I snuck into the party with an ID hastily made
and stumbled, out of step, into the poetry parade.
In this beautiful country club, I'm surrounded by my betters.
I wave my kindergarten rhymes to show the men of letters.
In the echo of the learned men who came this way before me
I hear the patterned minuets, that if followed, lead to glory.
I chafe in those traveled ruts and I long for something varied
and I hope to spark a unique verse, between school and the cemetery.
.
.
A song for this:
Time by Tom Waits
Open Heart
By now Susanne
You’re reading my letter
If you are laughing
I am your fool
If you are sighing
I am your servant
If you are crying
I am your executioner
How these chains chafe me so,
Susanne!
Held to the cold damp wall
By a steel retainer
I pray for a mind transplant
— for I love the juice
But hate the container!
Blindman’s Bluff
I know a man
of sixty or so
who believes I must live
as long as he
before I can know
the meaning of life
To hold longevity
as the mark of wisdom
grants him
an honor
that God wouldn’t give him
For is it fair to say
of a sightless man
of sixty or so
that he’s the word
on the plot
when he’s never seen the show?
I think not.
E.J. Hudak ca. 1969
I hate you and don’t
Could tell you but won’t
I’ll hold it inside
And keep up my front
I smile, I wave
I always behave
But inside I hate you
But take it to my grave
You deserve not my anger
Though now Youre a stranger
I wish I didn’t feel this way
Cuz I’m always in danger
Of ruining it all
Lashing out to call
You names, words i don’t mean
So I hold it in my walls
The ones I built high
They chafe cloud and sky
No hammer and chisel
Will ever get inside
Smile and wave
The smile is fake
Christ i cant hate you
But how much more can I take?
You flit about gracefully
Round everyone but me
Ive no right to feel this way
But it makes me feel angerey
I guess I’ll stay here alone
On the outside of what was my home
You always felt like safety
But now it feels like broken bones
I can never tell you this
I want you to feel the bliss
Even though im here in pain
I’ll never say a things amiss.
The day has finally come
Learn what was and what will become
A small injection that could change lives
With hope and prayer that she thrives
So much depends on this injection
To feel content without any rejection
To make those bipolar voices disappear
And her personality to reappear
The thoughts and voices driving her down
For months no smiling only a frown
Negativity flooding from every pore
This little thing could open a new door
All I need is for her to be safe
A promising outlook without the chafe
A happy and healthy women
And not sink this far mentally again
This type of medication is the last hope
Something that we both need to cope
I do not know what to do if this fails
Or what to do with all it entails
But I’m willing to let myself believe
In order to let myself feel relieved
Fingers crossed this is the answer
Without it is like living as a chancer
I’ve pinned my hopes on this
With hopes and dreams that can be bliss
This is just a small piece of the puzzle
But a giant leap forward in the struggle
Fret sawing winds
chafe a river and its banks,
the fluidity of time
has shaped them both.
Glints of starlight are in
water and clay,
The script of gravity
is pressed into rock striations,
by the dead-eyed grind,
of a monotonous momentum.
Pebble by pebble
the river moves the land,
mountains follow then give way,
while ripples and waves
score blue veins deep
into indurate granite.
Many a rock drips a green alga
that records
every twist and turn
of an always oncoming past.
All through my life I've grown;
and knew angels would appear ,
for each of us imposed.
with death, Or how its known....
Is it what we all believe;
is it a fresh start,
one in which there is no end ;
but why then the fresh start ?
Is it the washing of our souls;
to live as pure as Gods ,
or is it washing away the tolls,
like beating chafe and rod.....
I really want to understand,
before my time to go ;
is this the real second chance ;
will I make the "Show"
You’ve been carrying so much suffering inside
Ever since you were a little boy
All these feelings you’ve learned to hide
The thought of intimacy turns you coy
I will never give up on you
For you need my love the most
When it becomes unfamiliar to feel safe
When the storms of chaos feel like home
When the idea of romance makes you chafe
Aimlessly, your heart will infinitely roam
I will never give up on you
For you need my love the most
Is there a cure for your pain?
Will you keep pushing me away?
Will you love me or further abstain?
I can tell you that I want to stay
I will never give up on you
For you need my love the most
I hate to chortle at the sound of broken laughter,
Just like I refrain from weeping when dancing smoke fills my eyes . . .
But when dogs mourn alone,
I chafe my hands with the cold of tears of solitude.
Monuments and cairns I crave among the icy
Terrains, where dogs’ paws leave eternal marks —
The print-marks of an important visit,
Evidence of life on desiccated earth.
On board The Fram they sailed majestically
In the beginning,
Before joining a steam of blizzards they escaped from,
Returning home, northwards, gelid and depressing,
For a funeral of dogs,
The ceremony of age,
Attended largely by silent yaps of strayed thunder.
Cookiecutter Shark
Deep in the ocean, where shadows reside,
A small, sleek hunter, with nowhere to hide.
The cookiecutter shark, a name so absurd,
For a creature whose bite is truly assured.
No great white's terror, no hammerhead's might,
But a circular cut, in the dark of the night.
With a mouth like a scoop, and teeth sharp and keen,
It carves out its meals, a remarkable scene.
From whales to tuna, no creature is safe,
From the alien mark, a peculiar chafe.
A perfect round wound, left on muscle and skin,
A testament to where the small hunter has been.
It lurks in the deep, a cryptic design,
A parasite predator, truly divine.
So next time you swim in the ocean so wide,
Remember the cookiecutter, and where it might hide.
In the shadows i lay not one to shield
A tender heart , like a daisy in a field.
Yet with theswe broken hands i took my stand
to guard from harm , you , the fairest of all my land
But with each punch i dealt , i only caused you pain
Every step i took , these fists with blood i stain
Each desperate move i made , my bloodlusts dance
i swear i never meant to hurt you under any circumstance
These bloodied hands could never learn to love
no one can change my ways , not even the gods above
In an attempt to embrace your heart and keep it safe
I became the sculptor of its eventual chafe
Hell if i could go back and rewrite this wretched past
To kiss your wounds and heal them at last
On my knees i plead forgiveness for your heart
In seeking to protect i only tore it further apart
A FAIR PAIR
Willy the worm would want to wiggle
Just a joke joining in with joyful jiggle
Gaity I guess, giving guffaw or giggle
Delighted to dig and dive down deep
Why one would wish to walk or weep
Continually checking, caution to keep
As surface security seldom seems safe
Worried to wander as a whining waif
Choices change, yet chancing to chafe
Stop being silly, Sam Snail softly said
I’m slimy and I slither slowly instead
However heavy to hold I have a head
No shame sheltering in a shiny shell
I’ll try to tempt you with tales to tell
Quiet questioning quite easy to quell
My mistake made if I’m mild or meek
Supposing no special space to speak
Being breakfast in a blackbird’s beak
None need know any new unknowns
Both born blind, bare with no bones
Grudgingly, grinds grates and groans
Great, gradually going underground
So silent, simply still sensing no sound
Finer feelings of fairness finally found
Basically being what a bare belly begs
Dripping not drowning, draining dregs
Laughing’s allowed, even lacking legs
September has mottled the forest maples.
South of here, zombie cicadas
chafe heated thighs,
but North of Tippecanoe
Shawnee trails lead into autumn.
We take photographs,
but the green still smothers
scattered red and yellow threads.
You touch a mossy tree trunk,
as if sensing the smoldering fuse
that will soon burn stale air
into golden sparks - a fire
that will paint from the inside out.
Too early, she says.
We head back down I-75,
where summer still consumes
the glut and vapor
of unemptied trash cans.
Close your eyes gently. Breathe deeply and slow.
Take a calm, stolen moment to consider what you know.
Open your eyes slowly. On what do they fall?
You see things all around you. They mean nothing at all.
In every instance, you assign the value of each and every piece.
You give them all the meaning that they will ever have.
All are neutral but become symbols of your deep-seated beliefs,
Whether you understand it or are completely naïve.
Each stare back to reflect and remind you of stronghold beliefs.
They accuse you of attachments and meanings you’re unable to show.
Without them, you would not be able to see your hidden thoughts.
It’s easy to see why it’s so hard to release and let them go.
Consciously, you never give your things a second thought.
You just can’t live without them. Without them you chafe.
They make you feel good; make you feel whole.
Gathered all around you, they make you feel safe.
Unhappy with your life? Look at your symbols.
Each is a symbol of who you believe yourself to be.
Each holds the energy that you have projected.
Let go of the attachments to set your mind free.
Chula Fleming © August 13, 2024
A word which first takes the mind straight to sin
And as soon to evil one could not win:
Always remember ‘spiritual exam’
For what you and I weigh in Divine Gram…
You can guess the examiner: Satan,
Sometimes, choosing an uncaring Nathan:
The too-good-at-cracking-the-harshest joke
And you could not but his face in blood soak…
In the world of lust a kiss made a must
And she’s another’s wife, not counted cost;
In the game of cards staking a Million
One had borrowed from a bank’s strict bullion…
In the field of writing, plagiarism,
No thought about its sure cataclysm
I could argue: behind many murders
By killers sure they’d still see their mothers:
More broadly, taking the risky for safe,
Then, realizing that it does hard skin chafe…
That which we could escape its penalty
But this takes not to a finality…
A building is not a home,
Because it’s got a nice foam:
There has to be some blood ties
One can feel their truths and lies
Or man and woman with rings
That control their reckless wings…
A building is not a home
For looking like ones in Rome:
It has to be rather safe:
The skins there should not just chafe…
You get to like Homes caring:
The best place for child-rearing,
Children strict ideas grabbing
But for soon sniffed ones grubbing…
A building is not a home
For its finished top like office:
The White House is an office
Don’t in your home office fix.
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