Long Residences Poems
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When urinating into the toilet bowl...
yours truly (me) could not help but notice
while living social at various residences
within Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
the following described phenomena
actually observed quite some time ago
maybe back during
my carefree boyhood days of yore
that the uncontrollable spurt
analogous to a golden arch
of micturition arcing
toward parts unknown
(frequently missing the target altogether,
and wetting the seat
subsequently displeasing the next person
more often than not the missus,
who sits upon wet porcelain goddess)
initially issuing from out
my diminutive male member,
(even when fully erect,
no longer than
a small walking stick
for a lucky leprechaun),
when said jet stream
makes splashy contact
affecting fountainhead into pissoir,
whereby a bathroom
tchotchke of Atlas shrugged,
which non verbal reaction spoke volumes,
the direction water got flushed within potty
subsequently clearly described
a clockwise pattern
whooshing within the labyrinth
eventually getting routed
to wastewater treatment plant
at least here within the bowels
of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania.
Actually even after flushing,
or using the sink to wash hands,
the water also drained
mimicking rotation of second
or minute hands of analog time pieces.
After finding myself
flush with excitement
presuming I discovered
some great earth shaking revelation,
a Google search quickly
and immediately chastened
premature ejaculation of excitement
that yours truly stumbled
upon magnificent phenomena
and matter of factly explained
the direction a toilet flushes,
whether clockwise or counterclockwise,
primarily determined
by the design of the toilet bowl
and the water jet's direction,
not by the Earth's rotation
(Coriolis force), which often mistakenly
believed to be the cause;
meaning the flush direction
can vary even within the same hemisphere
due to different toilet designs,
not necessarily consistent
with the "clockwise
in the Northern Hemisphere" myth.
Thankfully wife as helpmate available,
when yours truly feels unswell
her tender loving care can spell
relief afflicted which she can hopefully quell
but spouse of mine, he doth not aim to oversell
nevertheless counterpart valued
as once me Matty Mattel
prized boyhood toy unfailingly and unstintingly
reflected, mirrored and kickstarted mood to kvell
and encapsulate impossible mission,
thus now grown lad with sincerity does impel
to communicate how thoughts gel
regarding how the missus tries to expel
his physical displeasure
while sequestered within B44 prison cell
as dark shadows creep along the edge of night
surreal as ghosts made manifest
courtesy fratricidal brothers Cain and Abel.
The charming primary physician
at Patients Matter Always (Doctor York Yang)
prescribed Amoxicillin 500 MG Capsules
one capsule three times a day.
Two days since visit with
aforementioned medical practitioner I went
and thus far, no reduction
to swallow without great strain,
hence crafting reasonable rhyme I vent,
which lame endeavor
marginally alleviates torment
rendering swallowing painful
despite depending
on above pharmacological medicine
synthesized courtesy countless
top notch star students
upon landing dream job
able, ready and willing to pay rent
at pricey residences
with regal names such as Kent
Village Apartments, Kent Place Residences,
versus drab Highland Manor
which costs me one hundred ninety red cent
every month, no doubt a bargain
yet absent amenities
most every tenant here would assent.
Although prone to experiencing chills
still slight drawback extra frills
case in point on site medic clinic
would be grand for folks
long in the tooth
regarding being old, yet over the hills
and far away Teletubbies come to play
attempting to draw out child within
once garden variety Jacks and Jills
unfortunately many youngster
plucked by steel mills
decades later in their dotage
heavily rely on magic potions and pills
to facilitate basic ambulatory skills.
I steal everyone’s ideas
It is not like I do not have my own,
But the others are so much more interesting
As they are new
I have always been
A changeling
I change my residences, my clothes, my jewelry,
My taste in books, my interests, so that I can
Live in a new world.
I live in a new world most of the time.
Because I get bored rather fast.
When I am on a kick, I am
On that kick fast and furiously
But when it is over, it
Is truly
Over.
Every day I think is this my
Last poem? Is this the last time I
Will write anything? The day will come,
And when it does, I will simply stop.
Fade into the sun, disappear.
But ah,
My poems will still be there.
This is why I write.
Born of Spiritual Spasm
We can travel mindfully as with source light,
We can project our sullen spirits outward,
To a timeless harbinger, born of spiritual spasm,
Left invisibly on the shiny star of suburban Formica,
And now we are flying through the pull of the maelstrom,
Traversing cosmically toward a bristling bicuspid,
The standard source,
The standard ending point,
Where tired eyes find solace in the lateral moonlight,
Where trusted voices lend understanding in the sinewy shadows,
Asleep now as the Colorado dead,
Sleeping and sunken now in their timeless tombs,
Alive as the everlasting sleep, this girly sleep,
As it lurches like a ghost gazelle into the soft entrances,
Lunging and leaping into the dark, abandoned residences,
Coldly forgotten amidst the green serpentine vines,
We can sense the emerging timeless harbingers,
We can recognize the unending, standard sources,
Of the bristling bicuspids buried with the Colorado dead,
Sleeping and sunken now in the lateral moonlight.
These are photographs of my village
Taken over a hundred years ago
The streets look just the same
As those I used to know
When Fifty or more years later
That village was my family home
And i wandered them as a child
With streets and fields to roam.
They show a part of my family
Each stood by their front door
On the little row of cottages
That isn’t there any more.
Condemned, demolished, erased,
New dwelling replacing the old
Some not yet quite finished
But each one already sold.
Large, desirable modern residences
Where once workers’ homes had stood
The village of my childhood changed
But not necessarily for the good.
None of those posing for photographers
Could afford to live here these days
Once working village dormitories now
As they have adjusted to modern ways.
One farm worker can do the work of ten
So you don’t need the labourer in the field
And modern mobility means most villages
Are full of commuters or the retired well heeled.
The orchards, allotments, garden meadows
That lined nearly every road and street
Have identikit brick dwellings built on
Grass destroying foundation concrete .
Sometimes, unrecognised, i visit my past
Still enough unchanged to make it hard
To accept these days my family presence
Is restricted to graves in the old churchyard.
Maybe it’s my imagination at work
But it seems to me a peculiar thing
As i wander those known streets again
I no longer hear so many birds sing.
The green mesh covering the roof of the auditorium
Above it were the turbines for ventilation
On that mesh was a colony of pigeons
That's how I remember my school.
Often unnoticed, these pigeons pick their own residences nearby high raise buildings
It all changed when one of them lay dead with its head cut off in our corridor
Did it fly too close to the turbine, did its head get stuck between the mesh strings or did the birds just have a fight?
Unbothered, the crowd just went on ahead and the flock didn't bother a demise among them.
You see from our perspective they merely fly by, nest on a building and often are aggressive with other species
We never remember how our very messenger went unheard.
Loyalty doesn't just lie among horses and dogs, pigeons have played a role too. But just like love letters and humility in men, the relationship between us n the pigeons drifted
Although we forgot the importance of a messenger and the wait for a relieving letter, the pigeons haven't forgotten their potential. It didn't lie in serving us, it was in the flight to the stars, soaring high above clouds and coming right back onto the arms of its human friend. Now the pigeons and humans share a confusing bond. Their pact was so powerful that all attempts to get rid of it have resulted in failure. So we shall try meshing up our windows and they shall try nesting on a better roof but once a while we shall both look into each other's eyes and reminisce the ways we helped each other and wonder how we never disconnected from an everlasting bond.
The middle class here can't be saved
When 0.001% act so depraved
Their wealth without end
These royals* still pretend
Did not come from us—their
enslaved**
*The Royals: CEOs, Banksters, Revolving Door Regulators, The FED, Congressmen for sale, Lobbyists, Board Members of Big Corporations, Major Shareholders who vote for these Board
Members, Corrupt Managers, Dishonest Used Car Salesmen, Presidential Candidates with more than two Residences, Elected Presidents (and their lackeys who pretend to regulate but look the other way)
**The Enslaved: Workers, Career Regulators who are trying to protect the public, Honest Hard Working Citizens, Students--some with oppressive loans, Immigrants, Soldiers, Police, Firemen and Firewomen, Parents, Children, Orphans, Disabled, The Sick, Small Business Owners (who don’t hire lobbyists), Volunteers, Health Care Workers, Welfare Recipients, Inventors, Investors, Entrepreneurs, Actors, Artists, Journalists who do in-depth investigation (not like those with FOX News, ABC Radio or many other of the outlets where they mouth the status quo), Non Profit Corporations, Charities, Teachers, Transportation Workers, Waiters and Waitresses, Dishwashers, Servants, Farmers, Managers, Ship Hands, Cooks, Unemployed
Author' s Note: Have been at Occupy Wall Street 8 days in the past two months--which is why I haven't been here--plus I have to work. Miss you all, but it's for a good cause. I am very briefly seen on Conan's feature: Triumph the Insult Comic Dog at Occupy Wall Street if you are looking for some humor with a little umph.
Case in point comprises emotional state of euphoria
would deafeningly, definitely, deliciously get
frenziedly expelled from stadium. Roe ting for
“our boys” packing every last seat in the bleachers
all manner of humankind would (during lulls)
Instagram, Kindle, Messenger, Outlook, Quicken,
Snapchat, Twitter. Santander, Verizon,Wells Fargo
might be sponsors for major competitive challenge.
Zero tolerance imposes winning at all costs versus
grievous miserable rapacious violent yawping
linkedin loss outcome of sporting events. Under
stand able home team owns an advantage (true
for rival players on their turf) predicated on avid
loyal fans boosting morale from family members,
friends, neighbors, et cetera. The ear splitting
roaring cheering hoopla emanating from spectators
(housed in relatively close proximity to handsomely
paid putting Pontius Pilate and bad ass Brutus brutes
rolled into one mean human fighting machine.
This previous comment meant as an honorable
kickstarter, hyperbolic endearment. My humblest apology
if said statement misinterpreted as a NON off fence sieve
strong moderate slight against any creed, race, religion,
et cetera. I merely sought an analogously effective
impact asper these hypothetical Popeye muscle
bulging arms length professional athletes plush residences
lodged in general metropolitan area to rubber baby
buggy bumper screaming banshee spectators. A
winning score affiliated with bruising, cutthroat,
dynamo...fierce-some giant, heaving, indomitably
jinxed, “killer” macho no nonsense, outlandish packed
quintessentially robust searing troopers translates
into utter screaming, quaking outrageous merciless
krazy individuals generating ecstatic cacophony
Memories can become blurry, over time,
like underdeveloped photographs,
or incomplete, like sunlight through blinds.
Our lives move ever forward,
like the inflexible patterns of stars.
Once fevered and immediate events
recede, with frightening, doppler effect,
as remembered yesterdays,
become forgotten yesterdays.
New Haven was abuzz. The hotels were booked and moving trucks had taken every free parking space for miles. Last Sunday was freshmen move-in day and 1,554 freshmen moved into their Yale residences. It’s one of our favorite days of the year. The hubbub of freshmen moving, lunching, shopping and later, seeing off their departing parents, created a delicious emotional chaos that we watched unfold, like a Greek chorus.
The movie ‘Love Actually’ begins and ends with montages of people greeting friends, family and loved ones at Heathrow airport - it’s emotional and heartwarming. Move-in days are a lot like that - with their gordian knots of beginnings and endings. My parents were nervous and emotional on my freshman move-in day - as was I - but we all tried, desperately, not to show it.
Welcome to New Haven freshmen, everything’s beautiful, but you’ll get too busy to enjoy it much.
We upperclassmen move in tomorrow.
THE CHENNAI FLOODS - FIRST PART
Firstly the rains came calling cool
It instantly brought hope and happiness
For people relished the Celsius dip down
And hoped for reservoirs to fill to lips
But pretty soon the horrific floods followed
As it rained cats and dogs, days on end
As monsoon turned to a tormentor possessed
And led many to many a sleepless night
The inevitable pain came calling chill and fast
As roads and streets were ravaged entirely
And excess water submerged ponds and land
As waterways and drains could pass no more
The serious threat meandered in with a roar
With intense rains adding to the fury and more
Amidst storm, lightning, thunder on crescendo
Emanating from deep depressions in the Bay
Then fear and scare all showed up all night
As water inundated fields and farms alike
And entered into houses and dwelling units
Causing widespread loss to assets and life
The floods slithered in surely winding its way
Uprooting trees and destructing everywhere
Cattle, dogs and pets perished soon, unsung
With hapless people of all ages, in a gloom
The engulfing darkness brought chaos, for
Gloomy conditions only worsened soon
With nothing in sight; except rising waters
Seething snakes and reptiles added blues
Trauma and melancholy, magnified manifold
As waters chill, ran amuck human household
Swirling in; bringing great despair, in Cities too
Nightmare everywhere; yet nowhere to go;
The disaster itself was a Broadway show
As city and residences became a water-show
And in no time all hell had broken loose;
Making waterways of rail and road ways too
The big losses came quick and fast
As households washed off in a gaffe
And apartments and cars submerged
With basements becoming watery graves
Overnight and instantly everything was lost
Furniture, valuables, utensils and garments,
Refrigerators, kitchenware, other gadgets too
Gold, silver, cash and documents; phones too
And then it was the death that reared its head,
As people drowned and went missing cold
Pitch darkness engulfing the misery in whole
People breathed their last; their grief untold
........ Continued in Second Part