It seems I’ve written myself into a corner~
pages piling up like overexcited puppies,
yapping for a home.
My desk groans under the weight
of poems, memoirs, and drafts~
half-finished brilliance,
and that one story I swear I’ll revise someday.
The solution seems obvious
another filing cabinet~
a shiny metal monument
to my writing compulsion.
But where to put the thing
in this tiny office
already stuffed with creativity
and questionable organizational choices.
Then it hits me
the closet~
that mysterious portal
where abandoned sweaters go to retire.
It’ll fit snugly inside
like it was always meant to be there,
guarding my words
like a loyal metal dragon.
Problem solved… for now
until the next poem arrives
demanding its own drawer
and the closet starts whispering,
“Don’t even think about it.”
I wake in a rush~
green, fuzzy, full of purpose
until a racket smacks me
into sudden enlightenment.
I sail, spinning,
seeing the world in fast-forward:
white lines blurring,
players grunting,
the sun cheering me on
like a loud, overexcited coach.
I hear everything~
the gasp when I clip the net,
the groan when I bounce out,
the triumphant whoop
when I land exactly
where someone wanted me.
I think a lot, actually~
mostly about momentum,
destiny,
and why humans argue
so passionately
over where I land.
But what I feel
is the court beneath me~
its clay, its grass, and grit~
a brief, grounding moment
before I’m launched again
into the bright, chaotic ballet
of being a ball
with no say
in where I’m going next.
Curious cats and plebian pirates do not mix well.
When white skull and crossbones are flying lopsided.
Derelict dogs and wily witches try casting a spell.
My imagination is being ridiculously overexcited.
My muse is throwing in damsels, dragons and robins gray
Along with Christmas tree ants and squirrels that play
I hear her deep heartfelt languishing sighs of dismay
As she tries to control me yet again today.
Happy comfortable cow refuses to give up the blue chair
May’s husband is pouting. It is his recliner!
Irritating moods are wafting around in the air.
He is nice, the cow says, but I am much finer.
May is trying to make peace, but there is a lot of whining.
The cow’s tushy is happy, she is eagerly pressing buttons and reclining.
May’s husband is threatening to get a tractor and pull the cow away.
This is a predicament for the easily bamboozled overexcited May.
Everyone has a wild child; she is sometimes the middle child.
And in our case I will call her T-burger, because that is her nickname.
This happened forty years ago, when she was eight.
My dad took T-burger and her sisters to the farm.
A place where he kept a bit of livestock, a garden, a smelly outhouse.
He also had his dad with him; so there was grandpa and great-grandpa
With three little girls who were ten, wild child, and five.
After a bit Great-grandpa got all excited and began to point and mutter.
He was losing it a bit, and could not talk as well as he once did.
Dad looked out to where they had been keeping a wild horse.
T-burger was ducking into the corral with the monster.
She walked right up to the bucking kicking overexcited thing.
The thing stopped bucking and kicking and let her pet it.
My dad looked at my uncle who was also there and said
“Wild knows wild”.
Panic Buttons
guess what? there is no button
It comes out of the thin air
It doesn't matter "where"
I have studied the chemical reactions
that happen when the panic button is on
run
run away....."to where, where"?
and you're not thinking
you are panicking
breathe damn it
Breathe
and the more you say it to the overexcited brain
the air
is just gone.
what's wrong with you? Pull yourself together
shoot, did you try "yoga".
ugh.
Little do they know that I do
know!
the whole body systems reacts
to danger
"real" or not.
Say you live in a world where you never feel safe
Say your nights were about "Should I feel afraid tonight"
Say your life has always been this scenario.
Panic.
Don't wonder "why"?
Don't ask me "why"?
It is a lifetime story. Tell me?
Do you have the time?
Barbara Suen 4/13/16
Brainwashed to the core
Forgiveness is what I need
Learned to love you more
Disoriented
I dreamt of you so hopelessly...
Infatuated
When I look at you,
I feel safe and sound for once
You disappeared...blue...
Disoriented
I seek shelter from the rain...
Drippin' insane...dread...
When I do touch you,
I feel like I'm relieved from...
Grief that takes over
Disoriented
Wanting you, beloved
Tucked worries in bed
I listen to songs
Contemplating you again
I told you my wrongs
Disoriented
I fell so hard, friend of mine
Hm, I did...repent
Bleeding out regret
Say something I don't know, dear
Why are you upset?
Disoriented
I forget what we've talked of
Overexcited
Glad to be with you
Change is a challenging chore
You speak critically
Disoriented
You are hot and I am cold
Took chill pill instead
Nervous to the max!
Feeling myself...chillaxin'
Just listen.......relax!
Disoriented
Losing track of time now
Feeling myself...dead x.x
He came into her world unforeseen and uninvited
Adorned in Valyrian Steel amour, overexcited
Enticed her with promises of a neverending love
Made her turn her back on her gentle turtle dove
Heartbroken and rejected she allowed him in
Removed the smoke in her brown eyes like kin
He became her Khal, and her, his Khaleesi
Now they dance to the mighty drums of the Dothraki
She loves him with every artery and fiery passion
Like Lady Stark, she adores his honorable fashion
She caters to his every want and need with joy
Loves without bounds, inhibitions or being coy
Alas, he has taken too much ease, chill and pride
Forgetting to honor her, cherish her as she cried
Treating her as he would an errant gullible child
Regarding her heart with dampened love so mild
The smoke in her eyes makes it hard not to cry
She still loves him like no shilling can ever buy
Like Winter Fell, she prays winter never returns
Hopes his love once again unrelentingly burns
Old Roxie is dead. She's gone to her bed
Near the drop-off where leaves are decaying.
Yet she rises again from that terrible fen
In a manner grotesque and dismaying.
The grave that we dug, although tidy and snug,
Was too shallow for her to be laying.
So the volatile gas that shot from her ass
(Excuse me for vulgarly saying)
Overexcited, spontaneously ignited
And created a monstrous spraying!
The guts and the hide were strewn far and wide,
Festooning the branches, displaying
Those rotting remains and even the brains
Of her corpse. The crows are buffeting!
There's no consolation for miscalculation,
No comforting words for allaying
Our grief and chagrin for committing the sin
Of the mess for which now we are paying.
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