Long Undid Poems
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I remember you holding me in your arms
Rocking me gently while singing lullabies
I remember when you lived a short walk away
Relatives were local and get-togethers were the norm
I remember your amazing purple mohair sweater
You knit exquisitely and wore so gracefully
I remember your scented creams and signature ring
I never grew tired of holding your hand
And telling you how much I loved you
I remember watching in awe your bedtime routine
As you meticulously undid your braided coif
Dropping your soft wavy hair to your waist
I remember you never missed Sunday mass
And held on to that glow throughout the week
You knew about plants with their healing powers
Neighbors came to you for answers and advice
I remember how you would scrape savings for travel
Always working in visits to friends who had moved away
I remember the aroma of the pies you baked
After tireless hours of quilting, sewing, weaving
Embroidery, knitting, crocheting, and whatever else
I remember there was nothing you couldn’t do
You started tutoring me when I was three
And probably earlier as I was eager to learn
It was my favorite form of play
I remember hearing your schoolhouse stories
I’d picture a little house in a field and your teacher attire
Your turn-of-the-century class full of kids
Then I’d let you continue teaching me to read, write and count
Though I wasn’t yet of school age
I remember being uprooted and moving to the country
Leaving city life and you behind
I remember how good life was when I had you
To turn to for support and guidance
Or just for your warm bountiful embrace
I remember getting that gut wrenching feeling
That bitter call in the middle of the day
As I was told the crushing news
I would never again see, touch or hold you
How can I not remember
The inconsolable devastation that never dimmed
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~ALWAYS WITH ME~ 2020
AP: 1st place 2020
Submitted on September 26, 2017 for contest LOVE FOR MOVIE SCREEN sponsored by SILENT ONE - RANKED 2ND
If you’ve been to north New York,
or the western side of Vermont,
you might’ve head of a sea monster,
the vast Lake Champlain is his haunt.
The locals all call him ‘Champy,’
not to dissimilar to Loch Ness,
many folks claim they have seen Champ
rising up from the chilly depths.
Now I once thought Champy was
just a bit of local folklore,
until the day when my friend Pat
invited me down to the shore.
He had himself a fine speed boat,
soon enough we were on our way,
I expected a bit of fun
tubing and skiing on the lake.
But Pat had brought a big, thick rope,
and a bucket that truly reeked,
we motored to open water,
when Pat stopped the boat, and did speak:
“You know how I love my cryptids,
and that I saw Champy way back,
I have discovered, by hard research,
what the beast prefers for a snack.
“That bucket has rotted lampreys,
we’ll drag them by the boat as a lure,
once Champy gets the scent of them,
he’ll come up to our boat for sure!”
I though my friend was a mad-man,
as he set about his strange work,
we dragged a line for ten minutes,
then the whole boat began to jerk!
Pat slowed the boat down to a crawl,
and a Plesiosaur emerged!
One of the lampeys hid a hook,
the ancient beast loved unnerved.
“You need to drive the boat, my friend,”
said Pat as he undid the line,
then he leapt onto Chamy’s back!
Had the crazy fool lost his mind?!
The massive beast did try to dive,
but Pat just pooled back on the hook,
Champy abandoned thoughts of escape,
just one pull was all that it took!
Then Pat pulled the line to the right,
and great Champy began to swim.
I gunned the engine to follow,
but could barely keep up with him.
He drove Champ like a chariot,
gliding swiftly across the waves,
stunned boaters looked on as he went,
all too shocked to know what to say.
I drove, but in one hand I filmed,
recording this forever more,
because what could be more bad-ass
then saddling a damn Plesiosaur!
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
A day in my life
I thought to help the wife
I got the vacuum out
A little run about
I plugged it in the wall
Odd, no sound at all
It must have blown a fuse
So I undid all the screws
I changed the fuse with new
When they blow that's what you do
Then I plugged the thing back in
Odd, still nothing, no din
I made a cup of tea
The thought occurred to me
Was the fuse that I thought new
A useless dead fuse too
I scratched my head and thought
Has some fluff and stuff got caught
And blocked up all the tube
Which may have blown the fuse
I was in a flux
So I got my toolbox
First I undid this
Then I undid that
And by the time I undid more
I had a pile of scrap
Now I was in a flap
As I tried to build it back
But I knew I lost the plot
Cos the pile was such a lot
When I knew I could not win
I launched it in the bin
So I went round to the store
Cos my vacuum was no more
And invested in one new
Took it home just like you do
But by the time I did unpack
I had another heap of crap
Cardboard and all that
So I burned it round the back
I plugged my new vacuum in
Odd, still no distinctive din
I was most bemused
I thought a new one can't be fused
So I changed the fuse in new
Then thought I will vacuum , like you do
Odd, not a peep
From my new electric sweep
I thought there's something funny here
Something strange and *****
The room was not its norm
It had no bubbly warm
Then I looked at my aquarium
The fish they did not swim
No lights or bubbling glow
That keep them on the go
I switched the light shade on
No light there just was none
Then I tried the chandelier
No lights from that either
I sat down with a grin
It was hard to take it in
I reflected on the day
The one that cost me pay
I had dismantled something good
For no reason that I should
Then threw it in the bin
And then invested in another
When the first one had no bother
I felt so ashamed but I had myself to blame
I thought, Scott you are a nut
Scott you are a smut
Did you not realise
There has been a power cut
Outside
She is the scarlet woman
Accused and tried
Made to wear shame as a veil
To be prejudiced by the society
Somehow I wonder if soceity is wrong
She is a whore, an adultress
A witch who deserves no pity
At least that what mother said
Dad just smiled and whispers
Ladies should not speak of such thing
But I wanted to meet her
And I did
Nothing prepared me for what I saw
Her cape was as red as blood
Her veil as white as snow
And when she took off her veil
I could see neither a witch nor a whore
Her beauty was not what undid me
But her glum eyes
That spoke of years of loneliness and shame
I would have walked away, I should have
But my sudden fascination stopped me
Maybe it was that or something more
But that was the beginning of days from home
It was the start of an undying frendship
Before long I thought of her as a mother
And though I wanted to defend her
From cusses that were undeserved
I thought to scream of her innocence
I must remember my place
In the hierarchy that is the society
Maybe I was afraid of what my family would think
Or afraid our frendship would meet its end
So we kept our frendship a secret
And though years passed
Season changed, war passed and peace came
Though kings reigned and loyalties changed
Our frendship was unending
She thought me to sing and write
And to have for myself a mind
And then she died
On a day so bright she died
Quietly and alone I buried her
And then I mourned her
Mourned her life
Mourned her death
Mourned my now lonely life
Till I could cry no more
And everyday since then I have thought of her
Somedays I cry somedays I smile
Its been years since then
And though I have just a moment to live
I still think of her
And now that I have nothing to lose
I tell this story to all that can hear
Of my secret frendship with the scarlet woman
COMFORT
Who am I to know that
the existence of heaven lives
in the pause between breaths
or that the story of creation is
a searing scar in the side of Jesus?
I have collected my pleasures,
like monsoons collect the dead,
have collected my memories,
the raw force of vitality,
the swift silk of a spider’s web,
the emptiness of being, all of this:
a country of vibrant emotions.
I have touched the sea with my hands,
bringing them together, feeling the abrupt
salt between my fingers, torrid like
the stinging whip of a lover:
Her tongue burns me alive with
its naked wine; her eyes dig
into the depths of mine.
Who am I to know that the Kingdom of God
lives in the stones, the fire, the water, the mud,
or that twilight is a sudden sadness like
gray blood clots caused by black thorns?
Still, my excitement is like a tower
of energy or a vigorous burst of sperm
or the moonlight’s mysteries fitting its key
into my soul where a secret stillness
wallows in its swaggering bliss.
I have tasted the meat of the universe,
its heart, its lungs, its liver, tasting it
with my gentleness, a gentleness like
soft lips, or a feather, or a lover’s whisper:
Her mouth burns me alive with its
raw juice; her heart feeds from mine.
Who am I to know that the Supreme Spirit
lives in the flies, the lice, the grub, or that
death’s bitter sorrow lives in the dust, the bones,
the ash, or in the agony of a broken heart?
—once, Jesus summoned me. He undid
his wounds with the jagged blades of
my tears. I held him, embracing him, saying:
My brother, my brother, my peaceful brother...
who am I... to know... who I am?
——————————————————————————
From my first book: 'In Forbidden Language'
http://www.amazon.com/In-Forbidden-Language-Dah/dp/0982874707
©dah / Stillpoint Books 2010
all rights reserved
With an introduction by Eve Hogard
luckily for our ambiguous plot structure
and the stern requirements of partisan doggerel
the ringing coin toss bounced then came up tails
and fortune directed that the box be opened
gingerly gripped in two slender shaking hands
by Pepper d'Angelo Olympic pole dancing medalist
and Global Emissary to the Panphibians of Tortuga
voted to the task by her many heart throb fans
on account of her total existential disinterest
in all but the firmness of her unsparing ta tas
wary with fitting prudence seized the initiative
insufferably slowly her fingers hands and arms
shaking with rapidly multiplying violence
undid the latch lifted the glinting polished lid
her arms now lost in a paroxysmal blur
the smell of gardenias was overpowering
across the land dogs began humping again
as a lustrous cigarette paper sized rectangle
fell at Roman sandal-clad Pepper's feet
toenails done in a pale peach skin tone
so you could barely tell they were there
she bent down reaching ever so slowly
lifting it past her ankles then her knees
deliberately past her coochie her navel
up up up over the Jell-O mold mammaries
up further to the cross-eyed focal point
her wet lips parted her voice thin and reedy
then expanding into a mighty sonorous trumpet
it says...
act in a genial manner towards one another
even if it is an utter fiction pasted onto your face
and it makes you suffer the crazy charade
with your empty smile a beacon of sincerity
the world's inhabitants stood in bandaged silence
scratching their heads and muttering
rays of golden light pierced the cloudy overcast
robin redbreast tweeted on his bouncing perch
our intrepid galactic transients Hoo and Watt
looked down upon a great Happy Face
gliding in majestic orbit around its yellow sun
and merry banjo music
filled our ears
As from his Book of Rules He read,
“Tsk-tsk tsk-tsk, St. Peter said.
So PICKED up I my bags and left
For that damnéd lower cleft.
I stomped away then turned and paused.
How much fuss had my fib caused?
A pardon'd come if I'd just wait.
Saint Pete just smiled then shut the gate.
God appeared with old St. Pete.
"We've a problem. We've got to meet."
St. Peter said, "It's quite unique.
It's your records. We took a peek
at our polls, all done by Gallup.
Found your number. It's not up.
It takes us two to set things right.
I brought God to use his might."
God said, "I've never sent souls back.
I did some research. Found a hack.
Turns out this problem's easily fixed.
Just stand still. My potion's mixed."
A wink a nod a look my way
and God undid the whole last day.
They shook my hand and bade farewell,
said I wouldn't Go to Hell.
They faded slowly from my sight
and dimmed their glow to black as night.
I reappeared, surprised my wife,
told her let's get on with life.
My death was just a clerical error.
They sent me back. It's only fairer.
We smooched and hugged, went out to eat.
Had pickled oysters fused with meat.
We ordered crêpes with grated pear
and lit 'em up to add some flair.
Then I pondered what to do.
I quick thought up a thing or two.
I'd profit from financial schemes
using cash inversion themes.
I'd buy a cat and teach it tricks
to wow the guests at trader Vic's.
I'd give them all tatami mats
and waterproof electric hats.
I paused a moment. I could see
My brand-new stuff was vintage me!
I mused a while: what to do?
I mused some more and then I knew.
I'm only happy being me.
My plan was simple as can be.
I'll carry on with selling stuff
like pitted prunes and candied snuff!
That night,
love arrived—
not with thunder,
but with your fingernails
drumming my kitchen table,
drumming like a child
counting down to Christmas.
You said my name wrong—
*Said* instead of *Saeed*—
and the way you stumbled,
stammered with your hands,
that tiny tremor
in your certainty
undid me completely.
I had built my life
to avoid exactly this:
the way you bit your lip
when thinking,
the scar above your left eyebrow
you touched when lying.
*I'm not staying long*, you said.
*I have a train to catch.*
But your coat clung to my chair—
as if it had always lived there—
and you drank your coffee
black and burning,
like someone running
from some nameless thing
they cannot catch.
Three hours we spent
speaking of nothing—
weather, work,
safe words
that couldn't cut,
couldn't touch
the trembling truth between us.
Until you laughed—
sharp, sudden,
a match struck in darkness—
and I saw it:
the hunger in your eyes,
the way you held yourself
like a violin string
strung too tight,
ready to snap
or sing.
*I can't do this*, you whispered,
your voice cracking like ice.
*I'm not built for breaking.*
But you stayed.
Hands shaking
around an empty cup,
choosing me
over every reason
you shouldn't,
over every train
that could carry you
to safety.
The train left without you.
We never spoke of it.
Yet sometimes,
when morning light
catches dust motes
spinning, spinning
in our bedroom air,
I hear that whistle
fading into forever,
carrying away
the life you almost lived—
and your fingernails,
still drumming,
softly drumming
on my kitchen table,
keeping time
with my heartbeat.
I drew closer as the angel whispered,
'Come and you shall behold!'
I saw a book with an inlaid cover of precious stones,
And embossed in purest gold.
As he spoke, he turned around,
Placing a crystal key within my grasp,
And all drew silent as the lock sprang open,
And I undid the ivory clasp.
I reached inside and gently removed,
The book from its satin case,
I then let the angel be my guide,
As we left that Holy place.
He soon led me to a carpenter's bench,
And he bid that I sit down,
And pointing to objects on the top,
He said, 'All these in this book are found.'
I stared at and touched the simple things,
That lay across God's table,
But as my mind was only 'finite',
To discover their use, I was not able.
Chisels, paint brushes, dried flowers and twigs,
Many cut-out pics of the LORD,
There were broken shards of pottery, small piles of blackest coal,
A cup of water and a wineskin from which oil was poured.
I marveled as I touched His book,
But then thought there could be NO WAY,
For how could a work so beautiful,
Have inside it, blackened coal and lumps of clay?
Deeply perplexed, I mulled over the mystery,
And turned to the angel to speak,
For surely he knew the clues,
To the answers I did seek.
Then a presence entered silently,
And filled the room with light,
I knew at once that HE was there,
My spirit leaped and danced with delight.
My legs shook and on my knees I fell,
And bowing, I lowered my head in shame,
Then I felt His hand upon my head,
And I looked up when He called My name...
©Jane Richer
05/11/2002
A rewrite.
It's been a long cold dark lonely winter
Since you went away
I live in limbo
And torture myself every single day
The sun used to shine my way
But now turns the other way
A shadow of my former self
Maniculed and chained to your heart
Left on a dust covered shelf
I sit on the top of the stairs in my mind
Staring down
To the floor
Thinking where I had been before
After you shut the door
Punches to the heart
Stab in the back
Sank in quicksand
And never got out
A cat in a sack
Since you left me wounded
The garden we planted together
Is no more
The ocean had stopped
Rolling to my shore
Now a barren desert where nothing grows
No scented flowers or cherry blossom
No lush bejewelled green meadow
Where we used to make love
Under a shady tree
I gave to you
And you gave to me
The pages of time have faded
Have been turned over so many times
By boisterous rebelling gusts of wind
But still etched in my
And enraged upon the tablet of my heart
Now you are back again
My winter has gone
And now the sun shines once more
You undid my shackles
And unlocked the door
I Never hated you
I could never do
As I know all your secrets
How you were mistreated
Tormented and abused
But now you are back again
To see your beautiful face once more
Is like seeing the sun again
After that cold dark lonely winter
To hold you again in my arms
My troubles disappear
But now you are here my precious friend
Make my lonely Barren desert
Bloom once again.