MY STEP FATHER GOT CADERRACT SURGERY AND GLAUCOMA SURGERY DURING COVID WELLHIS DRIVERS LICENSE EXPIRED HE KNEW HE COULDN'T PASS THE EXAME BLESSING DMV CLOSED DUE TO COVID SENDING HIM A RENEWAL FORM HE ACTUALLY FILLED OUT THE RENEWAL ONLINE NOT REALIZING HIS OLD INFORMATION WAS NOW ON HIS NEW DRIVERS LICENSE THIS SENIOR MOMENT SENT MY MOM INTO A STATE BECAUSE THE OLD DRIVERS LICENSE MY STEP DAD WAS UNMARRIED HE KELP HIS NEW LICENSE AND FORGOT ABOUT TRYING TO PASS A NEW EYE EXAM WHAT DOES IT MATTER ANYWAY THEY ARE HAPPILY MARRIED MOM JOKES SAYING SHE'S SINGLE THE MARRAIGE LICENSE SAYS DIFFERENT SUCH A CUTE COUPLE GLORIOUS SENIOR MOMENTS FULL OF LAUGHTER HOW MANY SENIORS DODGE THE EYE EXAM DURING COVID LIVING ON A PRAYER ONE THING FORSURE IF MY STEPDAD IS EVER PULLED OVER THEY WON'T BE ABLE TO HARRASS MY MOM HIS LICENSE STILL READ UNMARRIED OLD GUY WHO DODGED THE EYE EXAM DURING COVID
MY STEP DAY GOT CADERRACT SURGGERY AND GLAUCOMA SURGERY DURING COVID WELL HIS DRIVERS LICENSE EXPIRED HE KNEW HE COULDN'T PASS THE EXAME BLESSING DMV CLOSED DUE TO COVID SENDING HIM A RENEWAL FORM HE ACTUALLY FILLED OUT THE RENEWAL ONLINE NOT REALIZING HIS OLD INFORMATION WAS NOW ON HIS NEW DRIVERS LICENSE THIS SENIOR MOMENT SENT MY MOM INTO A STATE BECAUSE THE OLD DRIVERS LICENSE MY STEP DAD WAS UNMARRIED HE KELP HIS NEW LICENSE AND FORGOT ABOUT TRYING TO PASS A NEW EYE EXAM WHAT DOES IT MATTER ANYWAY THEY ARE HAPPILY MARRIED
If I see balmy bliss more than bane,
Every leaf filled with fresh new wonder,
Each cloud an omen of copious rain,
The new world would nudge me to ponder…
The dismal would still bestir my brain,
The bizarre would give me boundless joy
To muse if I were a child again--
A wide-eyed wonder-struck little boy!
And for sure, I was just so of late--
As one hopes to be in his eighties,
Lovely did the world look, worth a wait,
Were I bestowed brand new pair of eyes?
A new stance has taught me how to see,
What so far was tunnel look to me.
____________________
Sonnet | 15.03.2017 | child, life, lovely/beautiful, world
Note: Set in anapaest tri-meter. And it was so despite my glaucoma-caused constrained peripheral vision.
I want to say sorry
For being remiss
I tend to worry
As I look at the list
Of the appointments I
Have to
Keep, every week.
I get such care for the
Cures that I seek.
Everything is fading
And it seems far away.
I have glaucoma
Diabetes as well,
Three types of Arthritis
That hurts like hell.
I see a heart specialist,
And lung specialists, too and
Peripheral Neuropathists to name
Just a few,
IBS that messes with my tum
I no longer have control
Of my bum.
I go to physio classes,
Twice a week.
I have a hoarse voice,
I cough and wheeze when I speak.
I am not writing this for sympathy
Life has been very good to me
I don't know how to explain
In any other way
What I started to say
I have had so much encouragement from PS
It has caused much happiness
I have become very slow
And have lost my get-up and go
So without further ado
I want to apologise to all of you
Who have kindly taken the time
To comment on my simple rhyme
And I have yet to answer you.
"Can you feel the soul of an abandoned house;
can you hear the whispering? "
Quote by _Constance La France
Our farmhouse holds memories.
Only in my heart, daydreams
It burned with wall's treasuries.
Windows gone letting in sunbeams.
Reminiscence's aroma
Flows with each deluge.
Even though like glaucoma
My fragmented thoughts refuge.
Though to abuse subjected
Where was no bathroom, doghouse.
Only dad's love protected.
Inside walls of our farmhouse
Written: 5/31/23
For Constance La France
Contest: Writing Challenge "C" Quotes
This is the Ae Freislighe form/I may have used one syllable too many in a couple of lines just could not think of a way to change it to only 7.
Your eyes need your first - class care,
Which has to include some yeast
And they shan't Midday Sun dare;
As Sun eyes The West, facing The East,
Lest one turn Prince of Darkness,
Too early feeling one's way
While reading ' Moving Slackness
Coverage of page all day!
In eyes kids pack playful sands:
Madness that turns them crimson;
Lots of filth from wild hands,
They are, each, blinded Samson
Eyes for lasting protection
Dusts saving like a loved Chief
Foreign bodies' detection
For dabbing with handkerchief
Or "Here I come cataract
And one stops to interact
Or real Frightful Glaucoma,
Eyes drifting into coma.
Look deep in the mirror
Do you see color?
What do you see?
Can you see the sins of the humanity,
And the hypocrisy creeping at the doorsteps?
Blinded by the murky and muddy
Glaucoma of jealousy,
You can neither see the footsteps
Of your consciousness,
Nor the smears of your unconsciousness.
Look deep, way beyond the third heaven.
Tell the world candidly about your exploration
And your obvious observation.
Look deep, dig beyond the grimaces of the pen.
Come clean and you shall see that no one is perfect.
There is an ever-present secret skeleton in the closet.
You simply have to cross the deck,
Take a few steps beyond and let
The reality blows whistle and ring bells.
Never forget to look beyond the dirt under your nails.
Copyright© December 12,2011, Hébert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
The world of sight is when taken
Away, let of vision waken,
Let world of sound sharply shaken.
Way laid gets when my wander lust,
Let me hear time’s footsteps in dust,
Dawn’s birds wake me with song-filled burst.
Feel of colours behind eyelids,
Faithfull’s faith passed on prayer beads,
Let me see heart of golden deeds.
If flower colours get frozen
If world of butterflies has gone,
Fine, let me world of fragrance own.
If not, take all this away, much
As ye like, just keep sense of touch,
Let me feel the world just as such.
___________________________________
Musings |07.04.2022| Terza Rima
Poet’s note: As we know, glaucoma as a silent ailment takes away one’s vision gradually over passing years. First the peripheral vision gets narrower, ultimately to get reduced to a tunnel vision, and even that is lost one day. Of late I have been thinking of this eventuality in my life. But then the heart takes over from the head and says, never mind, there is that whole world beyond sight, a lot that we look at and still fail to see— the subject matter of this piece.
Look deep, deep in the mirror
Do you see color?
What do you see?
Can you see the sins of the humanity,
And the hypocrisy creeping at the doorsteps?
Blinded by the murky and muddy
Glaucoma of jealousy,
You can neither see the footsteps
Of your consciousness,
Nor the smears of your unconsciousness.
Look deep, way beyond the third heaven.
Tell the world candidly about your exploration
And your obvious observation.
Look deep, dig beyond the grimaces of the pen.
Come clean and you shall see that no one is perfect.
There is an ever-present secret skeleton in the closet.
You simply have to cross the deck,
Take a few steps beyond and let
The reality blows whistle and ring bells.
Never forget to look beyond the dirt under your nails.
Copyright© December 12,2011, Hébert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
Wooden mouth eats word and threat.
Frozen eye stares through vaudeville glaucoma.
The master is mimicked, masked, and mocked.
Doll tuxedo stretched from neck to crotch.
Head swivels to whiplash punchlines.
If it’s all in good fun, why do I want to die?
Neck telescopes and voice screeches.
Tears spurt from stage to footlight.
Two are one, yet double of what cannot exist.
It’s nearly there, nearly a man, a malformed thought.
Hanging on the edge of another world.
A fleeting spectre in a funhouse mirror.
Curtain lowers beneath dying lights.
Gathered terrors are delivered home.
Yet tiny footsteps follow behind.
Remember crimson rictus.
Lips move, but words never come.
On cue the final joke falls flat.
Glaucoma, Cataracts, the dreaded sty,
Seeing color in people is like a jaundiced eye.
Racism, Bigotry, Judging others critically-
Aversion to diversity and being equals cynically-
Uppity eyes who like to pretend
They don't judge others for their skin.
But it goes both ways-
it's equally not right-
to resent a man because he's white.
Like a disease without a cure-
Unless we judge the character
It's a rampant race no one will win.
No one gets to choose their color of skin-
Stereotypes, stigma but we need to try-
To purge the yellow from our eyes.
To see and hold all races dear-
Because only then will our eyes see clear.
Butch and I saw the Stones at the 1969 Altamont Concert.
We had the time of our lives! We dropped acid and
did Quaaludes and snorted whatever was offered.
We were young and bullet proof that day.
We're senior citizens now but still rock.
We scored tickets to the Stones latest.
It was the time of our lives! We took
extra long naps and got ready.
Tie died house dress for me, and
Butch wore his leathers.
He complained that they rode up
in the back. I said lose weight.
We ate at our favorite joint
and got the early bird special.
We shared a glass of wine.
We can't mix our meds with booze.
On the drive to the stadium we
shared a medicinal joint for
our glaucoma. We parked in
handicapped and got our walkers.
We shuffled to the entrance and
Butch grabbed my ass. My man!
We got our seats and waited.
Mick Jagger shuffled onstage.
He had an oxygen tank but
seemed OK. The other Stones
followed and the crowd screamed
the best they could. A rattling gasp.
They performed 6 songs and said
that's all they had. Thanks for coming...
We took a Xanax to calm down
and shuffled home and dreamed.
Reasons to be happy
Why should I be happy sir?
I have a job and a secure marriage,
I can walk,
Talk,
And use my hands freely,
I don’t have cancer or cholera or glaucoma.
I don’t have to run away from a war,
Across deserts, over walls or seas to abroad.
I can speak freely and say what’s on my mind,
Unlike in China, Zimbabwe or Venezuela.
I don’t have to queue to get food parcels and clothes,
Or sleep on the streets holding signs for loose change.
I wake up,
Use hot clean water to wash,
Dress in a suit.
I’m not persecuted for colour,
Race or religion,
I can listen to music of choice, people of choice
Get up in the morning, sleep in a bed at night.
Drowning in our incubus sleep,
phantom enemies are devised.
Easy answers for night terrors.
Social purgatory for the stranger,
Our river Styx for the brown ones.
Our fortress must wall them out.
Brown poverty is culpable.
Starving families must be criminals.
Racialism winking and nodding.
Jingoism sneering and taunting.
Everyone knows the words.
ICE round up the suspects.
Our delirious sorcery making police raids.
For us wall builders, it is always midnight.
For us distracted, there is never safety.
We are detainees of our nightmare,
POWs of our wraiths.
The smeared tirades offer glaucoma.
The duplicitous liars supply our slumber.
The scapegoating harangues support our night blindness.
Yet, we always awaken sweating
in our witless twisted sheets.
That's like saying the foul aroma
Could possibly put your brain in a coma
Disintegrate your socks
Near the back end of an ox
May even give you a case of glaucoma
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