The sledding hill was crowded
And I thought, as I walked by,
How expressions can mean different things,
Which age can magnify.
For when someone says of sledders,
“They are going downhill fast,”
That same statement, for a senior,
Does a darker shadow cast.
And the same applies to “tubing,”
Which my grandkids just enjoyed –
Quite a contrast to the post-op tubes
Which have got my spouse annoyed.
I love summer time,
But I hate being drenched in sweat.
I love being tan,
But I hate laying out.
I love not having school,
But I hate being bored.
I love swimming,
But I hate getting chlorine in my eyes.
I love tubing on the lake,
But I hate the burns that find a home on my elbows.
I love sleeping in,
But I hate sleeping my day away.
I love being outside,
But I hate the bugs that come with it.
I love summer time,
But I hate the things I hate about it.
She has gleaned the bare root of her captive.
Soggy dressings fall away, dissolve on calloused feet.
No point in changing these regretful bindings now.
He tells her he understands, that he once loved her.
She is beneath his nails, in his mouth, between his teeth.
Rubber tubing snakes from his torso, head, and neck.
Pushing out the slow but steady drip of his pollution.
Seven enamel bowls are full of him and need emptying.
She wonders how this room looks to him.
Final?
Endless?
He asks to be turned, says his right side has gone numb.
She pushes a moist shoulder, and he flops squid-like onto his back.
Touching him brings sour acid bubbling into her throat.
These walls will see his last hour, his ultimate reflection.
It has been one month to the day since they first saw each other.
She will quietly count him down back to that night.
Back to his first steps towards her.
She will watch the slow stream of him until he gradually drains away.
Down to the dregs, down to residue, down to the beginning.
They called themselves
the "Moody Glues"
like jets in flight
higher than kites
huffing to no note deadbeat drummers
forever marching covertly across handless
fields of teenage want.
Tubing--a way countering neigh-boring hoods
of muddle class clones, quickly learning the
brown bag cost
Fuming to convey their High brain frost.
Dig it daddyo, cool beans, the 50's "Glues Clues"
60's
sharing in an ever raging generational divide of
pandemic Paradies Lost.
It’s a robot dog with wheels some weirdo said loudly next door.
I am the Mars 2020 Perseverance Rover, space explorer.
I collect rocks and soil, and monitor weather, dust, and the air.
But not on earth, on Mars. I say this with confidence, a robotic heir.
Future hopeful human explorers may be able to inhabit Mars.
Thanks to me, even if they have to remain in bubble safe cars.
I have landed on the planet safely already with my lovely TRN,
And my brand new spanking wheel design is the living end!
For the first time ever, I am equipped to the max. I carry a drill.
I will scoop up rocks and soil, looking for microbe life. What a thrill!
A robot dog on wheels indeed? This sounds like an unlearned man.
I bet he would have trouble learning about science. I am not his fan!
Did I mention that I have a helicopter tucked under my belly?
We need to know if we can ever live there, and run our telly.
I can also test the oxygen production. This will help us plan.
Have to go. I am tubing up Martian samples as fast as I can!
The invention of the
Trunk-tree came from
his roots.
He wanted to help people
to discover new ways of
Water harvesting.
He used plastics to create
A hollow truck.
which would be the storage
tank for the water
Limbs and leaves with tubing
To channel water.
The limbs would spread apart
Using a fan like method
With large hollow leaves
the had filters so the water
Would be pure and uncontaminated
Areas within the truck deep areas
Beneath the bark would to
Collect the rains from the sky
And some leaves would gather
Sunlight to power man's needs.
Large natural looking trees
Rooted and grounded with
Steel and cement to provide
Addition support for off the grid
And even desert living.
Might the city dwellers envy
They to might find these trees
To support there existence.
In the antique store
an old physician’s desk,
walnut and marble-topped,
holding the remnants of a life
of service;
stories etched in
wood, metal and stone.
Next to part of an old syringe,
a can of ether, half full;
it’s lid rusted shut
and a stethoscope
sporting the cracked rubber
tubing, of a bygone era.
A clock that once worked,
a necessity for any physician
or scientist;
it died at lunchtime.
A gilt-framed memoir
of time served abroad.
Life stories abound in old
antique shops;
shh...you can almost hear them
whispered tales,
ethereal remnants,
for the purchase.
2-12-2020
Enter the 'STRAND SELECT M,any form ,any theme' Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
Catching snowflakes on the tip of my tongue.
Fleeting memories of when I was young
Tubing down rivers, fishing for bass
Going to drive-ins with some lovely lass.
They all swirl about me, some more and some less.
Each one of them part of my lost youthfulness.
And now that I’m older, new memories I’ll make
But not at the expense of the ones I’d forsake.
Disowning the future to be once again young
And keep catching snowflakes on the tip of my tongue
Stripped of paint and any varnish
Most likely off tune, but how would we know
Singing a song for the hundredth time
I’ll bet you’ve never heard it.
This is a poem for my old school’s piano
The place that was once Saint James
We’d stand on the stage
And sing our hearts away
ANd hit eachother with multi colored tubing
You think I don’t remember you
From back when you couldn’t play Bach
You’d be mistaken, my old friend
Even if you forgot
ANACREONTIC VERSE
In the blazing heat
of summer days,
I find swimming holes
and fishing poles
a lazy river
where I drift
tubing with a
chest of cold beer
not caring where
the current takes me
until hunger calls
eating burgers
grilled at the lake
homemade ice cream
freshly churned
I have learned
the best ways
to enjoy summer
in days of heat
is to be lazy
with something sweet
Summer nights
somewhat cooler
heat tempered
by soft breezes
they exist
but not often found
time for vacation
in the snow
somewhere it's cool
that's where I'll go
7/22/2016
Anacreontic Verse Contest
Edward Ebbs
Governing a smile with tension
Doing my best not to raise suspicion-
But it does me no good
Gone awhile without showing the expression
The frail and distort paleness in complexion
Tried my best to be present, yet so far I've failed at showing the proof
Kindness and sincerity flushed from me
Wasted down rusted pipes and cracked tubing
Faking it impossibly, but doing my best to stay cool
While fully aware that it does me no good
Though on the brink of anxiety
Banging at the front door of retirement-
Because falsity wears on fools
Foolishly succumbing
Slipping through palms that easily crumble
That make weakness seem humble
That bears pause to the easily corrupted
Trying ones best to overcome the uncomfortable
Though completely aware that it does me no good.
Thinking back on good times at the lake
Of wake boarding and tubing, jumping the wake
Quiet times at night when all beds were filled
The morning smell of pancakes and bacon grilled
Kids running down the dock, into the water diving
Sometimes splashing people in boats nearby fishing
Indelible snapshots of a family having fun
I'm sometimes saddened to have those times done
But to have had that time in my life, I am forever grateful
Spent with a loving family, my heart is exceedingly joyful
Squeezed in the middle
Toothpaste force out of tubing
Awaits the toothbrush
November of sixty, we took the same name.
We had a son and two daughters right away.
Nine years later, daughter three came...
A joy to us all every day
We are proud of all of them, of course.
They are grown, families of their own.
They have been our life and source,
of true happiness, on and on.
Our fourth daughter married our son.
She is exquisitely exact in every way,
concerning her work, home, family and fun.
She revels in life every day.
She is intentional in each mode of life
and performs each with excellent skill.
She loves working, being a mom, and wife
and tubing down a snow covered hill.
We all love her and claim her our own.
She rewards me with ginger bread men
The seeds of family have been sown.
Nurtured and grown........not worn thin.
© Apr 20 2010
Wildcat
Stems of tubing
Stacked by threes,
Will bring our Mother
To her knees.
The wildcat tries
To feed her young.
Her search for energy
Never done.
In forests green
And oceans deep,
The wildcat rig
Will never sleep.
We thirst,
We hunger,
For what she looks for
Deep down under.
Boxes speed
On rubber round.
To Earth’s crude blood
Mankind is bound.
Stems of tubing
Stacked by threes,
Will bring our Mother
To her knees.
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