She smoked
She smoked,
my mother did, a LOT!
I never liked it.
To me she looked like
of those “molls” in
detective magazines,
later on television,
cigarette dangling
from the corner
of her mouth
acrid smoke
curling up (she didn’t inhale)
choking the air
as she played cards
or worked
at her desk.
To be sure,
there were “issues”
between husband and wife.
Mid-Great Depression
Dad out of work
or out of town for work
alone with
kids to manage
clothe and feed
with what?
So she smoked.
Small family Jewish
grocer let bills run up.
Smoking a comfort?
Housedresses, nothing new,
shoes needed for kids.
Teeth bad, pull them.
Children need dental care.
Sharp tongue cutting
no whining
“Just get on with it”.
Hurt, not understanding
we sulked. She smoked
Smoking and smoking
taking in relatives
with lost jobs, lost homes,
sick or in need, managing somehow
depressed (never admit it)
feeling put down,
frustrated, underrated
and underappreciated
never accomplished anything
worthwhile with her
college degree.
But, in her own way,
a saint in a housedress
Smoking away the grief.
One:
Wake up slowly.
Admit it was never that deep.
Let your first word be hmmm.
Let your second be whatever.
Two:
Stretch, but not like you mean it.
Pop one joint, then stop.
You are not an overachiever.
You’re alive. That’s enough.
Three:
Brew something hot
and unnecessarily complicated.
Call it process.
Sip. Sigh.
Spill a little on purpose.
Four:
Reintroduce yourself
to color.
Start with gray.
Work up to a muted mustard.
No pressure.
Five:
Trust nothing that smiles too easily.
Except maybe dogs.
And one cashier
who says you’re all set
like she means it.
Six:
Throw out the list you made
of everyone who owes you.
Keep the one you made
of whom you survived—
remember who survived you.
Seven:
Don’t look for closure.
Just check your teeth for spinach
when you think you ate,
and get on with it.
folding the trees, branch by branch;
rolling the leaves.
slender sticks play eye tricks;
fat and juicy ones’ carried downwards.
small branches gathered;
large ones, heave ho.
these matchsticks aren’t lit,
and I don’t know
how my small forest thrives
…and then a sound
an engine near, grinding
through my Winter lookout,
across the way, creating empty space
for kids to safely play.
the trees are stressed; and relieved
as the roaring stops
at the edge. on edge
they want to dress their best,
in Spring’s verdancy -
it seems an emergency
to get on with it; buds
will show up after the tempest,
for survival of the fittest,
at least that’s the way
the wind blows now
…then silence.
Today was the first day of class.
You should have seen all the people.
Everyone couldn’t have had class, some of them must
have been gawkers, the types that slow to watch
flat tire changings and car wrecks.
Some were carrying maps - freshmen.
Like student drivers they clogged the paths,
drawing a few looks.
They gaggle together like geese,
Jeeezus - shut UP and get ON with it, freshies! I thought.
Not ungenerously - I remember being lost - back in the day.
I have class, myself - in both the intrinsic sense - of style -
and in the “research for credit” ‘check in on the first day,’ kind.
Still, we’re parading, and I’ve always loved parades.
My one regret is that there are no mimes or elephants.
ok.. poetry..
Stress is somewhere in my propinquity.
See, it’s known to stalk this vicinity.
I’m not a freshman, so it hasn’t struck yet,
but when it does, and it will, you can bet,
that initially, it will shake my tranquility
and end our start-of-year festivities.
It will creepily creep, destroying my sleep,
until I prove my scholastic resiliency.
.
.
Songs for this:
Violently Happy by Björk
Schoolin' Life by Beyoncé
Lost
Left lagging behind.
Numb, upset, unfortunate, unlucky.
Everyone else getting on with it.
But I'm left in limbo.
Brain fog adding to my fear
At a distance from them all,
Even with him, a lack of intimacy exists.
Arguing with me, no sympathy, like a stone.
‘Get on with it’ he says.
‘Stop moaning. Take action’.
So easy for him to say.
What a mess!
I walked on clouds so foolishly,
Thinking I stood a chance, so proud.
My dream was coming through.
But once again, shattered, deflated, heartbroken, I fell flat.
What a fool I was to even think for a moment it could have been me.
As if! Me? Wake up girl and smell the coffee.
You never stood a chance.
You were led up the garden path!!
It's okay for your friends to be successful but not you.
Your dream will never be! Accept it! Get on with it!
No one has threaded softly on my dreams.
They've trampled them.
I'm lost.
Your organs are failing
Like the sun going down
But you're hovering at 4 o' clock
Prolonging the day
Best to get on with it
To a new day dawning
All up and down the town’s Main Street,
the old folks sit in plastic chairs.
Children are already tasting,
all that candy soon to be theirs.
In the crisp early morning air,
floats gathering in the school’s lot.
“Get on with it,” old men grumble,
“before it gets too gosh darn hot.”
When around the corner they come,
and Old Glory is carried past.
We stand with hands over our hearts,
pray our nation will always last.
Marching bands come belting their tunes,
with shiny instruments and drum.
Then yells from excited children,
when the clown cars finally comes.
King and queen riding in their cars,
fire trucks blast their siren and horn.
Candy tossed to smiling children,
as laughter fills the joyous morn.
It wasn’t the sex
That wasn’t important
Well it was
It was him
I gave him my time
He gave me five minutes
Christ, he came quicker than the 9.05 express
Actually, the 9.05 has been cancelled due to a Viagra malfunction
He said he got excited
He’s forty-two
It’s a breast thing, he said
What, the two of them
Well, actually it’s you being naked
Should I keep my clothes on
Could we do it in the dark, he said
Yes, just bloody do it
I was excitingly waiting
Nothing
Maybe he’s a Ninja lover
I heard him chewing
What the hell are you doing
I’m coming
For Christsakes, not again
No, I’m ready for you
Well get on with it
I’ll just close the door
He screamed
Something told me satisfaction was 999 away
The paramedics put it in ice
The police took down my particulars
God, how I wished they would take down my particulars
He blamed me, could you believe it
Other patients were calling him, Bob it.
I told him straight, the bloody door got more action than me
Is that all you can think about, bloody sex
I started laughing, he didn’t get it
Just like me
"Go in a haste. Come in a pace". Mary Coleman
She was saying, 'Get on with it'.
She was saying, 'Be a pacesetter'.
It's what my grandmother often said.
011823PS
Evidently beyond your control
they must be less
for you to be more
A drive beyond
Your governess
to belittle,discard,abhor
declaring self hero or victim
Simultaneously
Acting so mean
Needing to reduce
All others to
the smoothest satiny sheen
Worn by your abrasive ways
Chip,chip,
Chipping away
As you bolster and fluff
Bluster enough
to keep inner critics at bay
Pathetically parading your lack
for any
and all to see
News flash!
Never will the likes of you
decimate the likes of me
Get on with it
without pretense,with relish
As the hot dog with chips
P.s. Don't forget
Send us postcards
From your endless ego trips
In closing may I offer
this final savory bit
In life those doing the smelling also as well dealt it
The clock ticks constantly
Almost to monstrosity
It makes me think of the vacancy sign I hate
Constantly going at its own lonely rate
This pencil touching this paper feels like fate
But we should get on with it for it seems the time is getting late
Remember white eyes
Hiding in the black skies
Surrounded by dark lies
In which you only find out the truth as your life’s fate unties
Tick Tock
Twelve ‘o’clock
Time to dock
The death boat
Throw me over but I won’t float
I’m like a king without a bridge to cross his moat
But time comes with death, and he won’t leave a note
You don’t get a vote
As you think time flies
Life dies
Plus we all know god lies
We cannot live forever
When death comes we’ll say never
It is time to look within yourself
To see what is inside as your wealth
Remember what it took to get you here
All the lessons learnt and the heartaches felt so clear
You can hurt people with a remark
When people take the words to heart
So now we are exposed to everything
It can be so hard for your soul to sing
So in this task that is set us
We can make of it such a fuss
Or just get on with it and not complain
Just know we all are in it all the same.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Whoever knew
That New Year was the clue
To make life better for me and you
Then try to work it out for all mankind too
So, I really do hope we all follow the cue
That's you and me and them and you
As it's our time now for sorting the poo
And if that doesn't happen we all lose
So I will have to bite my own tongue
As my work may already be done..
But I haven't started yet!
So lets all get on with it..
DAMOx
Alas, about to smash her pen,
Fool that she is~ thinking, oh so
wrongly,
That comments "make"a poem,
a gem? Why no! Hardly!
Hapless, foolish poetess!
Where are your brains?
You know your poem is more than good.
Stop looking for personal fame!
You need a fan club to honor
your work?
(and yes, some do demand it,
total poetic jerks!)
Just knock off being so
superciliously arrogant!
Your poetry is a gift to you~
From God in heaven.
Now!In all humility~ get on with it.
September 24, 2019
*** A special thank you to Matthew Amish for
alerting me to the typo in the title...PR***
The Sound of No Comments
Aha! I had enlightenment today.
Feeling now like a smiling Buddha at play!
No matter what I write, it does
not mean a whip if nobody reads
it or comments.
Unless poetry is defined as
popularity?
Best to move on, enjoy life to
the max and get on with it.
And as for silence to my
poetry?
Now dedicated to fully enjoy it.
Suggested Listennig
"The Sound of Silence"
June 22, 2019
2pm PST
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