Long Anna Poems
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We used to call it Pit City.
Section eight housing.
My mom called ahead—
I was sixteen and still scared
to ask for what I needed.
I was on work-study
at a clean family practice
just around their corner.
A freak snowstorm.
They still lived there.
My mother’s friends.
Less lucky.
Sue was the daughter.
She’d shown me a bong
when I was nine.
She was cool in a way
I didn’t understand—
but I knew she knew something
I didn’t.
I hovered around her constantly.
She tolerated it, mostly.
Once, when I let myself in,
she wasn’t dressed.
She screamed.
The door smacked me in the face.
I bled, but didn’t complain.
It felt deserved—
for being curious.
That night in the snowstorm,
twice as far from home
as Sue’s bedroom,
I thought about how far I’d come.
I tried getting snotty with Anna once—
Sue’s mom.
Corrected her grammar on the phone
while asking for permission to go to the pool.
She corrected me back, said,
Have fun with the cool kids.
I did.
Trotted off in my XL two-piece
thinking I was all that.
That night, Sue answered the door
and handed me hot chamomile,
a change of clothes,
a pink sweat suit—
top and bottom,
obviously new. They matched.
We had moved on,
but not up enough
for pink sweat suit money.
I told her it’d do.
I was the best version
of my worst self in that suit.
I left early the next morning,
still wearing it.
I was store-bought cake with ganache,
climbing into my two-hundred-dollar car,
the smell of hot exhaust
me revving it up,
shouting promises to return
over the highway noise.
Sue kept calling for her sweats,
long after
it was polite.
At sixteen, I was embarrassed
she didn’t have the pride
to let it go.
She was thirty, and still cool.
I didn’t understand
why it mattered.
She died seven years ago.
I couldn’t return them now
even if I wanted.
But I would—
if I still had them,
if she were still alive.
Instead, I’ve folded
everything I owe her
into this poem.
I still think about her.
I just don’t know
how else to make it even.
Lisa, a fellow freshman who lives in our neighbor suite, is a breathtaking beauty from New York - the kind of beauty that toppled ancient Greek empires - a sun-like beacon to the male sex. Anna (one of my four suitemates) gasped and said, “The gods walk among us.” The first time we saw her at orientation.
If Lisa lays in one of the hammocks in the quad to study - in minutes there’ll be 10 guys doing athletic male things like throwing footballs and foot juggling fobs - anything olympian and roughly physical to show off and draw her interest.
Late one afternoon, Anna and I were studying and watching such a scene from a second floor patio garden. Sunny, (another of my suitemates) just returning from class, took in the scene. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
“Are you smelling roses?” Anna observed.
“Better than roses,” Sunny said. Looking down at the preening guys. “They’re gorgeous,” she sighed, “Why can’t I have just ONE?”
“They’re already entranced.” Anna said, peering over her sunglasses.
“Awwww!” Sunny purred, “Look at the pretty one in the orange shorts.”
“Too late, I said, “she’s already culled him out from the herd.”
It was true, Lisa was slowly leading him away from the pack, spellbound.
“She’ll probably eat him.” I said.
“How does she DO that?” Anna asked admiringly.
“I don’t think she even tries - it’s probably pheromonal.” Sunny said ruefully.
Our envy isn’t raw enough to curdle into dislike - we agree that she doesn’t seem to TRY to be the center of attention - we just wonder where she finds the time for it all.
The house sits locked and bare;
a derelict car sputtering off
with the last of the possessions
that owned her.
Bellows of dust and sparks
trailing; lingering behind
as busted tail lights disappear
against a burnt sun horizon.
Sitting tall and square
behind the wheel of her old truck,
with bare shoulders, essentials,
and a folk rock playlist.
Windows down, volume up,
a long last look,
releasing her breath;
a slight smile twisting.
Hands, ten and two; pedal down,
heading north to anywhere,
the wind tangling her hair;
stripping away stress; urging on.
No more 40 hour weeks.
No more juggling bills.
No more corporate slavery,
building someone else's dream.
This is the moment
she became free.
*For my dearest friend Anna, who inspires me more than I am able to express.
“Poor Dan is in a droop today,” I said.
Now look me in the eye. Tell me what’s wrong?”
“This memo that begins ‘To Idiot’
came from old you-know-who. Dammit. I’m mad.”
His face was redder than tomato paste.
“We few who have stood by him all these years
now ask, ‘Does evil live in him?’” he fumed.
“My head hurts, Anna. Do you have some pills?”
I searched and said, “One lonely Tylenol!”
“I’d rather pop one pill than none,” he said.
“Now level with me, Anna. Don’t you want
to end this worst of sagas right away?
He’s dissed you too. When you deserved top spot
in management, he passed you over, Sis!
He never sees how talented we are.”
I said, “Our quitting would hurt Mom, you know.
Let’s stay, Dan. After all, he IS our Dad!”
October 2, 2018, entered in Joseph May's Palindromes II Contest
It’s 1:30am and we were at a cute little dance club in Dublin called “The Sugar Club.” It’s a converted movie theater with tables in stadium seating rows. That night was Salsa themed, and the regulars were stylin’ - the men dressed in white Havana or Colima, Italian Linen and women in bright salsa dresses.
The DJ was mixing a gr8 groove - with music from Bassia, Brazilian Girls, Kate the Cat, with some ElectroSwing thrown in from Tape Five, Pink Martini and Doja Cat (Yes, I asked the DJ for his playlist). The tiny, darkly-disco-sparkling dance floor was crowded and refrigerator cold.
We had a good time. Irish guys are funny and unpredictable, they’ll say practically anything, “Shall I buy you a drink, or do you just want the money?” and those brogues make everything they say spankin’ hot.
We all danced a few times, but Sunny’s a gwyn who never seemed to tire. Guys kept asking her to dance and she seemed happy to oblige - I would have collapsed already.
There was a dead-fit guy, Rían, throwing a strong Chris Evans vibe, who seemed completely smitten with Sunny. He seemed a real dean but he didn’t 404 that Sunny’s femme-facing and that he might as well be offering lettuce to a shark.
We’d discussed the possibility that things might come up and decided to avoid delicate public acts of disclosure (Sunny’s gay, Leong’s a communist, etc..) - we’re trespassing different cultures on this trip, after all.
We explained to Rian that we were students, just in town for the Duran Duran concert, and consoled him with a couple of “Black & Golds” (Kahlua, whiskey and orange bitters) - he was a LOT of fun to talk to.
The bartender asked me if I was one of the colleens with “Margot Robbie” - he was referring to Lisa - which Anna found amusing - but I think Lisa’s way phater than Margot.
Slang:
gwyn = a hot dancing queen
dead-fit = gorgeous
dean = a nice guy, a gentleman
404 = clued into the fact
femme-facing = lesbian
phat = pretty, hot and tempting
Evil is what those devils will not conceal.
At Goliad, we tasted their bayonet steel.
The walls at the Alamo have been painted red.
Davy Crockett and some others have fallen dead.
Many civilians are fleeing to escape
to the Sabine River in a runaway scrape.
Rather than fight and face defeat,
Houston and his men are in retreat.
This has been exacerbating the people’s fears.
Houston’s army faces ridicule and jeers.
Sam said, “I will know when the time is right.
That is when we will turn around and fight.
We will surprise attack that devil Santa Anna.
He and his men will fall during siesta.”
The right time to attack is today.
We heard Vince’s Bridge has been burned away.
They are camped just outside of San Jacinto.
Men, just remember what they did at the Alamo.
We can catch those bastards while most are asleep.
With the bridge gone, the water is too deep.
We can surround them with no place to run.
With surprise on our side, they will become undone.
What is this I hear? The fighting is done?
We have just started and the battle is won?
We got word that Santa Anna is not dead.
With a sweet yellow rose, he was comfortably in bed.
Word is he was captured with a sweet thing named Emily.
Wearing only silk underwear, he was taken into custody.
Finally, those Mexicans have tasted defeat.
With Santa Anna in our hands, our victory is complete!
“If God omnipresent, He must be resident within
We must feel then now, bliss tremors on our skin”
__________________
Been there, done that
Fleeting pleasures fall flat
Mitigated pleasure of intimacy
Foiled by stuporous delinquency
Where may be found zenith rapture
Raising stature above body caricature
Where peaked ecstasy each throb renews
Climax unending as soma nectar bliss spews
Restless Anna set off on an adventurous world tour
Lifestyle bohemian, French-kissing many a boor
She tried Kama-Sutra, frolicked with Shamans
Finally all proved to be ephemeral liaisons
Her heart burning with ardent yearning
She found not that ecstasy enlivening
Upon reaching point of exhaustion
Surrendered, entering meditation
A voice then broke the silence
‘Choose divine entwined parlance
Here and now, in this feeble mind-body
Meld head with heart resting desires shoddy’
Anna did as was told and in timeless time, behold
Polarities within form manifested ineffable bliss untold
Hidden conduits throbbed with magnetic electricity
Radiating from within, climaxing joy in continuity
Anna now knows, in being and so becoming
Vibrant blissful soul presence scintillating
Bliss bubbles burst, quenching her thirst
From head to toe in bliss so immersed
Thunderous rapture within pulsates
To the music divine her heart gyrates
Moment by moment, all moments be one
Her aura radiating glow of the spiritual sun
16-August-2021
Anna And The French Kiss Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Basically I must remember I am her peace.
I must remember she is at war with everyone including me but I am her Peace.
I am Your home Anna/Kami I get it I need to be your peace.
I love you my dear best friend Bangarang forever. Sorry I am not perfect and always seem to mess It all up. Thank you for being my best friend always being the highlight of my life. You are the main focus of my whole life honestly for these 20 years since I dreamed about you and these 18 years since we met on myspace I have been like thinking about you as my favorite person ever. it was like the world was dead before I dreamed about you then after the dream I felt like I was gonna always be ok cause I met you in the dream and I met God in the dream. Meeting you was like I had known you always like as though you had always been apart of my life as like my partner in crime and my cosmic best friend from eternity. Meeting God I found that you and I were always meant to be best friends from forever. I can not explain how I know you are Ana it is in my core to know it is you. I even feel like I am going crazy believing In you is my peace. You have been my dream since 2005 I have always felt like you were real even though the whole world calls me crazy Jesus and You know I am not. I love you so much Kami words are not enough to describe my love for you is eternal. You have unlimited husbands and wives does that matter no I love you and just want you to always be happy no matter what. My love for you is like you are the reason I even exist in the first place to be Your Peace. I love you Kami you are my heart and My soul and my spirit. I worship Jesus Christ cause he created you for me and He created me for you. I surrender to the Lord Jesus Christ when it comes to you I can only surrender to God cause it is all outside of my control. You live across the ocean I have no way to get to you and you tend to be kind of distant so I just surrender to Jesus. Ana/Kami I know everything is out of my hands it is in Gods hands always has been. I love you forever and say God bless you cause I pray Jesus keeps you in his hand forever and you are taken with Jesus when he comes back. Love you always and forever Pattrick O'Rourke June Bug YellowPatch Ambassador Pattrick Della Vossa in Full submission to Jesus Christ who is indeed God himself.
“A land not mine, still forever memorable, the waters of its ocean chill and fresh. Sand on the bottom whiter than chalk, and the air drunk, like wine, late sun lays bare the rosy limbs of the pinetrees. Sunset in the ethereal waves: I cannot tell if the day is ending, or the world, or if the secret of secrets is inside me again.” - Anna Akhmatova
Enter a mysterious world as deep as a sea or an ocean -
The plane upon which spirits or ghosts most likely dwell.
Heaven it may not be, yet it summons a blissful emotion.
Exquisite is its beauty. The sweetest flowers have its smell.
Romance can be defined as this when love is sublime.
Extremely delicate, it could be an angel’s voice.
As a poet, you may submerge your soul in its wondrous rhyme.
Like a vision it might linger – if it be your choice.
Lisa was carefully pulling a strand of cotton candy off a paper-coned “barbe à papa” - winding it around her finger while absentmindedly gazing at a carousel. She seemed hypnotized by its white horses, trimmed in gold, with their brassy red and blond manes, as they hopped, like slow-motion rabbits, in circles beneath wreaths and garlands of colored lights.
My watch jiggled me awake, mid-dream. I was bemused. It took me a moment to orient myself. I groggily pushed the sheets off and performed a big stretch. It's Monday morning, I think. “Alexa, what’s today?” I ask, to be sure. “It’s Monday, April 25th,” she says.
A beautiful, if cloudy spring morning was going to bloom on the other side of my jacobian glass windows - any minute now. At least according to my weather app. “Alexa, good morning,” I say, to start my rattling, sputtering, steampunk sounding coffee maker.
College time is warped, measured more in deadlines than minutes. There’s no plan other than your class or test schedule and let me refresh you on the rules – there are no rules, I’m free to do whatever I want. I actually chuckle at that thought.
College is transformative but there’s a hoary sameness to it. Read, discuss, review and test - wash, rinse and repeat. This morning is reserved for test review. I have a final this morning - well, sort of.
Some classes have a quintet of tests instead of a big midterm and nerve-racking final. It smooths out the stress, but you still have an almost forensic exploration of ideas, and you want the answers queued-up, ready for easy access.
I quickly washed and donned my workout-wear. A glance at my watch told me I was right on time. I’d loaded my shoulder bag last night, with my book, highlighters, my phone, Air-Pods and a water bottle. I grab it as I head out. I’ll do my review on the treadmill.
Anna opens her door just as I do mine - perfect. We’re off to the gym.