Long Interrupting Poems
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One relative commanders every family meal
regaling us with stories we have heard
Six thousand times already.
They might have been interesting or funny at one time.
I do not remember that time.
Do we have to invite him? I ask people.
They are shocked. I am the bad one now.
Great Uncle Dozer never pauses for a drink or a bite.
He gobbles his food quickly,
So he can do all of the talking.
The rest of us are too socialized to try to butt in
After the thousandth try.
When he finally takes a breath
We all start talking at once,
Rudely and impolitely interrupting each other.
When we try to do that to him, he just gets louder.
This may be his last Christmas the grown-ups say,
Let’s be charitable. Let’s listen to him one more time.
Uncle Dozer is one hundred and six years old.
Not looking forward to Thanksgiving.
My New Year's Resolution for sure is to not swear any more.
Dhramn it!
Oops.
My New New Year's Resolution is to listen without interrupting.
Here is my husband now. I will practice on him.
"Honey, do you want to...."
"No!"
"What about...."
I shake my head softly. I do not even know what it is.
Uh-oh. I messed up that one.
On to bigger and better New Year's Resolutions now.
My New New New Year Resolution is to not hold grudges.
Except against my cousin.
No, not even against her.
Deep breathing now while I decide if I can do this one.
Yes, I can. I am more mature this year. I am older.
And my other
New New New New Year's Resolution is to answer my phone
Brrring.
Not this time though.
I do not recognize the number.
Brrrring
Or that one.
Brrrring
I do recognize that one, but we are not speaking because
I am holding a grudge.
`
Slandered wavelengths
from an old worn out speaker
cracking with each unbalanced bass note
Finding my brain on overload
and a slower heart beat
out of tune
Static becomes the union,
tuning dial gone, volume at high
glowing in the corner of cobweb melodies
lingering on a distant shelf
now sinking lower in this
roadside armchair (Where are the earplugs when you need them)
An empty bottled fortress
protects the pain at my feet,
brown glass soldiers stand guard,
bottle cap mementos flip
like dancing beans on a folding table
at El Mercado
One more for the road
(like I need this)
along crooked dotted lines, weaving nonsense
two at a time, smirking
snickering like children hiding from a babysitter,
mimicking the way
Still the static, white noise,
drowns out the joy and the trees cry,
when birdsong of night haunts with a sound
interrupting the dance of the
beer bottle chorus line
and I tap a painful toe
Clusters of refugee bubbles
Expelled from the side of my tank
Rise expanding in upward travels
Escaped depths, burst at surface
Forging against their vigour
Persuasive stream broken
by my bulky silver body
Interrupting incoming ongoing
Enthusiastic thousands
Spurts of filter flung hum
Tickle my sheer cycling fins
Tell me to nose dive again
Breaking trails of oxygen globes
Until Billy Bully Salmon slices in
Languid flicks follow frantic fro
Gyrating spotty specimen vie
Lunch pellet plops induce swished thrashing
Tumult on top flung untimed as ocean fury
Gaping lips capable of feeding incidentally
Cylindrical home groans, crowded by peers
Graduates from Tank Eight are due soon
To meet with intention, purpose imposed
Sight of orange net scooping candidates
Occasions mayhem, frenzied to catch bus
I surge with the fastest, fattest prime
For my place in net destiny
Overexposed oxygen exhausts me
Begins cressendo to deliver my bounty
Dry eyed tribute to nurtured practice honed
My splatting undulations
boast industry success
Cod calls me to lemon rained plate haven
Farmed fellows raised by deliberation
Egg nursery, microscopic sluge whirls
Infuse infant entire crew with dedication
To feed, to fulfil, crisp silver skin served
If you think eating me equals ocean depletion
You'll be pleased to imbibe controlled science
Take it from me, fat salmon, Raymond
I am desperate to get in your gut!
My reason for existence is to be ravished
Don't reject majestic fish - re-examine
The pearly peach flesh down throat glide
Indulge charitable fridge wrapped salmon
I am in exam hall,
Deep silence followed by a wake up call.
Yes this is exam hall,
Where discipline prevails and is placed above all.
Some write with harmony and fluency,
Few try inspite of their ignorance and deficiency.
A very few repeatedly stares at the moving clock,
To check the momentum of their good luck.
The contact with the clock was short and temporary,
A command from behind was interrupting but necessary.
Now it is time for final reminder to all the participants,
Where all have to submit their paper as a mark of commitment.
Copies are submitted with the closing bell at the end.
The examinees left the exam hall to leave it in pure silence.
Keep silent before Me, O islands and let the people renew their strength
Let them come near; then let them speak; let us come near together
To judgement. Isaiah ch 41 verse 1
March the 13th 1996, I was driving along, thinking of how some people were affected by traumatic events in childhood and how some overcame setbacks to become role models/leaders even, the thought made me 'feel hope' this was after years of denial, that there was a satanic influence in everyday life yet now I was facing.and considering the idea that such events could be of satanic motivation in order to stunt or even deny 'the world' of helpful statesmen/women & role models.'
Very shortly maybe seconds after,this very thought; the radio station I was tuned to announced they were interrupting the schedule to breaking news of a terrible shooting at the
town of Dunblane, in the primary school, as more details emerged I pulled over and although stunned
and dismayed, I was hearing the way this was being viewed in a sanitized way, a matter of fact thing, just a madman.' I punched the dash tears were in my eyes, I felt an evilness I could almost taste, pulling my thoughts together I realised if I believed that which I was thinking on moments before the news flash, I must pray against this act, and as well as praying for all there, I wanted the Lord to bring all the children being
brutalised here, through this, and those who were destined for greatness to reach their potential.' I knew this was why? a relatively 'obscure school' rather than a prestigious one was attacked.. My thought was 'who' was in there that was the specific target.'
I prayed intensively & above all; for that child,
"Order, Order, All rise"
The voice echoes like an aftermath;
Bringing a chill to the Atmosphere.
As the highest in authority infiltrates the inhabited chambers.
to the commoner, I am known simply as Magistrate or Judge;
To the elite, Adjudicator, Expert Connoisseur.
All walks of life situate themselves before me with one thing customary ILLEGALITY!!!
With the aid of my two abettor solicitors, whom have rehearsed their part in this cavort.
One to vindicate the appellant,
The other to arraign arbitration without plausible dilemmas.
listening to the monotonous rigmarole, on and on and on,
Mutter, mutter, mutter:
The thrill of just banging the hammer, interrupting the nattering and shouting:
" LIFE IN BONDAGE, OR TO THE GALLOWS OR HANG HIM TILL HIS DEAD!"
Appeals to my better nature.
For I see it, who so ever stands before me should suffer maximum punishment;
Be he innocent or guilty, he should not have got caught.
But, alas, the cat has to give the mouse a sporting chance,
Then I will make my judgement swift and quick.......
There are rules to minds
that we may not be aware we set
Yet we also choose for processes to exist
that we forget, interrupting these values of gratitude
through stages in which we reflect
through forms of reasoning;
for the ears and tongues of my laymen:
emotions guide you to what you want;
depression, anxiety, reoccurring traumas
bear sensibility when any of those feelings
lead you to help.
Nothing will make sense
without taking whichever steps are needed
to leave this hell.
It makes sense, making choices
based off of feelings that have always taken you
to where you believe you should be taken.
This does not create an inherent price
for your judgment to come back
with fairness as a cost.
It's only a metaphorical transaction.
As much as the feeling of horror
may overcome a person,
the same strength of that feeling
can be mimicked by any of our emotions.
Why could it not?
If something can traumatize,
something can heal;
It doesn’t always rain,
I've seen beautiful weather at funerals.
I can't live in mystery
I'm waiting with bated breath
Where and when I'll stand or fall --
The hour of my death --
The facts of life are meaningless
There is no moral code
There may or may not be another side
Til then, get outta the road
Go ahead
Explain it away
I can't take the riddles
Quit knocking on my door
Stop advertising free advice
It isn't what I came here for
S'posed to write an indispensable memoir
An illegible tome of shame
People keep on interrupting
Tomorrow, it'll be the same
The same old scrutinizing
The same old sphere of doubt
Some miracles are worth baptising
But they're the kind we tend to throw out
Explain it all away --
Tear the cathedral down
We're pining for something long since gone
You can sense it just by
Sense it just by
Sense it just by looking around
Go 'head,
Explain it away.
You trickle through my mind like a meandering stream.
You infiltrate my normality and drip, drip, drip annoyingly
into my totality like a tap in need of a washer.
Thoughts of you tug at my nuerological pathways,
butting in, interrupting constantly throughout the day.
Flashes of your words perforate mine - I say what you would say.
Yet I don't really know you - you were a glimpse,
a spectre phantom ghost:- when I turned to look you'd gone
and I'm plunged headlong, on free-fall into confusion.
My mind buzzes, frenzied with manic thoughts of you.
You are seeping, creeping like a pool of molten lava
down the mountainous pathway that is my reality.
I retrace my steps half-hoping that I'll find you
but scared in case I do. Looking with semi-blinkered eyes
into crowds of milling strangers, perhaps they're looking too
for a glorious illusion, an escape from the mundane.
I walk, I run through crowded streets, see shops of discontent,
I find vendors selling fantasy, and there you are again.