Long Tight lipped Poems
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I remember when you stood at the door
You said that I was someone you'd deplore
I pleaded and begged for you to turn around
You said our love would never rebound
I cried
I told you that I lied
She was a one night stand
Nothing was preplanned
We kissed
Her kisses were strictly strict Baptist
Tight lipped and cool
Kind of like kissing a old wrinkled ghoul
My mind wandered
I began to wonder
What had I given up
Thinking of you without letup
I wanted to come back
Picking some roses and lilac
I knocked on your door
It is you my beautiful who I adore
You knew
Covering me with kitty pooh
You finally forgave
But only if I promised to behave
I promised with all my heart
Once again you were my sweetheart
We’re on Fall break this week and Peter’s favorite aunt - Lita - is visiting. Lita’s a tall, slim woman (eek! A guess), in her early sixties. She’s nicely weathered and tan. I’m sure she once had Peter’s blue-black hair but now it’s mostly white and styled in a loose braid. I think she rocks the coastal grandma aesthetic with a wardrobe of mostly pale tans, whites and flats.
Peter has all kinds of stories about her - she’s a character. When Peter was 5, on Halloween, Lita pretended to sacrifice a chicken, cackling, like a witch. He was wide-eyed until she admitted she was just making fried chicken for dinner.
Lita lives on property adjacent to Peter’s parents, but hers is larger, more of a farm, where she raises chickens and grows Meyer-lemons and persimmons. This may explain why Peter slices up lemons, dips them in sugar and eats them like oranges (I shiver). Peter told me that Lita always liked fruit, which is why she bought Apple stock in 1997.
From what I’ve learned, talking to Lita, she practically raised Peter’s dad (David). Their parents had a boy before her, an older brother she doesn’t remember meeting because he drowned at a church outing when she was a toddler. Their parents, in their grief, had turned in on themselves, becoming as self-centered as gyroscopes.
They’d left Lita by herself for weeks at a time, to raise herself on a more-or-less trial-and-error basis. So, when David came along 13 years later, he became her responsibility. She started working as an auto mechanic and eventually opened a couple of shops of her own. She describes herself as more well-read than formally educated - as if knowledge had just settled on her, like dust from an old library.
“Teressa (Peter’s mom) is very curious about you,” Lita confides to me as we huddle together over venti pumpkin lattes, “Peter’s very tight-lipped where you’re concerned.”
“He is?” I ask, confused, “maybe he’s ashamed,” I venture, “or maybe he’s planning to dump me?” Lita looks amused, ”uh huh, that’s probably IT,” she agrees.
“Look! I say excitedly, pulling an envelope from my purse, “It’s my first-ever paycheck,” I beam. I make a production of opening the thing, like an Oscar envelope. “$223,” I read, shaking my head in admiration, then adding, with sincere sounding hyperbole, ”he can’t dump me NOW, I’m RICH!”
Gallimaufry of linkedin words appeal,
(particularly spoken by renown orator)
'cept when unnamed poetaster afflicted
with chatterbox syndrome,
nonetheless deliberate effected
muzzle restraint imposed
suppressing groundswell analogous
to swollen dam bursting at seams
tongue kickstarts controlled regulator
tripping baffling babbling brook,
sans (cheesy) mouth trap
conscious effort required
maintaining exhausting mental vigilance
attention oriented toward "active listening"
chiming into conversation
when casually addressed
quasi Uber tracking,
sustaining, rendering...
pondering dialogue deliberating,
mustering, aiming, firing...
apropos response adhering
to utmost strictures de rigor,
versus loosing (in the sky)
scattershot poppycock
offbase blatherskite, asper
topic under discussion
synchronicity satisfies peculiar
personal logical paradigm,
despite senseless compulsive predilection
condemning premature ejaculation
plus crosstalk as penultimate transgression
pertaining to papa blurting
asynchronous interjection
consigning tight lipped penance
penile solitude condoned
should predicated persistent plague
prevail attributing penuriousness
lame excuse pardoning yours truly
remote possibility, threatening
spurious spontaneous splendiferous
albeit ill timed unspeakable retort
with hot sealing wax - most wicked
verbal utterance arrogantly
perforating, piercing, protruding,
puckering... two lips
escaping out mouth
more rapid than witnessing
the quick brown fox
jumps over the lazy dog.
"It was a beautiful whore of a day", he reasoned, "maybe she will have even less on !"
The little band of misfits garnered the stares of mall patrons as they ran as fast as their puppet legs could manage, (without being high on a coke/steroid cocktail, called a Dynobowl). (There was also blood doping, which consisted of shooting up minute amounts of plasma), but they had no time for bloodsport. They were gonna be a bloodspurt, if Michael caught up to them and with his Tri-Lam athletics background that would happen sooner than later. They needed "a plan" and fast !
Kenny the drug dealer and Silky the 44th street pimp looked around for contacts, as did Penney, it was instinct. There had to be a "John or a hoodlum" there somewhere, after all, it was the mall. A family place for shopping,
pictures, waves to friends and tight lipped hookers (if they knew what was good for them). Then there was a place to sit and eat where Mom and Dad could argue in front of the entire mall. Johnny could show under the table to Lucy what he stole and she could show what she stole. Whomever had the biggest total (in cost!) wins. However, a belt made out of the "booty" automatically added five points. What? Those are the rules, (I didn't invent them).
Form:
I was once misfortuned with being called a tool
by a man who believed I was most often the fool.
By a soul who only ever acted on his own behalf
I was told that I'm often used, simply do the math.
I played along with his insult as it was meant to be
by showing mock indignation at this thing he said to me.
I gave him then a ponderous look, and then I dully said...
"yes, but am I a useful tool? or am I broken then instead?"
He huffed and gave me a look, "you know what I meant"
Responded I, "I bet I'm new. not broken, worn or bent!"
He ignored me for the moment, his annoyance was clear.
"maybe I'm a cracker for nuts! A bottle opener for beer!?"
"Or yes! a wrench used for nuts, bolts, pipe fittings or more..."
He glared at my next words, "hopefully not from a dollar store"
I nudged him then, smiled some, "oh don't get all mud stuck"
"Hey! what if I'm chains or a tow-rope.. pull you out with any luck."
In his impatience, he yelled, "STOP!" He was looking rather mad.
I left it alone, got tight lipped, but oh what fun I just had.
Stop myself? "Ha!" I blurted then "I'm wily in my crafts"
"If I'm a tool then so are you, I'm using you for laughs"
I never did do very well with survival.
I used to yell by choice at life expecting an echo
to call back and fall in love with my voice.
Before I fell asleep I'd dig so deep within myself
I thought everyone else must deem me filthy.
I felt absurd in the skin I was in and craved attention
while giving up just to prove that I have a strong mind
that will still wear heels to the trial of whether or not I'm good enough.
Then, I saw his face and laughed out loud at how I gasped
because it was like the screech before a collision.
This was the sound I've never heard when time stops
because someone takes your breath away.
I was ready for the grip tight fight, fold over dear beloved letter
you send to meet the trinity of drinks, sunset, and music.
Sip, sip, kiss, reminisce and zip tie ropes on tight lipped sentences
to hang on every space between words.
I learned the hard way that trust puts rust on an old soul, but
I felt a fire within my tired and out came a mouthful of choir
at a street sign stop rest, deep breath, silence, walk back on the path
of rocks and pebbles because broken pieces take you home
to a place you know where innocence resides behind eyelids
and cracked sidewalks that grow roses and ghosts.
Carrying the fever and heat
of love’s first flame,
I set out on a journey
expectant and anxious,
sealed and tight lipped,
all emotions bottled.
From port to port I journeyed,
travelling in a little love vessel.
What a heavy cargo of dreams I carried
with the scent of memories perfumed.
Did a black cat cross my path?
Behind all veils of cloud,
hope lingered
My spirit…. pulsating inside.
My senses….
waiting for the moment of beatitude!
Skyward I flew
floating through the air
to land, finally in your trembling hands,
dreaming of a nameless delight,
bursting out at the earliest moment.
With my heart beats rising hoarse,
you slit my mouth,
pulled my soul out.
But,
gnarling at my face,
mercilessly you tore me into bits.
and threw me into the bin!!
In the Westerly wind,
slivers of me flew about like ghosts,
unable to get back to their graves.
After whirling naked in the gust of wind,
pieces of me fell down one by one,
to lie inert on the ground,
gasping for the final breath.
Did the firmament tattooed by stars
mock at my pitiable plight?
Grandpa was a Bowie.
A tight-lipped protestant Ulsterman
who drifted into the Poblacht na hÉireann
in search of a cure for his cold heart.
His thin lips wed a soft Catholic girl.
He joined the Garda Síochána settling down
to breed Kerry Blue’s. After he retired, he still
wore his uniform, his neck as stiff as ever.
Grandma wrote letters to the Pope
begging for Papal forgiveness
for her heathen husband.
I have not been to Hidalgo County,
but if I were one day to go, I might try
to convince the Daughters of the Alamo
of my credentials to be worshiped
in a mild, concessionary way.
A complimentary burger, a free pass
to the museum, a photograph
of myself brandishing a big knife
at a picture of Generalissimo Santa Anna
that would suffice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Poblacht na hÉireann" = Republic of Ireland (Éire).
"Ulster' (Northern Ireland).
"Garda Síochána" Is the Police Force of the Republic of Ireland.
~ Surviving Hell on Earth ~
(The Nazi's Camps)
They had seen Hell on Earth
Lived through it, survived
Tight-lipped through all the horror
Never succumbing to bitterness or sorrow
Seen babies thrown in the air and shot dead with rifles
In front of their thunderstruck, disbelieving mothers
Seen dogs rip the flesh off of tender girls and boys
Vultures and crows clean up with their cackling noise
Witnessed gang-rapes of tender teen-agers
Radiation experiments on their private parts
Their eyes plucked out of their heads screaming
Gasoline fires consuming their bodies and hearts
And then, most awful of all, the crematoria
Hundreds daily taking 'showers' of poisonous gas
The stench of their decaying bodies piling up in smoking ruins
While the Third Reich sang and danced to Hitler's tune...
At the end, human skeletons marching weeks on end in rags
Through unforgiving Polish forests in winter storms
Shot through the head should they tarry or stumble
Writhing as their saintly parents died in their arms
This couple, this pair, survived, and they married
Made a new home in the State of Israel
Where Iranian jackals still howl at them daily
Warning them of plutonium and nuclear bombs
Tight-lipped they were and tight-lipped they remain
Building a home, bearing children, carrying on
Burying the pain in the past, they neither pout nor complain
No time to waste on vengeance, life's too soon gone
Two Jewish heroes re-embraced life, made the most of peacetime
Teaching the world ~ even unthinkable horrors can be overcome with time
It was not a Parisian café
though it tried to be.
Our teeth were strong
they flashed
intermittently.
The house wine was red,
the bread was good bread.
The creamy leaf was dressed,
it bloomed and licked the mouth
with a blithe bouquet of ease and tease.
The fish was dunked in a
blue dish of piquant delight.
A butter fat flounder fandangoed
upon our tongues just right.
We were trying, working the words,
leaning into anything
that would further our cause.
Alas signals were misread
gambits misunderstood
subtleties stubbled over ambrosial food.
Tight lipped
we nibbled and sipped.
Time slipped, barely recovering,
the waiter was smooth, his speech
a soupcon of olive upon a slippery smear.
We tried to repair
tried to mend that which was not there.
At the frothy tick of the hour
coffee dark resignations shrugged.
We briefly hugged while hope
crumbled upon a red and white cloth,
hurried promises exchanged,
a cheek peck and wane smiles
pale preludes to nothing at all
and nothing arranged.
It was awhile since
yet
we met again
though we were ever the same,
for nothing went anywhere
and that was it
to be never again.