Lucky Day
As luck would have it I:
put on the last pair of clean pants
spilled cereal on them
realized I was late for a meeting
ran through a stop sign
did not see the state trooper sitting there
got a hefty fine
rolled into an empty parking lot
fell into a pile of mulch
ran into the office
found out that it was Saturday
in a fit of peak ran back to the car
and fell into the same pile of mulch
sped home as fast as I could
forgot about the state trooper sitting there
got another hefty fine
got home and breathed a sigh of relief
and said to myself this is my lucky day.
With twilight a few days away
Answers were revealed in strange places
Alignment of the planets
A chorus only I heard
A coven of 5 female clowns
Holding hands in a circle
In the Walgreens parking lot
Slowly walking in circles
Chanting some unrecognizable omen
Everyone saw them, only I heard them
You see, folks come to Walgreens
Hoping for a cure
Real or imaginary
An apparition appeared through the mist
Apparently the chanting showed results
A tall figure, hair aflame
Exulted the coven to disperse
Shooting stars hesitated above their heads
Casting an evil glow upon them
Suddenly the clowns disappeared
Screams fading into the trees
Leaving only charred ashes
Omens
Cast
Away
Let’s put that in the parking lot.
It means Mr. Money will postpone a decision.
We drones look at each other.
Anything the boss wants is imperative.
Any suggestion from the minions is delayed.
Put off, shelved, indefinitely suspended.
One of the new employees protests. She is fired.
The rest of us keep quiet, wanting our pay.
Before the empty parking lot,
I can hear the voices of friends,
Their heckling laughter, I forget not,
The fun times that injustice ends.
Looking at the old, ugly building
That won't just crumble down in a curse
I am alone, in this space, hating,
Seeing life in my old, empty purse.
I sighed at the bleak emptiness
Of life that must move on to find labor,
It glared at me, my heart's loneliness
Throbs in pieces of pain—a terror,
That can only find sweetness in a verse,
I think, I dream, I curse!
Dec 4, 2023
Watch out,
the corners of our eyes are in danger
of being nakedly exposed.
Evening dropped out of the sky
a lot quicker today.
A slap-dashing gush of last minutes,
as shoppers charged around each other.
The season demands good cheer and
a tightly wrapped hysertia.
The shop lights pull us in,
but out here where the cars
are edging in and out,
rear mirrors
and on-board computers
are our only life rafts.
We dodge the rushing shadows,
still wincing from the too happy laughter,
backing away ever so carefully
and as hurriedly as we dare,
into the electronically
flickering night.
watching the leaves fall
sitting in the parking lot of an abandoned mall
memories are flooding my modern existence wall to wall
i am wishing that i could give a certain person a call
waterfront imagination in a poor man's dream
trying to find the greatest common denominator in this scheme
how i long for the feeling of the taste of cookies n cream
maybe then i will figure out the concept of how to redeem
loneliness lives with me everywhere i go
oblivious solo living is technique of which i am a pro
my air of mystery black charm always steals the show
what the flip side of it all feels like i will never know
it's summertime something in a winterized shade
for the inner unpredictableness i was perfectly made
for some reason the creation of me halted at middle grade
however knowing you once existed dissipates every barricade
I’m in a car, and the car is filling.
The way water fills a bucket, but harsher.
I open the window, and evil rushes out.
Breathing, and sighing.
Breathing, and my face feels swollen.
I haven’t left the parking lot.
The bustling and clanging that seemed so harsh before-
Is now like the sound of a hammer tapping a nail from a mile away.
The grocery store, and the groceries are melting and dying in my trunk.
Turning on the car.
The sound is gentle and rumbling,
Like my stomach.
Rolling the window up.
Rolling my car home.
The parking lot
No seagulls are flying high today, sitting on roofs and shrieking
to each other, and sometimes there is a clash of wings
There are no ships at anchorage in the bay waiting for a pilot
on this day of stillness under a grey sky and lacklustre clouds
there is no promise of a better tomorrow.
The supermarket’s parking lot is looking down at a cemetery
here we have the mainstay of human life the price of food
and the cost of a funeral, food is needed, and death is avoided.
People walking among gravestones, some are humble some
are posh with the picture of the deceased on.
None of these matters in the long run; the supermarket will
close and move somewhere else, the death’s place will be
ploughed under and potatoes planted, time is a sticking plaster
when the plaster falls off, death has a plot out of town next
door to the glorious new supermarket
Encountered some drivers
In a mall parking lot
Absolutely blew my li'l ole mind
Rude and obnoxious
Only way to describe 'em
What's with this self absorbed kind
Seems so damn important
To always be first
Are there no more “courteous” drivers
Have they gone with hoop skirts
And Saddle Boots
Happy to say I'm a survivor
It's much like a war zone
As they race for a space
What's happened, where's chivalry gone
People on crutches
Men stooped over
Fair game for this bunch of morons
I'll get off my soapbox
Attempt to mellow out
What I saw was beyond comprehension
If I used foul language
I'd be just like them
Must be living in different dimension
Dreary, muted Sunday,
wind-blown spaces
snowy and empty:
Boxing day, 8:40 a.m.,
at the local big box store:
unexpectedly, outside the car window:
dull white, grey gulls fly,
disappear --- chameleon-like ---
against intractable, dull white, grey clouds:
hushed, natural intimations of the infinitely bigger picture;
a sudden, bourgeoning sense of the thoroughgoing mystery,
the "way out of the wilderness":
intrigued the human heart beats again roused.
Late at night as I disappear from the public eye of the world
and leave behind all my worries and fears,
I take to the sky like a silent kite soaring in silence towards the stars
entering the sanctuary of a quiet moon;
With arms outstretched I long for the sliver of dusk to bathe me anew
and to clothe me with her shimmering gown of shedding pink;
O'er by the sea I watch the urchins as they whisper to the mermaids
Captains christening their ships with spy glass devotion,
into the mysteries of night they go, gliding towards new horizons;
I lay on a hammock of woven cotton tucked between two hefty clouds of white, no one here to sing to me except angels with their bugles and golden voices...
This is (my private universe) and only the stars are privy to my smiles,
as I glide into this daydream in the middle of the galaxy
Late at night I disappear from the world awash with eyes of stardust
in the morning I wake up and realize that the world is not my place ,
its only a parking lot for the human race, and I don't belong in it...
October 3, 2020
I’m so sad mom
That I’m missing the chance
To be with you on your birthday
and to watch you dance
Yet your spirit I admire
You’ll celebrate with style
With friends in a parking lot
You’ll boogie for a while
Enjoy your special night
even if it’s a bit chilly
Let others ponder
the magic of being silly
You are so amazing
the youngest eighty I know
The music stills moves you
Whether it’s fast or slow
So open all the windows
of your shiny Ford Escape
Fly to the sound of the Radio
my hero without a cape
May the night skies twinkle
to the sound of the beat
and the pavement marvel
at the movement of your feet
For you my dear mom
are a one of a kind
and I’ll be there dancing with you
Even though it’s just in my mind.
I love you mom
Happy Eightieth Birthday!
May 18th, 2020
I also want to do a shoutout to my friend Eileen Manassian who shares the same birthday as my mom. I hope you have an amazing day Eileen. My friends, please drop by and wish Eileen a Happy Happy Birthday! The added bonus is that you will get to read her amazing poetry.
A pregnant bulge
with an angular stretch and twist,
something firmer than a sandwich.
A dirty diaper?
Bundles of illicit dollar?
I once found a dead parakeet
wrapped in a discarded paper bag,
when I dropped it in disgust
its head lolled out,
one dull eye fixed upon
the space I had just left.
The paper is mottled
by damp roaming winds,
stained as if hands had clutched it
too long.
It's not time yet to be a scavenger,
but in a few moments
I might nudge the bag with
a hesitent toe.
Or I might return later,
sneak under the low clouds,
that often gather
when something too big
to be left behind –
is left behind.
Above a snowy
condo parking lot —
a sparrow flies
Unused parking lot
inspires another one
as urban sprawl
becomes the new normal
paper bag dances in wind
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