She flew out of a lark's mouth,
she was high in a cloudless sky.
I had a telescope in my mind
and an old VHS video recorder
for my left eye,
my right eye
had already been blinded
by self-winding hummingbirds.
Her apparel was transparent,
her hair was transparent,
her elfin ears were feathered
and those feathers were transparent.
I thought this is going to be hard to capture,
the telescope has had a foggy lens for ages,
and nobody has a VHS recorder anymore.
The skylark started to cough,
falling far on broken wings.
Meanwhile,
the transcendental and translucent
swiftly descended,
as smoothly
a hard-working Mary Madeliene
on a Dollar Store smoke break.
I was slipping forward through a moment
that was entirely transparent.
She dived into my mouth so damn quickly.
Hidden behind my trembling epiglottis,
she began to sing of our love,
a song that got louder and louder
until it was almost (actually) unbearable.
Even so, my outdated recording equipment
had grown far too transparent
to show anyone or provide any tangible evidence
of her invisible existence.
Nevertheless,
I continue to birdwatch on the moon.
Hopelessness encloses, engulfing me,
As another dismal night drifts in—
Where the only light is the afterglow of the midnight sun.
I stand upon crackling ice, breathing in fractals of gelid crystals.
Soon, the frigid liquid seeps into my bronchi,
Leaching into an unrepentant bloodstream,
Chilling a circulatory system already collapsing.
A single crystallized teardrop spills from a weary eye,
While blindness claims the other,
A thick, opaque film covering what was once an ocean-blue iris.
Unable to speak, my silenced tongue weighs heavy in my mouth.
Bending on shattering knees, I submerge my hands in drifts of snow.
A burning intensity shoots up both arms,
Shocking like lightning through my nervous system—
Rewinding memories, yet they snap like an old VHS tape,
Crumbling to dust in this deadening dystopia.
Sinister snowflakes swirl faster,
Till I can no longer find a way out.
Heavy is the plight of a bitter martyr,
Lost among the frozen lambs I brought to the slaughter.
The corner video store
With the neon lights,
Was the place to be
On Friday nights ...
Only black VHS tapes
In clear, plastic cases,
Lined the 'HORROR' sections
Of my favorite places
From left to right ...
Up and down the walls,
There were bloody fangs
... And killer dolls
Aliens and dinosaurs
Monsters on the prowl,
Giant sharks terrorize
Wild, werewolves howl
Next to white masked men
Hungry zombies run amok,
If my favorite's already gone
... Then, I'm out of luck
Demons and busted ghosts
Wicked witches casting spells,
Vampires and psychos
Dark houses and hotels
Wire rack rentals of ...
Haunted cars and T.V.'s,
Eventually, I'd take my pick
And then, go pay the fees
With a sack of popcorn
For three days I'd slouch,
Against the biggest pillow
On the end of our couch
The whole house was dark
But, the T.V. screen shined,
Back in the days ...
Of "Be Kind. Rewind."
Beta and the VHS
Could not be beaten years ago.
A childhood of watching tapes...
These were standard video.
Then throughout my teenage years
The DVD was made.
The quality was noticeable
Because of this upgrade.
Discs progressed over more years...
Along came the Blu-ray.
Evolution yet again
Of picture and display.
Ultraviolet and 3D...
Digital copies too.
Many ways to watch a film...
These are just a few.
These days, resolution lies
In glamourous 4K...
Up to four times better than
The typical Blu-ray.
From what I've heard of resolution
8K is the best.
I wonder how when the time comes
It compares to the rest?
Diaries left open and letters framed,
chronological ink waving from a horizon, gone.
Clothes hung to recreate a wedding, a dance, a touch –
enclosed in glass cases to trap the scent inside.
There’s a recording of his voice that skips
back through time. Her handprint in clay, cracked.
That first glass of wine, now cobwebbed, stained red,
next to teenage car keys rusted.
A prescription acts as evidence I tried.
Sawdust forms a path between pets
and my Walkman makes youth balk;
to them my VHS collection is alien.
Postcards curled from saltwater offer perfect snapshots
years before we scrolled for one.
A mortarboard on display alongside a bus pass, front door key and bank card.
A blade of Sefton Park grass pinned down like the wings of a butterfly.
Receipts of apologies. Candleholders waxed in missteps.
Maybe, one day, there’ll be a travelling exhibit where I finally get to meet you.
And the curator will add you, title card and all, to this museum of me.
I recall writing checks in my spidery crawl.
The TV then was a humming spaceship
with glowing innards that deep-scanned
all who glued their flickering, bug-eyed minds to it;
it abducted whole families at a time.
That same television
materialized microwaves as heavy as lead ingots
replacing bread bins
while ushering in decades of TV dinners.
“Radio Shack’ and “Block Busters’ were thriving
The short brutal war between Betamax and VHS
was long over.
Cars had not yet learned to speak.
Many men thought that learning to type
would be a waste of their valuable time.
We had to go out to get stuff.
Fish in fish tanks
were considered adult entertainment.
The long married kept their sex life
hid like a ‘sixteen millimeter’ movie
projected onto the back of their brains.
Camera film had to be sent away
to be often irretrievably lost.
The food pyramid was thought to be
the right way up – we were already fat-heads.
We trusted the nightly news.
Then the Net captured us,
we found we had many hidden talents,
some even discovered how to wriggle their ears
and both at the same time!
Many years after leaving London
I return to the city
it is still dreaming of better days.
I am burdened with landscaped memories,
recordings taken with out-of-date electronics;
one is a Betamax video player,
the other by a VHS machine, next a DVD
that has no space for recollections.
An elderly Vauxhall Astra follows me
like an ever faithful dog.
The metropolis
is built on the brick-dust of era’s,
The young look dazed,
as if worm-holes in the River Thames
had closed
leaving them stranded here.
I imagine that nightly,
an older populace hang upside-down
from bell-tower rafters
to dream of Imperial Lions.
I have recorded the trip
on that clunky Betamax;
only I have the arcane skills
to operate it.
Back in Ohio
I store London in its original box,
then make my way downstairs
to photograph my wife
with a once brand new
polaroid camera.
Clean your house out – ditch the past!
Get rid of all that you’ve amassed.
VHS tapes and cassettes,
Toys and trophies – no regrets!
Old TVs with bulging backs,
Books you’ve read (piled up in stacks);
Souvenirs from every tour,
Blinds and shades (passe décor).
Piggy banks and pocketbooks,
Earrings meant for younger looks,
Even bunkbeds not in use
Must be gone – there’s no excuse!
Go through closets, clear each shelf
Of former versions of yourself.
Time to bid these things goodbye;
Make it easy when you die.
Advertised as an Estate Sale
Which I took to mean
Not just yard sale discards.
Here are some
Of the things you could obtain:
Aluminum baking pans
Plastic punch bowl
Four segments of track from a train set
Discolored tea-towels with embroidered edges
Christmas themed throw pillow
Velvet painting of sailing ships
Flimsy dollar-store wall mirror
Cheaply framed picture of Jesus
A used tire with "free" sign taped to it
Tupperware, a bit stained
Tiny shelf for back of toilet
Chipped bowls and plates
Mismatched spoons
Wobbly lawn chair
Book club mystery with coffee cup circle
Bread basket, slightly crushed
Half a box of staples
Cookie tin, rusty inside
Fragile teacup with handle glued back on
Melamine resin plates
VHS tapes in sun-faded boxes.
The leavings of a life
Can certainly be sad.
Made In China
Your electrical items stop working one by one
First the kettle stops boiling even tho the red light’s on
Then your microwave stops heating tho it turns round
It gets fixed and works for a week then is totally dead
As for your TV it turns on but has a single line across it
The VHS video player ate the **** tape and jammed
Your radio gets nothing but static on all channels
The mobile phone charges but dies after 3 minutes
The other charger that lights up but doesn’t charge
Red LOS modem light means no connection
Along with a new fan with a burnt out motor
Your car radio eats tapes ejects CDs and smokes
The aircon is clunky and spreads a virus killing us
All items made in Red China sub standard parts junk
Unskilled low paid slave labour don’t give a feck
Don’t buy anything made in Red China its crap
Photographs
Moving pictures
Talking pictures
TV
Motion pictures
Records 45’s, 33’s,
Cameras and film
Colored photographs
Cassette tapes
Colored TVs
8 Track Tapes
Video cameras
VHS Tapes
Floppy Discs
Cameras with digital discs
CDs
I-pods
I-phones
With
a built in camera
That works better
Than my four hundred dollar Nikon,
Face-time, which reminds us of George Jetson,
Text messages - the only way some of our offspring "talk" to us.
What is next?
I-cars?
Steering wheel Bluetooth, and movies in cars is already here.
Our kids were young when VHS
Changed how we watched TV.
We popped a tape in when there was
A film we’d want to see.
We didn’t have to wait until
Our favorites would appear
Like in my youth, when “Oz” (the Wizard)
Came on once a year.
Of course, the tapes could break
And there were times when they got stuck.
Repairs just didn’t work and so
We just were out of luck.
When DVD’s came out, the tapes
Quite soon became passé,
Although our player and some tapes
Are still around today.
Just one remaining business
Manufactured the machines
But they’ve just fallen victim
To our modern tech routines.
Like dial-up phones and toasters,
Skates with keys and TV Guide,
The once-cool VHS tapes
In the past will now reside.
And so they go together. They sit in front of TV if he's got one. They may watch some retro VHS. Or even a French movie on DVD. They sit next to each other. But first, they bake some ginger cookies. And while sitting, they taste a bit of each other, a bit of ginger cookies. And sitting, as they are, they think that someone is very close, some weirdman, weirdwoman sits by and swings both feet in time with the inaudible music. Maybe that is only for that very moment. But maybe it is to surprise them forever. But invitation. There is a need for invitation.
Here I stand once again
Can't care if the words flow anymore
Nostalgic overload blows through my shell
Staring out of an old window
Where did I stand?
Head down, staring out of the old window
Teacher cleaned the blackboards as gentle winds blew
And the kind sun shone upon the trees outside
Only five at the time with no knowledge of the outside world
In such a short time, it's all changed so much
Pixels have become polygons
And VHS has become Blu-Ray
Now here I am
Pale gray skies crying down on me
Eclipsed by my failing generation
Time fascinates me so
She stands before me
Do I run? Do I stay?
I'll grasp at thin air a thousand times before I get my answer
Past, present and future all crash together
All
I
Can see
Fades away
In this darkness I
Cannot be bothered
To find out why I
Cannot breathe
Her name came from her native heritage from the Navajo Tribe
I got this story because I offered her a bribe
She works at McDonald's as a shift leader
Her boyfriend, dropped out of school after the 6th grade, he goes by the name Skeeter
They take their showers with the laundry soap Dash
She has such a negative attitude, can't afford to change her native name Sourmash
Her boyfriend loves her for the free food and on her paydays
He has one shirt, the Toronto Blue Jays
They live in a singlewide, Wikipedia trailer trash
The deep love shared between Skeeter, McDonald's and Sourmash
She just bought her first VHS tape, the mini series Roots
Skeeter owes three more payments on his cowboy boots
Skeeter has Sourmash convinced she is a direct descendant of Koonta Kinte'
They sit and watch the movie as they eat their dinner on McDonald's meal trays
The carpet is stained red with Piggly Wiggly brand hot sauce
After drinking some Mad Dog 20/20 grape, Sourmash brags to Skeeter how at McDonald's she's the boss
They are convinced the laundry soap is giving them a rash
Good luck in your future with Skeeter, poor, poor Sourmash
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