she is screaming to
Get out, in the form of a poem.
I don’t mean to bust Archie’s hump.
He meant well, the simple old chump,
But damn, how buffoonish
His views, so cartoonish,
In short, he’d have staunchly liked Trump!
(Written February 2, 2019, for Joseph May's Limerick 4 contest.)
Bullets
Bang! The cartoonish noise echoes
Underneath those fluorescent
Lights. Everyone is silent, even the
Librarian, who is usually shhh-ing everyone
Even though the bullet did not touch me, it
Took me 6 feet under, where I could not
Suffer, could not remember watching you take your own life.
“The hurrier I go,
the confuseder I get.”
Picture a poster prominently placed
in the classroom of one who
teaches grammar and literature.
Its confused, cartoonish character states
(using wretched grammar) that he just can
not catch up and make sense of things. I’m a fan
of this poster and the theme it relates.
Too-fast living discombulates!
Over-commitment
can make us like poster guy—
bleeding tears, struggling—
furiously racing but
consistently losing ground.
entered in the Broken Wings Challenge - Write One Contest on August 30, 2016
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