Long Hot water in Poems
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Irma 9/9/2017
By Franklin Price
Since my last inscription
Irma's moved on quite a lot
Today's the day she's moving north
To show us what she's got
She now is over Cuba
Deciding what to do
With her eye on lower Florida
She's coming after you
She's been to many islands
Destroyed them one and more
Hit them with her Cat 5 winds
Deaths are moving towards a score
Soon she's departing Cuba
Moving up across the keys
To tear up lots of buildings
And blow down many trees
With winds around 150
she's a category 4
Hot water in the Florida Straits
May make her five once more
She has no feeling for you
If you're there, please hunker down
If you're ordered to evacuate
You best get out of town
Don't risk your lives and families
By keeping them in place
Irma's out to get you
To destroy your home and base.
Things are not worth dying for
Not worth the thought to stay
May not be here tomorrow
For not leaving home today
I pray for all Floridians
Who are waiting for the beast
We still don't know direction
She could be moving West or East
2
total fiction
I heard the words repeated on the news
so sick of them that my mind rebelled...
"Doge's plan and Trump commands
the Constitution should be banned.
Hell to that Chief! There's no relief
Breaking news only heightened the blues.
I don't want to hear anymore.
By seven P.M. I lost count of the trips
I'd made, walking fast, past my kitchen,
refusing to turn on the light to see
a day's worth of dirty dishes
that wish I'd make them sparkling clean.
They're staring with a look of contempt at me.
I knew what I'd find...
coffee grinds stuck to the filter
Raisin bran flakes
caked along the edge of a bowl
a saucer with a bunch of crusts
cut off of a sandwich from lunch.
I'll get to them later....
The excuse I used on myself
when the sink is a refuse of clutter.
I've become a recluse
and no one will see them anyway
and the old cliché of...
Tomorrow's another day.
By eight thirty I was bored
a time when food comes to mind
Hunger would not be ignored
A frozen dinner of mac and cheese
"Geeze" said my stomach
when it saw it coming...
"Oh PLEASE, don't do this to me"
Ok, ok...
chocolate ice cream
sounds better anyway
By ten, guilt pointed accusing fingers
lingering and wagging before my face.
Stop it!" I actually said aloud
"I'll get to them later,
first thing in the morning. You'll see."
My new mantra was repeated.
I decided to go to bed. My usual stunt,
but culpability was on the hunt
haunting and taunting inside my head
Two steps over the kitchen threshold
and my conscience took control
when I smelled the leftover fish.
The thought of facing each greasy dish
would not be on my to-do list come morning.
I knew my mouth was puckered in a pout
No doubt my yawns were angry at me
and my sudden notion of conviction...
a vow of benediction, it seems I'd taken
awakened me to the need for sanitation.
Liquid was pouring from two spouts
Hot water in the sink
and a 'clink' of glass on glass
Pinot Noir flowed from a decanter
I raised my stem and toasted the dishes
"Here's to wishes that don't come true."
In the deep bowels of winter
coldness shocks the system
all fauna and floral devoid
of any warmth to survive
in deep freeze weather
Cold allows nothing to melt
throwing hot water in air
will turn it into air crystals
before hitting the ground
In the deep bowels of winter.
Your breath becomes short
In the bowels of winter
and nostrils feel pinched
cheeks have a rosy glow
frostbite looms in a minute or so.
Sounds of footsteps crunch
upon the white frozen snow
you seek warmth instead of frostbite
in the bowels of winter
you have nowhere to go.
Dreaming of spring
white beaches in the sand
in the bowels of winter
thoughts of warmth
are always on the mind.
Jordholmen’s public bath
Back in the days of yore, few people had a shower unit they might have had bathtub that was used once a week when the whole family bathed and the loser was the dad usually with daughters by then the water in the tank was tepid
I friend of mine told of a public bathhouse, near the docks, where one could have shower in cubicle, get a towel and a bar of soap
We ran never walked back then to the bath house called Jordholmen, I didn’t have money for cuibcle, but the lady said I could share a shower with my friend, but she only gave us on towel and one bar of soap; well as a capitalist his used the towel first, but that is nothing new
I came quite attached to this bath house, it was a great change to have wash in a bucket of warm water in the living room by the fire, or in the kitchen in the days of May; we have lost hot water in our house in Cascais, my wife despairs for me it is like the old days warming water cleaning bits and pieces in front of the fire
Future Dreams
The hot water in the teapot
is boiling and the kettle whistling loudly.
It seems to have gotten hot, very quickly,
as if time was speeding up,
and not slowing down,
or allowing for those that can not run
to walk faster.
This morning the sun itself...
seems on a mission to reach
its zenith in the sky,
but one has to wonder why?
The birds outside are fewer than yesterday,
the storm having taken some south.
They will come back when the winds drop,
or they will die trying to reach home.
It is what they do,
it is what we all do,
in an effort to be made whole.
The shadows are longer in the shade
and the sun is hotter in the open,
than it has been felt in a hundred years.
By afternoon, the clouds will return
with a vengeance to pour upon the land
which can not hold the precious liquid anymore.
Instead, it simply runs down the sides of the mountains,
through fresh steams and rivers newly formed.
It rushes by homes that were once safe, and dry.
Now the land itself repels, and denies.
This season will lead into the next,
but diminished in capacity and ill-prepared.
We are worn out from the fights
we have already lived through,
but the war is far from over.
Bow, kneel, and pray for a better day,
in some way to bypass this one for the next,
without losing our train of thought
or reflecting that we are small,
and only He is tall.