DISASTER RECOVERY
I lifted her up and she tore us down. Twas my ignorance that was my downfall. I was just a ticket to escape her tragedy, a bargain price prince at her ball? She wanted a world where she writes the script, a tidal wave in search of landfall. I was that fool whose wool could be pulled, until the pressure hit my sea wall.
The levy gave way to a horrible flood, thrashing everything it could reach. The land was covered in hatred and blood, and triggered my dam to be breached. The torrent took vengeance long over due, can't pray it away, it can't be beseached. It'd had it's fill, turning mountains to hills and the bodies washed up on the beach.
I mopped up the blood and burried the corpses, and took my kids to a much better show. One that healed trauma, bread courage and strength, and all that they needed to grow. I've tried to take heed of all life has to teach, because I had to grow up all alone, I made it my rule, they'd not be that fool, now we all love safe in the know.
Coffee is a reasonable substitute
for spirit possession.
Surely your heart will tremble,
open the gateway
for earthquakes to exist
within the fault lines
of your fingers —
but at least your pants will be piss free
when the officer asks you
to dance along the straight line.
And when he asks, “are you nervous?”
you’ll respond in the affirmative.
Explain how since 1996
you’ve been waiting for the day
an asteroid directly impacts your car
as you sip espresso
heading southbound on the I-10,
on your way to work.
And you won’t have to explain to your coworker
why your pants are missing,
ass in the air,
bad decisions spilled
on the fresh mopped floor —
dreading the ride in,
knowing he knows
you’d never compete
with his fresh ironed shirt.
This morning I chose slow drip,
because life moves fast enough.
The row of hydro flasks standing proud on seminar desks,
The red splat outside the door of our flat made
Coz they wouldn't let me put my pressure cooker into venting mode in the kitchen.
Venting mode is what my flatmates are switched to coz of my mess one day,
But the next they are chuckling
'Bout how I mopped without getting the crud off the floor.
It is knocking on each others' doors with our fists when sober,
Flopping in when drunk.
It is thinking, wow, since my flatmate won't date me,
Her boyf must be a real hunk.
University is the range of washing up liquid colours
And the cluster of tomatoey scran in the freezer,
But also Groundhog Day with linguistics lecturers asking us
What we call a bread roll and how we say ‘bath’.
When will I wash it all off?
it came out of nowhere
split my chest wide open
grabbed my heart
and pressed
until it rained blood.
i wanted to scream
but it drowned inside me.
i couldn’t breathe,
i sliced my mouth open
but all that came out
was red.
so i took a step back
(one. two. three.)
mopped the floor of myself,
stitched what i could,
and sat there
still…
waiting, as I always do
My cheeks mopped by tearstains,
heart tainted by swallowed sobs.
Yet somehow, when you listen,
words don't want to be heard.
But don't leave me alone,
embrace me tighter in the night.
Suppress my depression, push it down,
don't let those unspoken words explode.
Don't let them spill out of my heart.
Without you around, I'd be washed away
in a flood of words my own heart spilled.
The Wind and the Sun, oft mentioned in song,
had a quarrel over which one was the most strong.
They argued with much heat and bluster;
the wind about its strength, the sun about its luster.
Anon came a traveler, one of the common folk,
enjoying a morning walk and wearing a fine cloak.
"Let us both agree", said the radiant Sun,
"that he who removes his coat is the stronger one."
"Very well", growled the Wind and, with force unsurpassed,
aimed at the traveler a most powerful blast.
But with each and every impressive gust,
the man held his cloak tighter, to the Wind's disgust.
In spite of his efforts, the Wind could not sustain
and eventually, reluctantly, gave up in vain.
Then the Sun emerged and began to shine.
At first, he shone gently; the weather turned fine.
The sky and surroundings seemed to transform;
the man loosened his cloak for now he was warm.
The Sun's rays grew warmer, and now
the man removed his coat and mopped his brow.
Amidst that wonderful, beautiful heat
the Wind accepted and acknowledged defeat.
And so, my children, the moral here of course
is that persuasion is always better than force.
Santa, pacing before his top deer,
mopped his face with a red neckerchief
He'd stopped caribou conflicts all year
- but this wasn't your usual tiff
The decision to send them to school
had turned out to be one of his worst
because, unlike the previous Yule,
Dancer now knew HIS name should come first
But the lesson that got Dance the lead,
had taught Dasher a lesson in pride
and they fought until Santa decreed
they'd just pull the damn sleigh side by side!
Smiling, I read my tarot,
It said, "Go with the flow,"
Asked the faucet, you know,
Washing machine did overflow,
"Your gifts are for the world!
Positive vibes, old girl,
I mopped the floor, okay,
Go with the flow, this is today!
There once was a young tiger named Roar
this bold greeting he gave to Eeyore...
"Hey you, shove out the way;
I got no taste for gray."
With one swift kick, donkey mopped the floor.
I’m busy again.
Dusting, organizing, mopping.
Everything is clean already.
We already swept up all her old food.
And mopped her muddy paw prints.
It’s clean, it’s clean enough!
They say.
We don’t get less sad.
The house just gets clean.
We remember her favorite treats.
We donated them.
I ignore their calls and texts.
I’m busy again.
And I don’t want to talk about her, anyway.
maple mobs mopped
autumn had his farewell fair ---
amber all around
A brotherly jaunt through sinister mirth
behold the brothers Death:
gowned and guided, an ill century
the fourteenth, an alliance of crop, of plague
in ground-down death of torrential pains
in sores and blood under the rains
that drowned the land, starved the bellies
there echoed howls of ill exclaim
a wanting of a light to shine
is where the brothers thought that they
worked well together, effectively
one would scoop from ruined crop
one from sickness, war, attack
the beak, a sign, of the plague mask
in shacks, where hags mopped weeping rot
crosses on doors, on floors of straw
with nothing in the cooking pot
the brothers danced and sang their wealth
of many clientele they sought
and on they went, and on they struck
perfecting songs on appetites
of pestilence and of disease
hand in hand like trees whose leaves
do smother, smite, in murderous breeze
the brothers, down the ages tease
and beckon, wreaking havoc on,
like rolling waves of seas on high
always taunting their sister - life
A fine wine
With glitter on its top
A transparent glass
And a floor well mopped
What else do they need
It's the wholesome joy
It's the cause of smile
Just like the kid's when he get a toy
But it will never last
As it will fall down one day
Leaving broken remains of the glass
For whom we will pray
The truest of the truthful dukes who chooses to amuse the fuse of the groove to let loose /
So soon a bloom that is to loom over any gloom /
Forget bigots they’ll never get big like shots or lots /
As I’m aloft through the roof of this joint like I smoked your top locks off /
It's time to prove a hue of stooge slew anew over the slop and open up shop /
This is just my hop to jot through rot like I’m laying sod around the job /
Lost a corn cob as I jogged and juiced a hog in marinade across the log /
Sogged the mob and their pishposh hodgepodge /
Lobbed a rock at her wishy wash lodge she thought she had locked /
Got a troth full of suave to unlock and dislodge /
As we opt for a broth onslaught to loft all the costs /
I mopped the spot of rot sought after by maggots /
We hoped not to botch what my hero’s fruition brought us /
But a lying jont of stop watch witches forgo wishes and forge a lot unjust /
Upped the ante of the pot and ended with no loss just profit /
Stunned the evil planning in a trot as we tended to our cause
WILL YOU DANCE WITH ME ?
Will you dance with me
After I’ve mopped the passage
And fed the dogs
Will you dance with me to my
Mexican samba ?
I will dance with you
After I’ve peeled the potatoes
And cut lilac lavender
We will rock till noon to the
Swoon of Frank Sinatra
Shall we dance to a guitar
Or choose an African drum ?
Shall we dance on grass or
Swirl in hay as
Horses neigh ?
We’ll dance with mielies and
Violins at play
Dance dewy morning away
As bald Eagle watches from high
We’ll dance in Life’s spring sigh !
©ghairodanielspoetry2018
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