There were times she sat and wondered if she should apologize for being insane. She'd chip the paint with just the tip of her finger and ponder it. And then she'd come to the conclusion, no - they loved her for it. It made no difference whether she only claimed to have been down that rabbit hole or had actually been. They cared nothing for the truth of who she was. She could dance with angels o...r fight demons in the darkest hours of the night - how she hated it when the demons shook her bed. But it really didn't matter. Insane, sane, normal, or mad as a hatter tripping on acid - it really didn't matter. She was beautiful. And it was her beauty that drew them. But what she knew, that they never knew, was it wasn't just her beauty. It was the fact she was insane. They loved her for it. So she continued to sit and ponder her insanity, relishing the fact it gave her beauty, and never once tried to unbuckle the jacket. For she had nothing to apologize for.
Sometimes I’m fine with my life
With my world
Happy content at where I am at
Then out of the blue
A flashback hits me unexpectedly
I could be doing something simple
Like getting ready for work
Or preparing for a day out
Or even just going to bed
When WHAM…It hits me out of the blue
My world suddenly starts to crumble
The memories sharp and so clear
The violence the hate
The beatings the rapes
It’s like a dagger to my heart
All the memories and pain
It just rips my world apart
I have never claimed to be a saint
I can never be perfect in mine own eyes
I am who I am a victim of circumstance
One thing that has helped me through these bad dreams
These nightmares of pain
Is being here with my friends on the best site I’ve ever been
Thanks from my heart for just being my friend
©KG 2013
if you make a concrete judgement of somebody without fully getting to understand them, that's a sign of stupidity, and that's what she did to me
and my family, without even knowing my mother and father, she didn't even bother
to recall why she'd often dismiss, them as just religious, freaks who took care of their kids, and didn't get divorced, stayed together through the weather
she claimed they only did it cuz of the kids, but they're out of the house now, and my parents are still together and in love
what she couldn't find, within our family, and her simple mind, is that they would have loved her too, if she would've accepted them, or got to know them, or had a talk, or just listened, but instead, she placed them in a class with the rest, of the people she thought she knew best
but look inside and you might find that she don't know her self, and that's why she has to place, this label upon those who say grace, before they eat dinner
my mother and father, i love, so much. and that's why it hurt when she said they are weird. and that they're the reason my brother smoked crack.
fuck that. tears come down my face are dried, the stains from her lies still infiltrate my eyes. but it's okay, i live and forgive another day, just like my parents taught me
move on and pray
late at night
and all I do is wonder
what it would be like
and what we would do
if you claimed me as your lover.
I wonder if you would hold
me tight as you chase my monsters away
and kiss me so hard
that my lips begin to numb
I wonder if you would gaze into my eyes
with a warm smile engraved onto your face
I wonder, and I continue to wonder all night long
I wonder if you do too
Like Any Other Day I Happened To See You,
Clouds Covered The Blue Of The Sky,
It Was Drizzling Softly And The Pavement,
Was A Mine Field Of Stagnant Puddles
Like Any Other Day I Happened To See You,
I Smiled And Laughed With My Friends,
Pretending I Didn't Even Notice You,
Though You Were All That Was On My Mind
Like Any Other Day I Happened To See You,
I Remembered When You Used To Say Hello,
I Remember When You Claimed You Loved Me,
I Remember The Hatred In Your Eyes When,
You Told Me I Was Worthless,
I Remember That Day After School You Gave Me,
A Giant Sketchbook To Say, "Sorry"
Which You Probably Stole From Saint John's Artroom,
I Remember When We Cried At The Kitchen Table,
And I Remember That Was The Last Thing,
You Ever "Said" To Me--But That Was Close Enough To
Goodbye.
I hate listening to the radio with you
because
it seems that every song that comes on is
"your song"
everything describes your life
you know, i use to like that song until you claimed it
yours
I got to know you through the songs you claimed.
Actually i should say, that i got to know who you think you are
through the songs you claim.
The songs you sing are a lie.
.................................................................
There really isn't that much new,
Since good old nineteen-fifty-two,
Back when I was a much younger bloke,
And it was still ok to smoke.
Way, way back before EBay
Became a homebodies cliche-
Before the dreaded minivan,
When hairspray still came in a can.
They delivered milk and eggs and more,
And they'd set it right outside your door.
Hank Williams crooned enough to show
He was no Fat's Domino.
The Postman was always on time,
Be it snow, wind, rain or shine.
Back when Coke was a soda pop,
And we still had a Whistle Stop.
Minimum Wage was less than a buck,
And we still thought horseshoes brought good luck.
Sony was the first to show
Their new transistor radio.
Mrs. Paul put fish right into sticks,
And hid well the mystery to her tricks.
And I'm sure it took some expertise
When Birdseye started freezing peas.
A gallon of gas cost me twenty cents.
That's when Elizabeth II became the Queen.
And that September found me readin'
Mr. Steinbeck's 'East of Eden'.
The Bickerson's, they were a joy.
Young Cleaver was a Mama's boy.
And Burn's and Allen, smart as wick,
Could get a laugh out of a licorice stick.
They published Anne Frank's Diary,
And opened up the first KFC.
Rocky Marciano became the Champ,
And three cents bought a first class stamp.
Sgt. Joe Friday stood so tall,
Upholding every stringent Law.
And no one would call you lame or fruity
Just for watching Howdy Doody.
And then we had the Whirleybirds,
Flying desperado skies.
And Tonto and his Ranger
Chasing down the black hatted guys.
In good ol' 1952
Polio claimed the lives of quite a few.
They debuted the famous ball point pen.
I think Truman was in Office then.
Ozzie loved his Harriet,
And Father seemed to know what's best.
And What's My Line confuzzled folks,
But I dare say it was all in jest.
I still remember that penny arcade,
Back when apple pies were still homemade.
Before microwaves and Diet Sprite,
Back where the Rockem-Sockem Robots fight.
Back when car seat belts were new,
And Mad Magazine made it's debut.
When Lawdy Miss Clawdy would crow
From almost every AM radio.
It's fair to say I've seen made through,
The good, the bad, the tried and true.
There really isn't all that much new
Since good old nineteen-fifty two.
Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler
.........................................
I don't come here much anymore.
Too many memories.
They say every house has a tale to tell,
Every rusted door jam a mystery.
That window over there, looking pale
And yellowed with age
And dust and yesterdays wonder, I broke
Way, way back before Grandpa had his stroke
And Grandma left her rocker for the last time.
I'd thrown a baseball right through it.
Pa was drinking then, the hard liquor,
And he whipped me raw out back behind the shed
With the full buckle. He reminded me
Windows cost money we don't have.
And Eleanor...
She was six or seven then.
She was just learning how to ride a bike,
And she was proud as can be.
She would hang out by the hollyhocks,
Pretending they were scarecrows,
Naming each one,
And telling me she'd found a pirates treasure
Buried out there near the windmill that still needed
A coat or two of fresh paint.
She was that shine in Momma's eyes,
The one person in all the world Grandma would tell
Her stories to -
Stories that would bring Eleanor
Into worlds of imagination and wonder
She'd never known before.
And Eleanor would drink it in,
All the color and fire,
That lingered in every word.
And when she wandered that late October night
Into the fields,
We searched up and down with lanterns lit and flashlights, And the neighbors helped,
And we found her come morning in the silo.
I guess she'd climbed in to explore.
You can't breathe when it hits you. It's like it
Sucks the air right out of the little space you find ,
And the weight of the grain slowly drowns out your Thoughts and your struggles, your prayers
And your cries. And nothing's left to do
But feel that terror
Of nothingness pull you away.
So many memories...
And I was angry then. Angry at Pa,
At Gren,
At God.
I blamed them for everything and then some.
I learned to smoke , and I did it well.
I learned to swear, and I was good at it.
I didn't stay home much after that.
I left, hitched a ride to New Castle Valley,
And then to Porterville.
I didn't care for schooling,
So I found a job feeding pigs.
That lead to butchering. And I was good at it.
I could lose myself in it. In the thunder of the sin,
Found some satisfaction in how they bled.
I didn't go back til after Dad died.
He'd lost everything, did a bit of drinking,
Spent his time in the county jail,
Did more drinking
When he got out.
I'd learned Grandpa died of the pneumonia,
And Grandma had a few strokes.
Nobody ever told me what happened to Momma.
She just disappeared.
...and over time I grew less angry.
And I'd talk to God at night,
Sometimes I'd talk to Eleanor, cuz I knew
She was up there with God doing angel things,
Probably riding a bicycle real good by now.
Time marched on and I made due.
But I don't come here much anymore.
This place haunts me.
The silo that claimed Eleanor now a rusted heap
Of wood and metal that watches every step I take
...and I hate it,
I'd burn it to ashes if I could.
The porch where Grandma's rocker sat
Is weather beaten and tired.
And the stump where Grandpa would sit
Trimming his fingernails with that pocket knife
Lays on its side, victim to the winds of time
And those echoes that whisper things I thought
I'd forgotten.
And I lose it for a moment
And have to mop away a few tears.
Me, a fifty-six year old blubbering fool,
Still picking at the scars.
I can hear her voice,
Her laughter,
As she circled the gravel road on her bike,
Kicking at the small stones to get the bicycle moving
Just a little faster.
And I can almost see her sweet face
And her eyes so wide
They captured the Autumn sun like a rising star.
And there's Momma, hollering "Supper's ready."
And Pa, slamming down the hood on
The truck and wiping the hot sweat from his brow
As Grandma's little rocking chair squeaked its protests
Into the wind.
And there was Grandpa,
Grinning and pocketing that knife
And kicking mud off his
Work boots and heading on in.
No, I don't come here much anymore.
This place holds far too many ghosts for my tastes.
Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler
.........................................................
"You fall out of your mother's womb,
you crawl across open country under fire,
and drop into your grave."
-Quentin Crisp
........................................................
Leaving those trusting eyes—
was indeed the cruelest act I have
ever partaken in.
Tagging along after numerous hugs,
These kids claimed that white bus—titling it as
mortal enemy. Now this nonliving
object was my ultimately my enemy.
Silently they wept, I wrap
my arms around her, I gave
everything I had to offer.
Hope
Washing over the diluted curvatures of
my face, my mind began to spin out of control.
Then his youthful face hit the floor like a bag
of unwanted rocks—Pain severed my core.
Every motherly instinct I possessed now
Stood,
perched in
tip-toed fashion.
Stunning those hopeful faces,
I turned my back—
like everyone else who had come
before me.
Sliding into the bus seat one final time,
my numbness took over—aching
taking refuge on a limb.
Had I held them back from their victory?
Or had I helped them pursue it?
Transforming, I will never be
the same. Will I go back for those
kids?
stripes of dawn sift through the grey departing night,
and in my home, behind those rays of dust,
furniture warms.
the freedom i love will soon be claimed by an incessant morning phone.
my heart numbs, longs for the kindness, constant kindness of the night
the music of my pulse already starts to fade,
a weight sets in, invisible grimace of so many trailing thoughts unraveled now,
to bear until the darkness-swilling reach of soul can span again...
would i fly at brightened glass in fractured urges,
bolstered yet adrift in any day's torrential memes?
rage at seeming machination's constant interruption of my highest rarity of living well?
or smile at the herdlike expectation's threat to condescend,
and at least scour remnants of the search undone... throughout the day
insufferable choice of final future origins
the mail arrives,
my forehead stops to wonder at the door,
and at that pang of hunger
running, overrun, the mind churns night in such sweet shadow shifts!
to fall, legless and dissolve into the rising light..
as if a Noh play were being heckled through to end by gaudy ads
to jolt us bridgeless from that subtle world
and wander long on lethe banks of noisome blare.
at times i stroll this nowhere stranding here, pretend, and gaze from hiding,
between a wincing coffee swill
imagined easeful face of signs,
"easy as a gentle summer wind..."
tolerant to all, to blow a "selfless" stillness into me
to wave, and smile --breathe a blanket on acuter truths
with which i meet the day enwrapped.
but quietly i wait... for Time to die:
an hourglass to shatter in the instant of eternity!
and birthe anew each 3 am, create anew--
those kisses, frozen birds of static bliss become
a moulded wax to shape the plenum love as roaming peace,
darkness-rest to calm a pointless labor,
abate the drift into an unwalled corner's only inward exit--
as whisper hands can cradle nescience
such, that grains become a world,
in which invented seas are sweeter than the toxic real
whose bitterness a cherishing of death unveils awry,
or right as winter dust.
i yearn in flight and add to fullness,
find fullness once again
to hover equipoised at love's encrusted center,
where pain gives way to peace i cannot have.
if i would have this other 'purest' love,
and for instance find the meaning once again in wartime's bated negligence--
as in a perfect silence wind can brush the lips with all of life's aroma--
and as a gentle fire smouldered long,
at Spring, ignites within the splay of tender leaves--
so archetypal solitude of being beings manifolded one, i may fulfillment find...
i may go find myself alone now,
or swagger to an ancient drinking song,
or fall into those evening arms,
to find abated also, idols of the heart in each
for what the greater heart amends...
all for yearning better worlds
the pain has sent me reeling prone--
curling at complacent murmurs,
coos of love to torment all without
wherein i wallow, fallen from all heights,
absurd escape, removed---surrounded still
by so-called metalove, abject phantasmal swoon
i grit my teeth against,
as heaving sand would send the shore to sea and drown nostalgia evermore,
as only total extrication serves to quell an everpresence such as this,
ringing in the twilit dew,
or starlight whirl--
or inverse in a heedless curse--
horizons cease in this expanse
surging at the birth and death of things
