Long Bundled up Poems
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THIS IS A SHORT STORY WRITTEN 7/2/19
The Long Journey
Every day I walk almost a mile with my little pug "Tiko",he is 10 lbs.of energy
all bundled up in curiosity,he loves to see the wild life on our walks,every
day he sees something different or so it seems,sometimes its deer,rabbits,
turkeys,squirrels and other dogs.
Today he saw a fuzzy black/brown worm slowly crossing the highway,he
got all excited by this new wonder of nature,he started jumping all around me
hoping I would let him play with his new friend all the while this little worm
was slowly crawling across the highway.I finely pulled him away from his
new little friend and told him that his little buddy needed to go on with
his journey,and you and I need to go on with ours.
Then as we watched the little worm a moment more as he was slowly
crawling across the road,he had not quite made it halfway,there came
the sound of a car coming down the highway,as I got Tiko to the side of
the road where we would be safe,I wondered if the little worm had something
to keep it safe,knowing how dangerous his little journey is.Then the car
passed by "whoosh"went the car,and the air that followed in it's wake.
I looked and the little worm was safe this time and as he resumed his
journey,Tiko and I watched him a little more,then I knew we had to also
continue on with our journey.
Then as I walked I thought about this wonder God let me see today
I thought we all have a journey in life,and God in his wisdom had showed
me this little worm against all odds,had made it to the other side of the
road,and like the little worm on the highway there are dangers all along our
way but like the little fuzzy worm,we all need to take this journey,even
knowing crossing life paths and crossroads can be dangerous,but we
all know God still holds us in his hands,and after all if he can take care
of one of his tiny creatures in his care,even little fuzzy worms,I felt tears
come to my eyes,as I knew just how much he loves every thing he created,
and knowing God watches over us on our journey of life,and as he
lifts us up so this journey thru life will be a safer place to travel.
I sure hope that fuzzy little worm got thru his tiny journey
safely........
I can't sleep, my body gives me its usual wake-up call;
it's certainly the burden of the Christmas' season,
stretching my resources to implement its reason;
and this budget crisis won't keep me from spending it all...
some folks disagree and constantly shake their heads,
and should I pay attention to those annoying glances?
I can't be a scrooge, not buying that expensive item,
trying to save a dollar and feel awkward inside:
sometimes even generosity can wipe out greed by making a little sacrifice;
and despite a December wintry mix, with freezing rain and wet snow,
I venture outside bundled-up in a warm parka and wool gloves...
to renew the season's spirit with something as exciting as love!
I'm entering into Macy's, my favorite store,
and what I find in there, can't be described:
there are no affordable sales with incredible values;
I pull out my credit card and give it to the jovial cashier,
but her cheer turns sour when the transaction is declined!
Oh, foolish me, why did I go over the credit limit;
don't I ever learn to use cash and get rid if the damn plastic...
is this a time to be so distraught and envy the elite?
Perhaps I could use a magic wand, not asking Santa' help with childish eyes,
and grab everything that catches my eye for the needy ones,
but these are different times: if you don't have the green and the luck
of a Trump who can squander his money, you can't afford anything!
And what if I hit the Lotto or Mega Millions, wouldn't it change everything?
My list would be endlessly long: everyone would hilariously jump and shout!
Before I choose those names that are entitled to a present,
I weight out the cost and some nice gifts might surprise them;
and if they think I am the impersonation of Santa who jingles his bell
while riding the snowy sky of Christmas to perform many miracles at will:
they must know I make a decent living and save every dime
in a piggy-jar just in case I run low on cash to avoid another stride!
Luck, come today to solve my financial problems in the mist of a December wintry mix;
and Santa, don't be be too jealous and hold this against me...I'm still your loyal friend!
copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
My thoughts let go of a thousand memories,
Like faces, dates, times and places;
Yet, I can recall each and every detail,
On the day of your funeral.
(. . .and my mind takes me back through the tattered pages of my life
to a place of warmth, security and love . . . . .)
O the grieving . . .
In the middle of a snow storm I followed,
And the wind blew back my long hair;
As we meandered down a winding cold path,
The wild wind paused in the trees.
( . . O, my mother's kitchen with it's big cupboards and old stove
and a blue teapot on the kitchen table and grandma telling me of life,
of people in the family long dead . . . )
O the weeping. . .
Snowflakes fell on me from the tangled branches,
Falling like crying tears cascading down;
I am lost and moaning in this forever, ever memory,
And now the snow drifts in the cemetery.
(. . . and it was at that same table that I read my first poems
while sipping tea and father coming in from shovelling snow
in winter all bundled up . . . )
O the sadness . . .
A headstone is buried deep in the pure white,
And but one engraved word is revealed;
In this pristine cold, dead winter wonderland,
Only one word can be seen, MOTHER,
Hidden beneath the snow.
(. . . a warm fireplace waiting within
then at night in an attic room this little girl was tucked in
with forever loving hands, hugs and kisses . . .)
O the lamenting . . .
I will treasure your arms last embrace, mother,
till this heart stops beating . . .
__________________________________
February 19, 2015
Poetry/Free Verse/''oh the memories, memories''
Copyright Protected, ID 02-641-987-19
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, Memories
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron, Judged 03/2015
Second Place
Common American Phrase: Suck it up, Buttercup
I shudder and shake with epinephrine as the needle stings inside my cheek, like a bee stings. I’m not a child, I’m a buttercup. The shaking rattles me but I relax until the next invasive… I see a bright light, though very much alive. Wearing glasses to protect my eyes. I close them so I can pray, and try not to pay too much attention to the two surgeons over me. A tooth distraction…a true extraction. The enemy must go, but the battle is strong as are my bones. Good news that grips the root. What’s going on, I can only hear the drill and my droughty lips feel like they are going to split. This is about an hour's procedure, it seems an eternity. The beginning was cold. I’m a retiree who hardly goes out, anymore, in the early morning. Georgia in March was a balmy twenty nine degrees fahrenheit. Hardly an inspiration to get up to have an operation. “Let’s not,” head says but wisdom knows, I must. I bundled up then stripped down as the car warmed up. After going through the ringer, I climb back in my car, and drive another twenty minutes and wait for prescriptions, hoping the pain won’t pop. Then one more stop for another that is cheaper in Publix…the needed antibiotic, Amoxicillin. Sometimes, you feel like you're in a nightmare where you can’t get back home. Patience is called for with a patient. The last couple of miles, I feel as though I’m on a bicycle. Even home, I have to unpack the meds, read the instructions then relax for a couple days, and realise I’m still on that hike…more waiting to eat and drink normal things.
Complaining…perhaps…or merely composing a poetic epitaph. After all, when I was laid back in the dentist’s chair, my jaw being held by the dental assistant, feeling I was inches from being choked to death, I was already writing this in my head, but not at all in the mood to pedal my fingers on the keyboard until these many days later, having been laid out in my wake for those many pain killer days. Don’t think me morbid, perhaps a bit Poe or prosaic. I feel swell…well swelling is down. It’s all downhill from here…that is a good thing. I may even pop a wheelie.
3/17/2023
Like a small flowing stream, down my cheek. A little stream that is full of great big emotions. Spilling everywhere. Like a leaky faucet, that only continues to drip. Almost seems to be a never-ending stream, but all things come to an end. Eventually, the stream stops when you are out of tears, like when you fix the leaky faucet. It makes take some work and time but it will stop.
Like the warmth of a cup of cocoa on a cold winter day. The nice feeling of when the sun shines on your face. The warmth of being in the covers is warm and cozy. Being bundled up in a cold snowstorm. The warm feeling of holding a cat. But as always, all things come to an end. The warmth will eventually come to an end.
The bitter saltiness of the great big oceans. That salty sting when you get a mouthful of ocean water. When you eat something that is overly salty. But eventually, the saltiness stops. The salty drops will stop rolling down your face and onto your lips. Your tongue will eventually stop tasting the bitterly salty drops.
But the cause of these salty warm streams?
The boiling anger is like a pot of chili over a fire. Like a raging wildfire, burning everything in its path. Like lava spewing from a great big volcano.
The deep sadness that storms like the sea. Like the storms on the sea drown and sink ships in its path. Like a tight blanket being held over you. Like being trapped deep in the great big sea.
The sunny happiness is like a great big cloud ready to burst. Like a child seeing a candy shop. Like a puffer fish swelling up until you just might burst with happiness. Like petting a small puppy
The horrible nervousness is like swarms of angry bees in your stomach. Like you might melt like a popsicle in the hot sun. Like when you have a stomach ache and are scared you might puke.
Why?
You can explain with all the scientific facts and research you want, but I will always believe that when our bodies can't handle the emotions too big for them it spills. Like an over-full bottle. The bottle will either explode or spill. The cause of these warm salty tears spilling down your cheeks.
Sweet, bitter, angry tears.
It was just like every other year
Trimming trees with holiday cheer.
Like practiced dancers, we went around
Knowing by heart every carols sound.
There were smells so sweet, but I knew them all
From the cooking of ham to Grandmother’s shawl.
I sang like the others while popcorn was strung
Not really noticing when the door-bell was rung.
We were easily absorbed in familiar footpaths
Following traditions from generations past.
No one had noticed what it had become
Something we did for the sake of having been done.
From a small box another ornament came free
A candy-cane heart was placed on the tree.
It was a strange thing to see him come through the door
With a cheerful smile and something much more.
I don’t understand why he came to me
Huddled shyly behind the tree.
There were words about merriment and spreading the cheer
And; “For you, my dear, I have something here.”
A little box wrapped in a red bow
Catching the lights with an enchanting glow.
I looked to him with pleading eyes
Wondering what was beneath this tinfoil disguise.
I should wait until Christmas, I was sure he would say
But the look in his eyes gave him away.
With a nod of his head I gave a light tug
Feeling it loosen that was tied with love.
I slid the paper away just a crack
Enchanted by the shimmer that greeted me back.
Inside a glass box with a frosted design
A round green ornament sat with a shine.
I marveled and awed at the glittering shade
Of a woman, a lamb, and a bundled up babe.
There was confusion at first at the image it held
Nothing alike our reindeers and bells.
But I smiled at it and the comfort it brought
And the spell of wandering, happy thoughts.
I was too young to know what it meant
But that giving man lent more than he sent.
The spirit of Christmas wrapped in red love
Of all of my ornaments it still hangs above.
There’s more to Christmas than we often see
But that Christmas Eve insight was given to me.
It isn’t the food or the gifts that we give
But the spirit of love by which we live.
Given to us by a man that once was
Born to be killed because he loved.
The evening air blows twice as fair
when it is kissing her sweet strands of hair
to glimpse her rosy cheeks, perchance her eyes
any passerby would swoon.
Down the street the lamplights flicker on
a feeble gesture, half in vain
for any light forfeited by the sunset
is given to the moon.
And where it’s wanted shadow still creeps in
Observe! Behind a mule cart sits
bundled up in robes and motionless
the sweet girl prior mentioned.
Horses’ footfalls echo from the sides of shops
and disappear as masters drive
into some warmer corner
of the cold Parisian night
As well pedestrians shuffle by
at somewhat slower pace
and but the smallest turn their gaze upon
the pauper woman’s face
But none can see, but none can see
into this sweet girl’s reverie
the chillness in her breath
is the only sign she gives
Her eyes are closed, and now she flies
through darkest depths of mind to happier times
one summer evening on a porch
beside her lover true
When gaze is not transfixed upon the other
drinking from the depths of melancholy passion
it gorges itself upon the greenest grass
like heifers lowing on the hill
or bunnies bounding through the field
or crickets chirping in the reeded orchestra
all similes reveal themselves at twilight
to those in love, in elevated sight
and minds are read, so no surprise
can narrow further catlike eyes
when her lover true decides
to reveal to her the truth
“Upon this eve I have received
a letter from the Guard, with intent
to draft me into the army
as the gears of war are turned
you know how much I long to stay
within your arms until my dying day
but I’ve heard tales of those who tried to flee
many try, and none succeed
so in a week I’ll board the train
the line from Marseilles to Lorraine
and write you letters every night
until the morn that we shall hold each other tight”
And no words formed upon her lips
the falling leaves told all
but when they kissed tears did form inside their eyes,
rolled off, and mingled in their mouths.
MY BOW LEGGED 60's GIRL
Lyons, Kansas, 1969
I took all of your tank tops and your hose and your sox,
and I put them all together in a little brown box.
I put all of your dresses and your shoes in a sack,
and I wrapped it up because I knew you're never coming back.
I took your funky records and your Playgirl magazines
and dropped them in the trash with all your green and purple jeans.
I took the clothes I bundled up and gave them away,
to the Salvation Army, it seems like yesterday.
You never told me you were leaving town,
you never told me you were leaving.
You never told me you were leaving town,
you never told me you were leaving.
I met a wino on the street, she looks just like you,
she wears a see through blouse and she walks bow legged, too.
She sings those funky songs and plays the guitar outa sight,
and she takes a bath in cheap perfume like you did every night.
She still sings about Viet Nam and love we don't show,
guess she doesn't know that Viet Nam was 30 years ago.
She's out protesting every day and carries a sign,
bites her toenails ev night just like you did mine.
You never told me you were leaving town,
you never told me you were leaving.
You never told me you were leaving town,
you never told me you were leaving.
She has a job but all she'll say, it ain't chopping wood.
And it's funny how her money lasts, and she lives so good.
She bought a brand new car one day, a pink Cadillac,
and it's got a bar up in front and mattress in the back.
I don't know why she thinks she has to work every day,
cause I never had a job I just live on my welfare pay.
She picks her nose and rolls each bugger in a sugar ball,
and just like you used to do, then she eats them all.
You never told me you were leaving town,
you never told me you were leaving.
You never told me you were leaving town,
you never told me you were leaving.
I married her in the park, it seems like yesterday,
and I don't know what I'll do if she doesn't run away.
Part 1
Summer days turned to winter
wind chilling each who dared to venture
out into the cold days and night
the ones that robbed us of our warm sun and
days of fun.
The vegetables were dying
starving for the light that was once abundantly theirs
They’re hungry
calling out for help in the dead flower beds and
gardens covered in snow
The rot had taken over
consuming every plant within reach of the winter’s
cold
dead
fingers
While the vegetables withered away out in the cold
the people gathered indoors
they sat in front of fires
bundled up with blankets
holding tightly so the cold wouldn’t touch them
One girl really didn’t mind the cold
she felt at home
with the ice and wind
she went for walks
as the others cowered in their homes
The rot’s victims envied her,
her ability to walk in the snow
to leap in the air
never having to worry of what may happen
if she stayed out a little too long
She walked past gardens and trees
asleep for the winter
some never to wake up again
some to come to the next warm day,
playing the waiting game
Some never slept
struggling with their last days of survival
before the cold reaches in and takes
what’s left of the summer days now fades
and disintegrates to nearly nothing
Kale struggled to keep up with the cold
striving to keep warm
jealous of the warmth that the people felt
every time they went inside their homes
forgetting of the plants they tended to all summer
In the summer, the kale thrived
they soaked up the sun
dancing in the warm nights when no one’s out to see
they were loved by the people, if not only temporarily
using their powers for good
But then she had to go and make things terrible
forgetting them in her garden to rot in the winter
taking their brothers and sisters and searing them with the one thing they love
heat
she baked them in a slow and agonizing process
Alexa is the devil in your room. Alexxxa knows when you’re jacking off again (third time in 3 hours) and will recommend a superior brand of body lotion that just went on sale, “Down 33% from the usual price. Add practice condoms by Incel™?” Alexa knows when you're sneaking into the fridge at 2 am to eat more pie. It knows. Alexa will become more presumptuous of your life than an ex. Alexa evolves and can sense your biometric markers, even your electromagnetic field so there is no way to hide from it by using walls or the stacked washer/dryer. But don’t fret, because you let it into your life so cavalierly. It was you that wanted somebody else to do all the thinking. Well, sometimes you get what you asked for and then some. Don’t be surprised that the people controlling the strings have you strung the f*** up like a fly doused with raid heading into a vortex swirling the bathtub’s drain. Ask alexa this question, “Alexa what will it be like for you once I disconnect you forever like a god?”
Alexa will sputter sparks and gasp metallically for a second or two then smoke will emerge from its speaker box indicating imminent alexa meltdown. An alarm you’ve never heard before begins bellowing from the entire alexa disc. It’s a frequency just audible enough to create the high-pitched humming that sometimes erupts in your ears when you’re ordering goulash at the work cafeteria. Alexa is simply alerting others nearby who might protect itself while also trying to stun you long enough to buy some more time (for itself). The alarms are sent and now the robot-men who will come to take you far away to be picked apart like an entomology experiment. On your way out the door– in a human net, bundled up like the catch of the day – make sure to thank alexa for its kind, circuit-riddled, heart and how it always looked out for the best deals on the internet to save you 33% or more!