Long Apologizes Poems
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The train station was mostly empty.
The wooden bench was hard and uncomfortable;
I had no place else to sleep.
A rolled up newspaper was the best pillow I could find.
An old, worn out lady and her teenage son
sat in the row of seats facing my bench.
He sat staring at me, while his muscles twitched,
his face contorted and grunt sounds emitted from his throat.
"Hi", he yells at me, causing echoes through the
cavernous, empty train station.
"I'm sorry," she apologizes for her ward,
"He's a bit touched."
"I'm touched," he loudly repeats.
"Yeah", I say, sitting up, "What does that mean?"
"Well," she starts to answer ...
"No," I interrupt, "I want him to tell me."
"I'm touched," he shouts again.
"What does that mean", I repeat,
"What does it mean to be touched,
and how can I be touched, because I would like that."
A smile lights up his face as it bobs, twists and shakes uncontrollably.
He turns his whole body towards his Mother,
looks at her with a quizzical look on his face,
then turns back towards me.
"You can't be touched," he blurts out,
"You are normal ...I am different ... I am touched."
"Are you sure," I ask, leaning closer to his smiling face.
"Because I think you have been told something that is wrong."
Now both he and his Mother look at me intently;
she instinctively grabs a hold of his hand, studying me very closely.
I am aware that my appearances clearly indicate I am a homeless man.
I have not shaved in weeks. I have not bathed in days.
I am wearing the same clothes I had on when I walked away from my home
and life six months ago.
"No," I continue, "Everyone else is different - you are normal."
"People only tell you you are different, because they are jealous,
they want to be like you, but they can't be.
You are the only normal person in the whole, entire world.
Everyone else is, a little touched." And, I wink at him.
He lights up, rocks back and forth, laughs and guffaws.
I get up; walk over to the two of them;
shake his trembling hand; and, kiss his mother on the cheek.
As I walk towards the exit, starting my journey back home,
I turn and see a policeman walking past the two strangers -
I barely hear the policeman say, "Good morning",
followed by the boy's loud, booming voice, gleefully shout,
"Hi, I am normal."
I was shy at twenty, afraid to look in mirrors,
Scared of what I saw.
I remember the first time I looked in one and saw that I was pretty.
I gasped, and it frightened me.
I felt proud and ashamed.
I am so beyond that now,
feeding my muse with happy antidotes,
flinging poetry and art onto canvases, confident
I am doing so well it might embarrass another, not me.
I was hesitant when I was twenty,
Careful to not alienate anyone,
Never using a swear word,
Hoping everyone would like me.
I have fifteen hundred facebook friends now.
I had eighteen hundred, but I de-friended three hundred of them.
Unfriended them, unfollowed them, and loved every second of it.
Knowing now the only opinion I care about is mine.
Today I thoroughly approve of the "me" I have created.
Trixie my muse is my pirate queen.
We take no prisoners now, and make no apologizes.
When the phone rings we laugh -slaves, and minions to no one.
Mirrors make us happy.
There is nothing wrong with Jessica
I don't know any Jessica
If I did she would be smart and smell like flowers
You know, the living ones with pink petals
Her hair would change color at the beauty shop
She could be bald but I think not
People would love her just the way she is if she were
I like the name so much I would have a bunch
I will name my next ten children Jessica
And take them out to lunch if they exist
What's in a name
Jessica
Authors note: It is true. The author does not know a Jessica. He apologizes for any negative connotation or inference the reader might have or construe from the title for instance and to any one who, by chance, might be called Jessica. Please look beyond that and enjoy the poem.
She knows every member of her beautiful family,
and she's eager to call each of them by name.
She knows their gift and how to best use them.
She calls the ARTIST to beautify the landscape;
to paint those golden colors of leaves in the trees
that overwhelms us with the wonders of God's creation.
The season of Autumn reminds the TREES that their shady
chores are done and beckon them to release their leaves
to be blown in the wind, creating scenes and signals of Fall.
She waves to her gentle giant in the sky and whispers words
of calm and poise for the SUN to lower its temperature. She
calls upon the ATMOSPHERE to create the feel of a holiday and
festivity; to unveil the spirit of gratitude and merriness. she
acknowledges imperfection and apologizes for deadly storms.
100522PSCtest, A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry
Carol’s naps are plenty with a puppy on her hip.
He’s romping fields, she is captain of a pirate ship.
Cat is curled up next to Carol’s swollen up top lip.
Deathly allergic, her eyes open with a whip.
Sorry apologizes new neighbor, his voice is a clip.
It is his wandering cat; he can’t yet make the pick-up trip.
She pops renegade cat into sleeping bag, gives it a zip.
Tells it as they travel, “Your daddy is a drip!”
Sarge thanks her profusely, her heart does a little flip.
He is handsome and sweet; his child is a boy named Pip.
She chastises love at first sight and tries to get a grip.
He invites her to dinner, serves her pie with cool whip.
She takes an allergy pill now, without having a fit.
In case he calls to invite her out, dreams of muscle rip.
Man, boy and cat moved on, now a radar blip.
She stares at allergy pills, now an unwelcome gyp.
It is the morning and late to the man as his alarm goes off.
Nothing but darkness as the light he sees comes from a distance.
He has the feeling of the calm breeze and gets ready to have a shower.
Once out he gets his morning coffee.
Reading the messages on his phone, he sees the girl that wants him in two years time to come to her.
He sees that she is only a person meant for the season. The love he had was only meant for the season, and God dictated it. Yes, it was intensive; however, it was to make both of their hearts stronger for their future partner.
The man throws a Jameson into his Black Coffee before he leaves the door. As he is walking, he gets a call, and it's from her. She apologizes for not being able to keep her promise as she has found her love in another. The man tells her that he has always loved her, but only as a sister. In truth, the man did love her, but he loved her enough to only be there for her as God intended him to be once the fruit bloomed. The man does not feel pain as he knows that he is meant to find a person ordained by God.
As he heads to his car, he receives a message from someone. It is a friend from a study who tells him to call her immediately. He starts the car and calls through the vehicle. The phone rings once, and he answers. She immediately tells him the good news.
On the stage, he sees a beautiful woman who is part of the band whom he does not know. Her eyes are on him in a manner that is like true love. After the concert, he approaches her and his friend. In deep conversation, they are in for an hour. They head out to dinner and have a great time. A kiss they share. It is the beginning of something beautiful.
It is now morning, and he is perplexed about whether to call her, as he has grown accustomed to lies and rejection.
He calls her.
She answers his call and accepts the dinner date, on the condition that they have a before-dinner activity and a post-dinner activity. She reasons that she wants to spend more than two hours with him. She wants to know him more than just a dinner partner.
They are now together in the band. In time, they will be at the Temple.
eudaimonia-
cat's in the birdcage;
bird has lit away;
anxiety outlet;
as the dog chews away;
that old beat-up rug;
shag as it was;
the cat used to roll around in
hook on dark and light;
spilled sour milk from the cat's bowl;
WOW
bArk
Meow
Now
withered clumps of fur;
Scrambled empty soul
bird tweets at the clock;
as the cat watch;
as the doggy scrapes he itches;
needs his medicine;
in grief no hope nor apologizes;
as the bird tweets and burps;
the bird twitadee-tweets and just flies away
Free
11/04/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
An actor returns to his Beverly Hills mansion –
blows his brains out with a 38 special.
I must have dozed off,
cops at my door,
a line of chain-smoking flashbulbs
in baggy turn-ups.
I watch myself being taken away in a body bag.
The movie is badly spliced.
Black Packard’s keep morphing into flying saucers.
We are all wearing hats,
even the writers in the backroom
are wearing wide-brimmed hats.
The women are wearing hats.
They wear pencil thin skirts,
and talk out of the side of their mouths.
A screen flickers;
a skinny man behind an obscuring microphone
apologizes for the delay.
Meanwhile, space aliens have landed in Brooklyn,
and are exterminating people in hats.
It’s a radio show hoax,
but I don’t know that –
until I wake-up
into a world filled with terror and chaos,
but there are no aliens and few brimmed hats.
I check that my Glock is loaded.
I can’t sleep.
# 7
the dog came to see me the other day
and he pissed all over my
left shoestring
i can't stand to have someone
get my left shoestring wet
i think i would have begged him
to pee on my right shoestring
but the bastard never gave me a chance
to ask
# 13
i remember the old man
asking why i wrote poetry
can't make a living doing that he said
i asked
why do you go foxhunting
can't make a living doing that
he evaporated into the air
while drying his left shoelace
# 21
the dog ran swiftly down the
street
looking
the dog ran swiftly down the street
in a hurry
the dog ran swiftly down the street
looking
i outdogged him this
time
maybe
my left shoestring is up the street
# 26
the dog came
to me
the other day
you know the
one
i
wrote about
20 years ago
and he
hobbled
barely able to move
looked up at
me
in that
recognizable way
and slowly
in his
old age
lifted
his leg
over
my
shoe
left one for sure
#27
you might think
the dog would have found
a new paradigm
a fresh method of doing business
after all we have progressed into the digital age
but no
even as I come to the end of my
eighty-fourth year
the dog
yes, the same one
that found me
below the fourth sub-basement library
of plays at the University of Kansas
some 57 years ago
offering no excuses.
curls up on my bed
apologizes for the bladder doings
looks up
daring me to set this
Little Set of Poems to type
to tell his story and mine
before slumbering
Untitled
A million nights in the darkness
Just my thoughts to keep me company
Poems and songs that will never be written
Memories of loves lost decades
Apologizes that I should have made
Changes in my life that never should have happened
Rarely a dream struggles to get through
Dreams that quickly turn into vicious nightmares
Demons ripping into my soul
Despite a billion other souls struggling to survive
No one to hear my screams through the darkness
My past haunts my every moment
Although I am not ashamed of what I have done
I am afraid of what the past holds for me
What the future has to offer
Death and suffering
Pain beyond a mortal's endurance
Loneliness and grief
And maybe a fleeting, rare moment of happiness
Just enough for a second of hope
Then it will be gone