Unwritten page
An unwritten page on a Word processor, I ought to leave it this way
look and dream of what I could have written on the page
If I delete words I have written, the page will be blank again
No history, a crumbled-up sheet of paper for the waste basket
For now, it is too late, but when coming to the end of the sheet
My wife was in Johannesburg for surgery. Born in Congo, she is
Light-skinned, but traveling on a Portuguese passport, she
Boarded a bus for the blacks, great consternation, the police
To go on the bus for the white people
Racism and ignorance, now it is the Muslims who feel the
Ignorance, we want them to be like us, not insist on doing
Their own things
Israel is a racist country, a thistle under the saddle of
And an Arab stallion, and can’t last the way it is ruled
The sheet is fouled by an opinion no one wants to hear
What now, erase the page and write about the moon
Categories:
waste basket, absence, abuse, age,
Form: ABC
Do you think Pharts are Phunny
Do you shake hands, hug or play bongos
If a fellow employee pukes in their cubicle
Do you…puke also
…run away
…gag until useless
…get a waste basket in case they go again
…summon the Janitor/custodian
…ask what they had for lunch
…measure the splatter radius
…Quit – because that stink will always be there
When you sneeze
Do you…sneeze into your hand
…wipe it on your pants
…restrain it and cause possible brain hemorrhage
Have you ever
…eaten an oyster
…in the wading pool of an Aquarium
Essay Question
…What do you do if you find half a worm in your apple
Categories:
waste basket, fun, humor, satire,
Form: List
Writers block,
Time for a walk around the block.
Time to take stock,
Time to sell stock,
Time to rethink the plot,
While cleaning up the garden plot,
Time to empty the waste basket,
And fill a picnic basket.
Categories:
waste basket, 4th grade, age, appreciation,
Form: Light Verse
my new haiku pad
page after page of
pre crumpled paper
Categories:
waste basket, poetry, writing,
Form: Senryu
There's a spot in my life that's
been void filled and I cry with
a morbid intensity when I think of
him as I do now. He's healed
something baggage born so I can
leave it in a waste basket. I can
stare at his innocence for hours and
plead for his happiness in all that I
dosay--I double dare to be all he
sees and desires not to dread. Swim
pool water eyes glimpse his face, his
manner mighty in cause and jolly at
what his fantasies are. I've not missed
anything so like this moment that I
carry his picture, his soul, his incarnate
within me---at all times. Worthy worry
span my capabilities to challenge me for the
"mirror mirror" my reflection is his
reality; am I ready for/to be the casual
task bearer for him to model to be
himself and unlinked to the scattered
Sociopotpourri he's likely to ever encounter.
Not to shield or shell his karma
Not to woe in his wilfulness
Not to denegrate a copious freedom format
for fatherson ambigupatriarchophobia decline
but to hold him to my dear heart chest
to die for him in allways to make him
at no cost in allways a human being.
a Bull for all seasons. I love you my sons.
Categories:
waste basket, baby, birth, character, father,
Form: Free verse
Negotiations broke down and the quest for peace became of no accord as
Defiance continued to stand its historical ground....
Mixed emotions while closing these hopes; knowing that they had accepted
This fate; into the waste basket never to be read again, mercies page!?
Rising with heavens angels and peering into their eyes; no less words need be spoken
Bittersweet; but more than just these; the second time around....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
....“Sodom and Gomorrah” *
Categories:
waste basket, hope, life, love,
Form: I do not know?
DESIGNATED SPOT
Been looking at this spot
This area by my lazy boy chair
How many months
How many years has it been there?
There is an end table, a bookcase
And so many items I won’t innumerate
But these are not the forms
On which I fixate
It is the floor!
Cable wires, multiple plug-ins
A waste basket
Soiled beyond sin
How many months
How many the humid times
Of metamorphosis
From-hard-to-soft-to-slime?
This sudden thought flash -
‘Even a caveman wouldn’t
Even in the dirt recess of his lair
Further foul surroundings he couldn’t’
I blot the image from my mind
Yet the ears hear once more
Guttural eating grunts
Sound of bones striking the floor
This is beyond guilt
Has become, almost, shame
My terrible, slovenly ways
The procrastination game
I look up at cobwebs on the ceiling
Shake my head in foolish disbelief
Those objects stuck to the floor
“Yuck! Is there no relief?”
Well, I’m so tired
Getting sleepy in the dust?
I throw out my arms, yawn
“Tomorrow, I must”…………..
Categories:
waste basket, depression, friendship,
Form: Free verse
Elixers, emulsions, powders and lotions,
spread on the counter like a fleet on an ocean.
It’s those bathroom battles that I still see,
ground that was lost, or a quiet victory.
A bloodless conflict, I must concede,
But battle lines drawn in a battle indeed.
We circle each other like birds of prey,
thinking of that explosive day
that we both know will come with a great thrill
when like raptors we swoop in for the kill.
For space to be had that doesn’t exist,
ironies aplenty, it’s life with a twist.
Irons and curlers and blow dryers too,
for goodness sake, what’s a man supposed to do?
At every visit I eyeball the hair
that grows by the day, stuck to the “Skin Care.”
Things wadded up in the waste basket,
oft overflowing like a yawning casket.
A place for dead things, unmentionables too,
then I think of my vows when I said “I love you”.
If a couple survives bathroom things,
chances are good they’ll keep wearing their rings.
But half of that space should be for the groom,
for heaven's sake, I too need room.
Categories:
waste basket, funnyspace,
Form: I do not know?
Running the race?
Yester-marathon they remain.
No part in my tomorrow-place.
Today?
Living & breathing peace.
Old saying,
"Can't win for loose."
Why join the presence course of going nowhere?
Just me now,
Healing daily of broken hearten.
Dying by seconds,
Not given rest to seek the real me.
Yet,
I hear the voices still from the racing track,
Common called unique.
Uncommon to many is a,
"Please! Are you in the reality?
My mind is one with the thousand headaches.
Do I exist on planet nonsense?
No,
I must quiet down,
Even to speak is a sin against this world.
Nevertheless,
Action to walk from the flow of the norm.
Someone see & says, "Yes, indeed!"
I been that person who seen the uncommon living.
So my memory shoes I did not throw in the waste basket,
Simply hanging in the closet,
Journeying past muse of where not to be-
Categories:
waste basket, death, life, passion, peace,
Form: I do not know?
I looked up to him so much.
He was the only thing I knew I needed.
In a man.
He was strong, and his hands wide.
Oh his hands were so powerful
He could do anything.
My superhero and my strength
Pushing me without effort
Carrying me when I fall.
Then I wrote the letter.
As I finished the last line, confident
I knew I would make him proud of me
The letter sat on his desk
The light from the desk lamp bright
Against his silhouette.
I’ve grown up, I thought. This is it.
He’ll bring it back to me with a smile.
Proud of his little girl.
His strong hands passed me back paper
But it was not my letter.
It was his image not mine. Inked into my heart.
Totally rewritten, I thought, this can’t be
I took so much time perfecting it for him
I asked him why it was changed
He didn’t want to care why I asked
He said it was all wrong. His face like stone.
I sat alone in that room for hours.
I can’t let them read what’s not mine.
I am just as good as him.
For the first time in my life.. I feel alone.
Things would be different now.
I’ll leave the little girl at the bottom of the waste basket
With that letter.
Good bye, Daddy.
Categories:
waste basket, family, father, loss, sad,
Form: Bio