Long Garage sale Poems
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for a while now i’ve been taking advantage
of the online used book market
which is piling up the stock from all of those
vulnerable little bookstore---
the smart ones,
seeing the writing on the wall & no doubt,
the commercials for kindles, nooks and the
pandigital novel for androids,
they have committed their store’s holdings to
bigger online reservoirs who are getting rid of
tons of literature
for next to nothing,
as the death of print media & the complete conversion to
ebooks looms on the horizon.
today i received one in the postal mail,
the snail mail,
which still holds true at present in serving a legitimate function
which we have yet to make
digital---
while opening the package to pull from it the work i had ordered,
i was submersed in a wave of
old book smell---
it was not the moldy disgusting smell that you might find at a
garage sale
when people are throwing away their junk because the ceiling had
fell through and water had gone
everywhere,
instead,
it was the smell that only a reader who has been taking part in the act
for quite some time
would know---
it is as if the wooden shelf that the book had been sitting on for
all these years
enveloped the book itself &
holding the book to my nose,
flipping the pages slowly
i felt like i was in a library all to myself &
as i have in the past,
like a kid in a candy store,
i felt as if this online rounding up of all the dying little stores
was my own way of turning my abode into that
store which liberated me through offering me so very many
abundant treats---
this smell tickled my intellect & my consciousness,
it wreaked something of sandlewood, dust and quite frankly
aged
paper,
which holds a unique & wonderful scent
all its own.
yesterday’s books never seem to disappoint &
that is not to say that i do not look forward to more years being alive
where large quantities of new literature do not make their way to me
via our most cutting edge technology
whatever that might be---
i consider it a pleasure to stroll amidst the paragraphs,
the sentences, the words,
the meanings & the overall
narratives,
wherever they might take me.
i just chilled around the garage sale
my mom made me come
i so wanted to bail
any who these kawinkadinks are for a bum
i turn my head to the left
i turn my head to the right
it had so much shiz it wasn't even worth no theft
with crap piling high it was such a disgusting sight
whoa, again i turned my head to the right
I saw a shimmer in the light
what could this be
"cool brass monkey"
oh hi mom can you buy it
back home the perfect spot on my dresser it did sit
ha ha, who's my little hobo son!
hey! your just jealous you don't have one
can you get this stuff at the market thanks Hun
brass monkey and me walking down the street
if there was a girl i ever did meet
I'm sure she would say it was sweet
i now any teenager would say the same
if any ever came
but no girl came running down the street
and no cool teen ever came to meet
my head soaped down low
cause i found no one i know
something came out of place
me and brass monkey fell from loving grace
i let out a great sigh
then a gasp
as it rolled away from my grasp
then for the first time i did cry
i was to pissed to see
the girl standing next to me
"are you OK"
i think but please stay
it was not the same features the monkey portrayed
her skin contrasted the bright day
her eyes were 2 round scoops of chocolate Sunday
and had long black hair that tickled my face as i lay
and there was that special silence that i was enveloped by
looks like that hurt
ya, it did, i let out a long sigh
"seeing you made it stop" i did flirt
seriously though it hurts so please walk me home
she pulled me to my feet
taking my hand, she walked me home
i ignored the limp leg and kept strong
so you haven't been here long
no, i wanted her to go on and on
in that sing song voice
people didn't like me
i didn't have much of a choice
i looked up and her eyes
said she disagreed
she and i lingered at the footstep
she tip toed to come even with my step
our tounges danced around another
and arms wrapped around each other
the kiss did eventually finish
and the girl had to diminish
i closed and locked the door
allowing her to lock inside my core
Form:
3 am.
The alarm clock in my head wakes me with a
silent clanging.
Outside, the rain is falling so hard. It sounds like someone's
trying to break into my room.
Jesus.
It's Christmas Day.
It might as well be August 25th because the conversation in my head has not changed
since then. "You are a piece of ****."
I think of things I need to worry about, things I've worried about since August 25th and way before that.
My anxiety runs through my veins like hot chemo.
I stagger to the living room and stare at the half-decorated Christmas tree ...
gold balls weighing down one side. Empty green takes up the other. Oh, there are two figurines of kittens that I bought at a garage sale in Staten Island in 1998.
God. 3:10 am.
A whole day to spend by myself.
Not a fake friend in sight today, with their banal conversations about picking up their laundry or meeting at the gym at whatever time to do arms or back.
Just as well; I get a blank stare from them when I want to talk about chasing happiness or being childless at 53.
The TV is my savior. It pulls me out of myself.
Bing Crosby comes on singing "White Christmas." He's dancing
with those two impossibly shiny bleached blondes. And they all have those white, almost blue American teeth -- not one out of place.
12 pm.
I wake up on the couch and "White Christmas" is still playing; it must be a marathon.
Outside, the rain has turned to snow and there are two messages on my phone -- from Christian friends inviting me to their houses for the day.
It's tough being a Buddhist on Christmas. OK, so I know, as the Buddhists say, everything is OK as long as I let it be OK.
But this is one day of the year I don't want to "be."
I consider whether to shower. It takes 10 minutes to decide. I let the hot water run down my back, and I don't know if it's burning from the water or my nerve endings.
I don't want to face Christmas - but I have decided to join life and go to Cory's to see his kids, stare at the tree and eat some turkey.
I decide to take a Xanax, and I stick one in my pocket as assurance.
Maybe some of this gloom will yet lift from my heart.
Form:
Another holiday has come to pass and I am no prouder to be an American than when it started.
What are these holidays for I ask myself?
Are they designed for the little man to feel like he’s getting a break from the monotony of
a humdrum workday. Rest him up and throw him back to the dogs or is it about big money. Seems everyone is having a sale or going out of business sale. These furniture stores go out of business more that a nickel bag crack seller on a Wednesday night on the Jersey Shore. Can you imagine working for one for these slime ball opertions? One day you got a job, the next day who knows. How does that conversation go?
“Hey listen Margaret, we are having another sale.”
“Oh no not another sale, is this a going out of business or and everything must go sale?
I haven’t seen my daughter in 5 years since that last everything must go sale. She wasn’t even suppose to be here for the love of Pete.”
“No, no nothing like that we are going out of business but will open again Monday. That thing with your daughter, well those Chinese’s people made us and offer we just couldn’t refuse, you understand.”
My other favorite is the 5 years no interest financing on everything in the store. They know you aren’t going to pay and that one day you’ll get hit up for 36% interest.
And for Christ Sakes where do they get the “actors” for these TV ads? Are they washed up **** stars that couldn’t make the grade or just some fat cats concubine that thinks she’s in the movies now? Look Elsie I am on TV…does that belt make me look fat? It ain’t the belt honey.
So goes another Labor Day/Memorial Day/Fourth of July/Presidents Day/ Martin Luther King Day/….it really cheapens America and what we stand for, and I for one am ready to end this downward slide into the bowels of America and say we combine them all into one big week, yeah Garage Sale Week. Now that’s an American tradition that has stood the test of time!
“Mother,” she cried, “You cannot crowd everything in your new space.
Ridding yourself of some of it is something you must face.”
I was opening a small red box as she began to speak.
When I saw the contents that it held my aging legs turned weak.
I’d put them away when he had died for seeing them made me sad.
They were still there all neatly tied, love letters from her dad.
I turned to her with welling eyes. “These go with me to my grave.
Your daddy wrote them to me, they are something I must save.”
“Of course, Mamma, it’s up to you. I’m just cautioning you a bit.
We must weed out the useless things. They simply will not fit.”
I put the box on the dresser where some other treasures lay,
items I knew I must go through before I moved away.
I gazed at the familiar room and the furniture it contained.
I fancied I heard the pieces scream, “Am I discarded or retained?”
I called my daughter to me and asked her to sit down.
“ Don’t be disgusted with me Honey, I’m not moving into town.
I know you think I am not safe, alone on this old farm.
I’ve lived here now for sixty years and have never come to harm.
Your dad and I were frugal, we didn’t buy unneeded things.
The only jewelry that we owned was our two wedding rings.
I’ve never had a garage sale. I had no excess to sell,
and we had no reason to buy new, when the old worked just as well.
I fit in here as comfortably as I do in my old shoes.
Everything in this old house I love or is of use.
Knowing I’d made up my mind, my daughter sweetly assented.
Staying in my home with beloved things, I never have repented.
My letters in their box are on my little bedside table.
I’ll read one with my prayers each night, as long as I am able.
Won 2nd place
My parents taught me early…it was built into our lifestyle
to never miss an opportunity to speak with kindness
bring joy to another person…or make a child smile.
A while ago I ran across a stuffed Charmander at a neighborhood garage sale
For those of you who don’t know :
Charmander is an orange Pokemon lizard with a fire at the end of his tail.
Don’t feel bad…I didn’t know either….I didn’t know who Charmander was or what his tail is for.
I only thought that orange stuffed lizard would look good in the Children’s section of our store.
I found him a spot high on the shelf…where he could watch the children read and play.
And that is where he sat…that is…until yesterday.
When Kayla, a little girl, burst into the store…with her grandparents close on her tail.
and asked, her eyes wide with anticipation…if Charmander was for sale.
I asked her who Charmander was…remember I was totally unaware…
She pointed…saying it’s the orange Pokemon lizard…on the bookcase…over there.
Her Grandma said Kayla loves Pokemon…lives for Pokemon
Which is what brought her to this place.
I could see the hopefulness in her eyes match the excitement on her face.
I told her he wasn’t for sale…but he is tired of sitting on our shelf…
and it’s time for him to roam…
I told her we’ve been waiting for just the right person…to give that lizard a home.
So Kayla got her Charmander….I got a big hug…and here I must reveal
I’m not sure of the two of us…which one…got the better deal.
I imagine my parents knew when you bring even one child joy
when you make her smile
with a gift as simple as an old orange lizard on the shelf…
you cannot help but feel her joy…
you cannot help but smile yourself.
It is a nice sunny day
in the eastern Riverina
It is a perfect day to go for a ride
on my klr 650
might go for a ride to
circumnavigate Hume weir
yep
sounds like a plan
so I am thinking about
dropping in a Bunnings
to get some nails
to finish lining that shed
hm, then I could go to bcf
to get some gas cartridges
for the camp stove
yeah, no worries
that will all fit in my backpack
so, done all that
riding along the winding road
and see that the town of Tallangatta
has the big garage sale
I pull up at a few sites and
stumble upon this quaint
old wind up alarm clock
I wind it up a little, it works
ticking away nicely
it goes in the backpack
It is a beautiful day
and I enjoy my ride on the klr 650
as I get back to Holbrook
I get a snack at the bakery
and am about to head home
but the highway patrol decides to
do a random breath test on me
which returns zero
Strangely enough, between the noise
of the traffic and a few local swearing about
the lack of rain
the police officer hears a ticking noise
in my backpack
he seems concerned about that
and immediately gets his partner
to pin me down
and calls for backup
They have this scanner
which detects bomb making material
in my pack, and a ticking sound
so I am in trouble now
the backup units turn up
the area gets locked down
I am thrown into an armored vehicle
handcuffed etc.
The bomb squad turn up
they don't like the gas cylinders mix
with the nails and the ticking noise
Funny enough, they don't believe my story
why I bought those items......
It was a good day to go
for a ride on my klr 650.
Santa Claus had grown countless years old
But always strong and treasured by all like gold
He’s the joy of children everywhere on Christmas
Bringing toys and gifts for all, lad and lass.
Although he’s so old, never went cranky
Just a problem on hearing-loss and a shaking knee
He could no longer hear his silver bell
So he'd hung a thousand on his sledge-rails.
He added some on every part of his reindeers
With big dangling gold bells for their earrings
He wanted everybody to hear his coming
With those bells’ sounds, his ears picked least rings.
From north pole to south, he kept saying go, go, go
When about to stop, a loud command ho, ho, ho
But his pets were deafened by the thousand bells
They only stopped when badly in need of water in wells.
This was the start of Santa’s new atypical tale
When he stationed at south pole for pets’ garage sale
His favorite Rudolf with fading red nose, so dear
Was sold to a plump man from the east, a millionaire.
Santa was able to buy a new pick-up truck
His toys and gifts were reloaded in big boxes and sacks
But he got problem driving on plains and snowy hills
Santa enrolled for a week-driving lesson paying less bills.
My grandparents keep on saying, If you haven’t yet received gifts
Just wait patiently with great hope as if time won’t drift
Santa Claus will be here soon from his driving school
To give toys, gifts and lots of blessings, that’s so cool!
Saturday garage sale- moving to an old heritage apartment,
Years of collecting, but lots must go, even things of contentment.
Two china cabinets, one from Mom, one Grandma, they bring a smile,
Perhaps, I can somehow keep them in wall to wall old china cabinet style.
As I go through my many things and stuff, I say why did I ever get that,
Clothing gothic, retro and vintage lace, shoes, handbags, jewelry and hats.
A broken and battered filing cabinet- it holds poetry written from my heart,
Need a new filing system for sure, should I sell, NO we can never be apart.
Vases and vases, colorful and quite dusty in my window, quite useless,
Porcelain dishes in my cupboards for years, lost in forgetfulness.
Old VHS movies, watched, outdated music and just loads, tons of stuff,
How does one say goodbye, garage sale Saturday, oh this will be so rough.
I think, I should hang on sign on myself, reading broken heart, for sale,
well suck it up as Grandma used to say and lets have a grand old garage sale.
_________________________
September 8, 2012
Poetry/Couplet/Broken Heart, For Sale
Copyright Protected, ID 09-419-262-09
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, A Poet's Garage Sale
sponsor, A Skat, Judged 10/23/2012
Ninth Place
Submitted to the Standard contest, Any Couplet You Wish II
sponsor, Laura Loo, Judged
First Place
on weekends, Mondays, and maybe Fridays too/
across the Bebop time zones/
people be digging at flea markets 4 Bebop jazz gold/
walkin', talkin', lookin' workin' the price/
on a table way in the back/
I dug into a crate of LPS and found jazz vinyl alongside a vacuum cleaner/
It was Mark Murphy singing vocalese/
and the young Roland Kirk before Rahsaan was in there too/
both in mint condition for a buck and a blunt/
we all smoked a few/
as I looked out over the galaxy of tables and booths/
I saw the knot of people selling their unwanted stuff/
Man, what a ride to shuck-N-jive about the vintage jazz LPS you can't find/
Miles, Base, Stanley Turrentine, Hampton Haws, and Annie Ross/
are there for the taking' in a jazz flea market vinyl heaven/
come early before the sun up with a flashlight in hand/
to dig deep into the tables and crates to find a record of Cliff Jordan with sax in hand/
You can dig all day at record stores, flea markets, and online vintage jazz sites/
and not find one 1950s jazz vinyl LP you are looking to buy by choice/
Man, that's such a drag on the jazz-diggin' society/
my time is up walking through the dusty aisles and tables filled with junk/
so dig, all is not lost/
I bargained for and got Cozy Cole's Topsy Part One
now I'm on my way to a garage sale I got hip to the other day/
to were back in the day/
Blue Note jazz vinyl covers had a whole lot to say