Long Slouched Poems
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Murk Rammer froze as he felt the nuzzle
of a snub-nosed thirty-eight’s deadly muzzle.
Louis The Retch poked it into his back.
“The jig’s up, Rammer. I ain’t cuttin’ no slack.”
Murk had been tricked by a double-crossing dame,
alias “Frigitte,” he didn’t know her real name.
She’d been his undoing, that cute little louse,
undoing the buttons on her bulging blouse,
then slipping out of her slip and her hose,
and her holster too; yeah, she had one of those.
He’d fallen for Frigitte, completely deluded.
She’d come on strong, delightfully denuded.
She’d kissed him hard and let him get a good grab,
but when he dozed off she skipped out and blabbed.
The shamed shamus woke up and found a clue
and went to a warehouse -- a decision he’d rue.
He’d fallen for the ruse, he’d taken the bait,
and walked right in to a date with fate.
That darn dame had put him on the spot.
He was one peeved peeper who’d loved for naught.
The warehouse was full of contraband goods.
They belonged to The Retch, a sleazeball hood --
lead falcons from “Malta” and vases from “Ming,”
dubious diamonds and other blarney-ish bling,
a lading of lies from a smug little smuggler,
who played for keeps and went for the jugular.
And now The Retch had gotten the drop.
No chance for Murk to call for the cops.
“It’s curtains for you,” the Retched one said,
“The only way out is to go down dead.”
“You win,” Murk said, with a little shrug.
He knew he was beat and waited for the slug.
A bullet in the back was the final payoff.
Fat chance The Retch would decide to lay off.
Murk heard the click of a cocked-back hammer
and waited for death in his taciturn manner.
Bang! went a gun – but not the thirty-eight.
The shot came from someone hiding behind a crate.
The Retch went down with blood on his chest,
then high heels approached; you know the rest.
Bad girl Frigitte leapt into Murk’s arms.
She just couldn’t stand to see him harmed.
And that had been Murk’s ace in the hole,
playing so well the Romeo role.
He wrapped his arms around Frigitte’s waist
and their mouths joined together, such a spicy taste!
Then he took her hand and led her out
into rain washed streets where wet shadows slouched.
Did Murk turn Frigitte in to the cops?
Or let love fill his head with mushy slop?
The ending of this tale I’ll leave up to you,
but as for me, I haven’t a clue.
study period
It’s December and my roommates and I are deeply into Christmas. We’ve got a little 3ft tall Christmas tree with about fifty-thousand little multicolor LED lights on it (LEDs because we ARE saving the planet). We’re in the ‘study period’ right before finals and It’s a lowkey Saturday night.
Lisa and I were pajama’d and gelaxing in our suite’s common room. She was in a tan easy chair and I was slouched on our red corduroy couch and my slippered feet up on a white coffee table. We had a Christmas playlist playing throughout the suite, a ‘Christmas lights of Paris’ Youtube video streaming silently on our TV and cups of Keurig brewed hot-chocolate with little marshmallows.
Leong came out of her room and joined us, taking a seat on the far side of the couch with me. After a moment she stretched-out, putting her head in my lap. I love her jet-black, cornsilk hair and it wasn’t long before I found myself stroking it, a gesture primates have been making since the pleistocene period. When Lisa glanced over at us and smiled, I started making gestures like I was looking for fleas in her hair and eating them - in a silly, momentary comedy lost on Leong.
We got back from November recess a few days ago. After three years together, it was easy, almost automatic, for us to fall back in our rhythms as roommates. On arrival, I glanced through my drawers, dirty clothes and shelves, taking a casual inventory. Everything was as I remembered it but still, everything had the feel of trivial leftovers from some lost civilization.
I got a new M3-iMac, it’s really the best platform for putting docs side by side. The first thing I did was hit ‘restore my setup’ from the cloud. I love futzing with tech - I can remember when that kind of restoration would have taken all day - but fifteen minutes later I could tell from the files on my desktop that everything was restoring nicely.
As I sat back on my office chair watching the restoration, I felt myself relax. THIS was real life, this was how life should be done. No matter what else I’d done or where else I’d gone - this was how my life should be - at school, with friends, facing those challenges. It was a peek-moment.
It was an illusion that my little iMac welcomed me back, like an old friend, as it finished restoring - wasn’t it?
.
.
jelaxing = gelling & relaxing
I don’t think I have ever written another poem of such emotional intensity! I was bedridden for almost four months. It was at such a desperate moment that I thought of scribbling down my feelings of despair and I found words coming out like a sudden spurt! It was a new awakening! I wrote nearly 34 poems in a period of nearly two and a half months, all in bed which I included in my first collection entitled BEATS. I still believe it was something providential...! Never had I written a single poem before!!
Left alone in a dull and dreary mood,
With none to lean on and look for,
I tethered my soul to sordid gloom,
And chained my fancy, never letting it soar.
Dull were the days and sore were the nights,
Time slouched on in mechanical beats.
Mind devoid of all buoyant thoughts,
Senses shut to every cheery throb of life,
I lay awake, staring on the ceiling above,
My eyes, so lost in a fixed stare,
Never a smile lighted up my stony face,
Nor a gleam of hope brightened up my brain.
Inertia crept over from head to foot.
I had long lost my zest for life,
With life saps drained out like an empty well,
I felt nothing but the heat of scorching drought.
Nothing could move my grief laden soul,
None could lift the weight off my back,
Embers of fire sparked from the anvil of my heart,
Heaves of sighs escaped from parched mouth,
I wriggled and writhed in unspeakable pain,
My spirits sank deeper into a slithery marsh,
I saw around only a thick pall of gloom,
Or was it a projection of my own self?
Anguish gnawed my nerves and sinews,
Flames of pain danced within my spine,
I felt my head so heavy and beginning to reel,
And the heavy weight of lead all around my neck.
I felt being pushed down to abysmal depths,
And the octopus tightening its tentacles all around
Who on earth will set me free?
What on earth can lift me up?
With thundering force, the question shook my weary self.
I sprang to my feet and broke loose my chains,
I found I was but in self – exile,
A captive entrapped within boundless space.
I saw the door opening to infinite lengths,
And the arched horizon looming larger than life,
I spread my wings and propelled up,
And darted through the clouds to distant shores,
Never to come down, where I thought I could dwell forever.
I sit beneath the tree and gaze at the sweet cherry blossoms that cover the floor,
Then I slant my hat over my eyes and take comfort in the solitude,
The pure bliss of silence and a soft spring breeze blowing through the air like a lost cloud,
Trying to find its way through oblivion.
As my head drops slowly to my shoulder I think of how my life would be had I stuck to my
old ways,
A disappointment to everyone, slouched out in a cardboard box down the back of some
stinking ally,
To drunk to give a damn, down to my last swallow and headed straight for Hell,
And I’m grateful that there was someone out in the world willing to give me a second chance,
And I think how happy my life is now because of her.
All my friends drift through my mind, the good ones, and bad one’s and the old one’s,
Then try as I might I just can’t figure out what they see in me, why would anyone want me
as a friend?
I’m nothing special, I have no “real” talents, I’m not “hard”, I don’t drink, smoke or take
drugs,
I even have a lame sense of humour, also a bit warped in the head but still,
Then I start to laugh at myself, I’m certainly not normal… ok define normal, but I mean in
the common sense, maybe they like me because of that? Whatever the reasons maybe, I’m
glad they chose me,
After all, you are your friends.
I ponder on questions that I feel need to be answered, like why is it if you go out on the
street and kill a lode of people you’re a mass murderer BUT if you join the army and kill a
lode of the “Enemy” you’re a war “hero“? Or would Jesus ever accept the antichrist as his
brother? Does the all Seeing Eye ever get any sleep? And am I the only one who thinks that
the Devil is just God’s angry side?
Maybe these are just the ramblings of a twisted mind, but it’s my mind and I like it this way.
My memories push at the back of my mind and force me to remember the past,
As they all come flooding my vision I start to cry tears of anger for the man I was,
Tears of sorrow and shame for all the people I’ve hurt, then I shed a single tear of joy for all
the people who’s life’s I’ve changed for the better.
Then as I start to rise from by place of rest I wonder the hardest question of all…..
Even when there is nobody there are we ever truly “Alone”?
I know you know what happened the year we graduated. Just like everything else, it trickled down the grape vine. We were seniors when SHE said she wanted a blue dress for prom. SHE wanted to teach disabled children, an aspiration that came from her love for a baby cousin who had cerebral palsy. SHE and I had art class together our seats adjacent to each other. Her poorly done imitation of a Frida Khalo masterpiece was praised for the effort behind it. That morning I was on my way to school, I had seen a picture of her on facebook from the night before. SHE had attended fright fest, and looked like she had an incredible time. I was on the bus during my morning commute when I saw her on again off again boyfriend. He and I were practically strangers, but I could see he was having a rough day. He had bags under his eyes, ‘probably one of those off times’, I thought. During my first period class SHE hadn't come in yet, probably getting breakfast. My principal called a senior meeting on the loud speakers, the girl next to me rolled her eyes while applying a third layer of lip gloss and mentioned something about senior dues. I sighed as I stood up, as if the world were on my shoulders. I made my way to the auditorium, losing my cohort on the way down. I slouched in the back of the auditorium with my baggy hoodie pulled up to hide my face,I felt myself nodding off. I was always sleepy, and tired of something. “Alyssa committed suicide over the weekend.” I felt a shock come over me, my tears fell as sobs racked my body and the loudest silence overtook my mind. SHE had committed suicide. SHE who had wanted a blue dress, SHE who had gone to fright fest the night before in a green hoodie and posted a smiling photo on facebook.SHE was graduating in less than 7 months and had only lived sixteen years. SHE had easily become a WAS. SHE was the wails that bounced on the walls of the pink girl's bathroom months after it happened, SHE was the boy screaming in the hallway during my math class for her to come back. Eventually SHE was just an auditorium in silence while her parents walked across the stage for her, and the graduating class drowned in their tears. SHE was just a folded cap and gown and a middle school photo in a high school yearbook.
She asked him, "Why are you drinking
Before it's 9 am"?
He told her not to worry
She said, "Damn! You're drunk again".
She said that she was tired
Of him sleeping on the couch
She told him forty seven ways
He acted like a slouch
"Get up and fix the plumbing
Go outside and mow the lawn
Close your mouth you stupid ass
Don't let me see you yawn".
"Comb your hair and shave your beard
Look more like a man".
He rubbed his face and shook his head
And said, "How's that again"?
She stomped her feet in fury
As her fist shook back and forth
"I'm going back to mommas
If you don't get up and work".
So he staggered to his feet
And grabbed his britches by the waist
He pulled them up and stumbled off
To find a quiet place
He said that he was going
To the store to by some bread
But never made it further
Than his broke down pick-up bed
Thirty minutes later
He was wakened from his sleep
She took the backyard garden hose
And sprayed him head to feet
He jumped and ran to save himself
And find some place to hide
He heard her cackling like a hen
As she went back inside
He hid behind the bushes
Till he thought the coast was clear
He had to find a way inside
To get another beer
He crept up to the screen door
Looking in to take a peek
He slowly pulled it open
So as not to make it squeak
He slipped inside and closed it
Then he tiptoed 'cross the floor
Quietly he reached out
For refrigerator door
But something caught his eye
And he looked over toward the sink
That dadgum woman took his beer
And poured out all his drink
His head was bent in sorrow
At the tragedy he saw
A dozen soldiers down in flames
And bound by Sundays law
There was nothing left to do
But go and take his seat
Beside his wife of twenty years
Who made his life complete
He loved her 'cause she loved him
It was paradise in hell
He whispered that into her ear
And she said, "Damn you smell".
"Get off me with your drunken breath
Go sit over there".
And so he went and slouched down in
His worn out easy chair
Quietly they watch tv
Into the dark of night
Then went to bed with word unsaid
And turned out all the lights
The end
Rockman :-)
The Key
Ever have a day or moment you knew was
a milestone? A day you Felt as a person that
you had moved on? Today was that day for
me.
Fredy's apartment key was still on my car
keys. I brought them everywhere, even
though He died five years ago, We were
together eight years ago.
I just couldn't bare to remove them. To me,
it meant removing Him or somehow removin
his memory. A link.
The keys meant he had lived . Proof. Proof
I was part of his existence. And him, part
of mine. No matter how grim the end was. No matter the face I looked upon that day he was alive, no more. Me, in Love still.
Today, at the nursing home, I had a very
confused but grateful patient.
In fact, he reminded me a lot of my
grandfather.
Although very happy & in the moment, he
often worry about his lost house keys.
He was perseverating on his keys today,
again, unable to focus on anything else
during rehab. "My Keys!" he shouted,
"God, I had keys now I will have to buy
more!" It was all he focused on again and
again the whole hour.
Remembering my spare, I ran to my bag,
removing Freddys apartment key. Why
do I need this? I asked myself. These keys
, to me, mean nothing but death and
sadness. As I pulled the green top piece off
of them, I saw an anonymous key emerge.
The key that meant nothing to me, that
would help and anxious, lost and dying man.
After all, Fredy was beyond help. Now Fredy was gone. But, I could use these to help others. He would want me to. It's time I
realized that.
As I zipped the key into the old man's pocket
, his frown turned to a large smile
"Thank you you kind lady. You have eased my pain. Now I have my key. Now I am happy. I can get into my house and return
to my family." He smiled warmly, grabbing
my hand.
He slouched back in his wheelchair with
a smile, finally calm.
I knew that the patient would not go home.
But, why not ease a worried mind with this
key. The key that seems to be always
tormenting him. Perhaps, we are both the
same. Perhaps it is I who should thank
him. Thank him for relieving me of my
sadness.
Sent from my iPhone
Conley Pratt slouched over the horn
of a battered and trail-worn saddle,
been on the run for several hours now
after being caught rustling cattle.
His side ached, caked in fresh blood
from where a large bullet had struck,
he heard a gurgling rasp in each breath,
and knew he was running low on luck.
He’d never expected to end up here,
a hunted, desperate, ailing rustler,
but times had been hard, he’d made a choice
and now rode, despondent, for the border.
He saw it ahead, just a small stake
that stuck out of the dull, desert ground.
Then somebody shouted,”Look, there he goes!”
Conley did not even bother turning 'round.
He spurred his old roan, pushing onwards,
each step painfully jarring his wound,
He gritted his teeth, and kept up the gallop,
he would be reaching safety soon.
He crossed over then, be he didn’t stop,
not knowing they’d give up the chase.
Shots rang out, and one caught his arm,
but the posse did not push on his way.
Moaning, and bleeding from a new gash,
he struggled hard to maintain his path,
But he’d reach her, he’d reach his Marlena,
and then there’d be no looking back!
He could see her now in his mind’ eye,
tanned skin, dark eyes, and straight hair,
his Mexican beauty, she had pledged to him,
with Marlena there would be no despair.
And now since he could never go back,
he would take her down before the priest,
But first he would have to heal from these wounds,
by ministrations she’d give tenderly.
Her two-room hut came arose in twilight,
And from within it came a soft glow,
bathing in lantern light an adobe wall,
and a small, rectangular widow.
Conley slumped lower, horse trotting on,
having reached the place just in time,
His stomach throbbed, his lungs labored,
without help he faced the end of the line.
He dismounted slowly, then limped on up
and through the window did he see
Marlena on her back, long legs spread wide
while a tall man thrusted vigorously.
Conley’s strength flagged at the mere sight
and he slumped against the hard wall,
his vision faded out to the sound of her cries,
The fates really had taken it all…
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Shock waved over from a puddle to form an ocean as Jake stood taking splash after splash
of emotions that rolled him not to understand on how he should react to this rude from her
remark yet pleasant from the feel of her hands on his shoulders position.
What?
He finally said without movement, still in a slouch to keep her hands where they were for
she was small in comparison to him and wanted the warmth to linger.
Ya man!
I never seen a stuttering stanley before!
Like I mean I saw it in the six sense, but that's a movie
I never seen someone actually have that speech impediment before!
Every once and while you hear people with lisps, but who cares about that!
She's crazy...
She has to be, it's like going up a to burned victim and saying O MAN COOL SCARS!
...wait now I'm comparing myself to a burn victim that's horrible...
gosh I'm full of self pity!
Jake still stood slouched still listening to this rambling, odd, no care in the world hair
covering one eye girl. This converse wearing, RIOT displaying, purple eyeshadow blaring,
rare type of girl. And he felt her fingers shift yet stay on his shoulders as she kept on
going with her interest of stutters, at least he thinks she kept going in the same
subject, cause he was
too surrounded by the feel of her hands, engulfed by the movement of her glossed lips,
hypnotized by the shifting of her small hips, and enthralled by the slight bouncing of her
soft perky-
Hey!
So what do you say?
(SNAP welcome back to the real world Jake)
What?
I said my friend bailed on me and we where supposed to watch a movie together
but I still want to see the movie and my ride doesn't pass for three hours either way
want to kill time with me?
..heart failing
skin sweating
must...find..reality check
A finger poked a side of his rib which gave him recognition that this was the earth and he
did not just fly to space.
SO are you in or out stuttering stan- I mean...what's your name again? My name is Genesis
Jake smiled and stood straight.
Hi
My name is Jake
and sure I would love to hang.
Untitled
I have lived – adventures - had a few.
I have loved – had love – one or two.
Today seems to have neither – nothing new,
as my life is but a distant, clouded view
of all that I once lived, all I once knew.
---------------------------
The universe I know, by light of day, comes to me in shades of blue.
She avoids, it seems, until the night, when everything is a black hue,
pot marked by specks , pin pricks of light, indicating, there is more to do
and see, and understand, then to romanticize the night skies, we view
as members upon this human ship, we guide, as part of the crew.
----------------------------
My universe is but one, huge, black hole.
My Daughter’s life, her pain, I do not know,
as she beats me up with a hurting word,
hostile emotions, a parent need not have heard
or have felt, as my soul begins to melt
in the raging flames of it’s own pain.
What is it that fates hand has dealt ?,
this old father, eyes, heart, soul drowning in rain
with questions of ?, what is going on, once again ?,
that she must strike out, shouts loudly, screams about
that which really has nothing to do with her action
as she strikes, fists pounding on me, a reaction ?,
to break my heart, crush my soul, this, do you know ?
I feel so much like this miserable, November eight, day
– saturated on the inside, lost, empty, cold and gray.
Melanie, is in the grips of another negative spell.
What’s it about ?, why is she lashing out ?, she will not tell.
The gloom I feel inside, I am unable to hide this afternoon,
for it hangs so heavy, drifting about, filling my every room’
---------------------------
I have to wonder what lies ahead – down the road ?
If, with wisdom, - with insight – it could only be told,
what grief, what pain, what heartache the future will hold,
for this father, this man, this soul so old,
who, under all this weight – might possibly fold –
that he carries upon his narrow, weak, slouched shoulders,
like the back packs - uncertainties of war – carried by soldiers.
B. J. “A” 2
November 8th 2002