Long Grouses Poems
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Ok, (taking a breath) Christmas.
Finals are over, it’s the Noel Holiday and the very air-pressure feels different.
My lanky bf, Peter and I have a small, three-foot, plastic green tree which stands proudly, like a cliff-jumper, on a coffee-side-table. It’s wrapped with enough multicolor fairy-lights to illuminate Times Square. It glitters, otherworldly, like the Carina Nebulae - where angels live.
It may be deliberately derivative, but I espouse joy this holiday - and general fun in the season.
Call me privileged, call yourself the same, and declare it a blessing.
Earlier this week
all I wanted was sleep
but once freed of academic cares,
I curse sleep’s thievish minutes.
Now that I can look around - Paris is merry and bright.
The Champs-Élysées axis is lit-up like Neverland and it’s used as a social runway.
There are cocktail evenings at the Ritz, Plaza Athénée, Le Meurice, George V, Crillon and Cheval Blanc - not a single “party” to book into, but an ecosystem of palaces crawling with ‘winter magic’ - code for quiet, exclusive, ‘famous people in the building energy’ soirées.
How do you get into these private, no-tourist, DM pass-only events?
You don’t.
Oh, you might read about them if you follow the Paris nightlife Insta accounts (Silencio, Raspoutine, Castel, etc.)
But I’ll get in, because I have François for two weeks to coordinate all my ‘Christmas wishes’ (lucky him) and though he grouses from time to time, “Anais, I’m NOT a magician,” he’s never let us down.
It works like this, I’ll DM François what I want, “We’ll need 4 all-access-passes for tomorrow night’s ‘Last Winter Tour’ (arena show) and voilà, it’s done.
Now Peter won’t go out every night, he has his own holiday ravishments planned
- but isn’t that what mornings and afternoons are for?
.
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A Christmas Playlist for this:
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_29.mp3
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François, one of my Grandmère’s conglomerate, executive-secretarial minions. He’s handsome, 28ish, a perfectly tailored, hipster with straight, blonde, fringe-hair and a Sorbonne Université DBA.
Yesterday tropical storm Isaias battered Lindenwood,
I saw people walk past those trees bent by a vicious wind;
they lost their umbrellas and their baseball caps:
they were warned to stay inside to avoid slips and falls.
This neighborhood is a sanctuary for starlings,
pigeons and little egrets who eat plenty of insects,
but dangerous winds and terrential rain made them flee;
they have returned this morning to greet their friend Ashlee.
Nobody likes a windy day that messes up their hair,
muggy air makes one sweat, only a cool breeze helps;
broken branches cover cars, lawns and sidewalks,
scared Billy still hides in the closet and it's not a bear.
I sympathize with the hummingbirds with their lively feathers,
and the spruce grouses with brown and black plumage;
I should also mention the yellow-breasted palm warblers...
these pretty birds are also found in thick forests as if in bondage.
The August rainstorm scared kids away from the nearby lake,
they watch the downpour and the gusts of wind flinging blows
to the wide window that steadly shakes and they ask if it's an earthquake;
their dad is very upset seeing the winter logs scattered on the littered grass.
Nature is not always kind, most times is cruel and merciless
and we feel its wrath as a punishment, but is it God doing this?
No, it's Mankind doing deforestation allowing floods and brutal storms;
no, it's the industrial chiminies that emit smoke that destroy our lungs.
She whines because her food needs salt.
A 2-year-old-child dies of leukemia while she is glaring at the waiter.
He grouses because the neighbor’s garbage is out two hours ahead of time.
He calls 911 to report this infraction, not caring that another person had an emergency.
A young mother is murdered in her home because she could not get through.
An elderly woman is yelling at her neighbor, because she thinks the woman looked at her flowers.
She is so mad, she walks in front of a bus when she leaves, traumatizing twenty-three children and a bus driver.
A mommy’s boyfriend gets upset because a baby will not quit crying. He tries to pawn it off on a neighbor.
She knows he is violent, but she has done more than her share, so she ignores his pleas.
The baby ends up shaken to death.
A sixty-two-year-old man begins pounding on a door to complain about the neighbor’s loud rap music.
The neighbor comes to the door, laughs, and slams the door in his face.
The sixty-two-year-old goes home and gets his loaded gun.
It is everyone’s problem.
Yours
Mine.
Everyone’s.
Let us fix this!
all automatic alligators arrive arrogantly
barely behave beautifully but brazenly
carousing with creepy cruddy crocodiles
desperately denying despicable wiles
effectively expediting expediency
forever forsaking fruit flies who flee
glaring at grazing gritty grouses
hijacking horrific herbivore’s handy houses
igniting ingenious iguanas in I-o-Way
jubilantly joining jerky jaguars along the way
kibitzing kinesthetic killers from Zion
lollygagging like lively luxurious mountain lions
marvelously marking multitude of mini monkeys
notoriously noting nefarious nodules of displease
ostentatiously opening overt outages in Oregon
providing panda putrid prey Paul just spit on
quarrelsome quicksand quail
rapidly reading registered mail
saying sassing sentences swiftly
turning terrific tarantulas toenails thickly
utilizing underwater undercurrents down under
verifying valid villans' voluptuous plunder
with wild willingness and witchy wonder
‘xacting ‘xactly ‘xtreme ‘xestentialism supreme
yelling youngster’s yips on front of the queen
zinging zealous zealots into zebras galore
end of this abcedarian poem, there is no more.
Shirley is in constant pain, but she does not take it out on anyone.
Only her closest friends know – the two closest friends.
She does not burden others with her ailment.
She is pleasant throughout the day, ignoring her pain.
She does not take pain pills because they knock her out.
She has a full-time job that she loves, so she keeps going.
Her co-workers would be startled to learn of her pain.
Her boss also has no idea.
Marvel is in constant pain. She is grouchy and mean.
To her family, her neighbors and people in the grocery store.
She snaps, complains and grouses most of her day.
She wants others to be as miserable as she is.
She cannot keep a job because of her choices.
She chooses to be nasty and mean.
She can be cruel.
She has no boss, and no friends.
Two women with the same ailment.
Handling it in their own unique way.
Just fresh out of one of our drinking bars,
I looked up to the sky and saw some stars,
Drunkenness whispered to me t'was midday,
Why will stars be on the sky that's that grey?
So I asked my friend who was as well drunk,
"Ol' boy! What's that in the sky, you drunk crunk?
He muttered what beer brewed into his head
"You fool! I'm not sure what it is." He said.
A guy, even more drunk than us, was near,
He told us as he was advised by beer,
"Oh! That's the early morning sun." He claimed.
We agreed! Why more than one sun was que*r.
We then went to our separate houses,
Night being morn', same tales to our spouses,
Only that beer made our sleeps lasted hours,
Woken up to empty pockets' grouses
I worry about the long silence,
why life does not reawaken
and instill in us the awaited hope?
Can distraught hearts beat again...
forgetting all the pain for an hour?
The sunless and dim morning
has stopped all the cheerful
warblings of the song sparrows
and of the marlins hiding,
fearing to become the next preys
of the hungry ravens that croak!
More sad hours will follow,
will harmony be restored to the dry
meadows awaiting rain?
That Chirpine planted by an Indian
farmer twenty years ago has fully grown;
it is rarely seen in a land
of oaks, of aspens, and of firs
that attracted the snowy owls,
the killdeers, the grouses, and the larks!
If there weren't any forests, where
would these beautiful birds go?
Where would we hear their songs
when nothing else thrills us...
imagine a forest without them!
I'm walking down narrow paths
that haven't seen a single raindrop fall,
and they only ones that complain
are the park rangers that ride
their horses down those dusty paths!
She says I’m so fun,
then claims that we’re done,
she says she hates me,
then wants my babies.
first she wants her man,
then says, “Go use your hand.”
She stares at my eves,
then says I’m full of lies.
The aggravation…
the resignation…
I think I’ve had enough
of her bipolar love.
Bipolar love.
She dreams of houses,
then only grouses,
wants to show me off,
then snaps, “Just get lost.”
One day she’s a dream,
and the next only screams,
How do I deal with that?
In love with only half...
The real confusion…
the sad delusions…
I think I’ve had enough,
of her bipolar love.
Bipolar love.
I want to love her,
and not be disturbed,
hope she gets well,
but half the time it’s hell.
It this allright?
Am I justified?
This is not her fault…
but drives me up the wall.
Mishmash of feelings…
it leaves me reeling…
I think I’ve had enough,
of her bipolar love.
Bipolar love.
When panthers prowl and lions stalk,
the lone wolves howl and parrots talk.
The bee hives hum and wild boars snort;
the grouses drum; the deer cavort.
And as geese cackle, small hares peek.
They see a jackal, squeal and squeak!
Near streams are snipes where hoot owls hoot.
A nightingale pipes sound of flute.
Frogs croak and play as pigeons moan,
and rhinos bray through beetles’ drone.
Snakes hiss, and apes start gibbering;
no beast escapes this daily fling!
In this clatter, swallows twitter,
magpies chatter; every critter
can join in. Hyenas laugh
while in the din, each tall giraffe
begin to bleat. What reverie
of primal beat - this jamboree!
July 2, 2020 for Brian Strand's
Strand Completely New(4)Any Theme Any Form Poetry Contest
But pah; I don't think she's the woman you think you married..
She called you a blaggard, she stood in sunday church and spoke
you as a scondrel and satan: mentioning your lack of concern for her.
She bragged about finding it funny that your horse went missing
durning the same time the Merchants son came around with Beef
for sale, He gave it to us for free as i fecked him several times in the
saball."Gobe" he spoke of mi husband and became offended
and fecked his brother in spite. After I became pregant I came back
to mi Hubby to trick him into a night of romping and a good feck..
I'll make mi decision on staying when the little one is born. She told
the on listeners to pray for her as she had fallen of the wagon and got knocked up
in spite of her Hubby. He is in the running for who the Father is"
"Pray for me Ya'll!"
Durning the service
she stood again anwsering what was the difference between a Dog and a Dug.
"She anwsered a Dog is a companion a Dug is a person working near or in a hole
that uses his assitance to convey his needs as he works in the hole or tunnel"
The poreacher asked her to use the words both in a sentence and she did.
Well she said, I was lonley so I patted the dog on the back and took him out on a leash for a walk.
And Dug: she said whill digging the outhouse hole I stood by my man in case he need help if the hole collapes. I was his dug and was proud of it!. That was Feol Chapail we had for dinner? Naw Pah it was horsemeat!