abecedarian

Jun 2014

Kitbag of Words

we read the paper together in bed
side by side,
electronically,
nary a smudge of newsprint
on our fingers or sheets,
nothing to stain that wet spot
we created with the
realized physicality
of our embrace

Jun 2014

Still Crazy

The Whys of My Briefcase

The Whys of My Briefcase

don't know where you keep yours,
mine, immediately resigned,
to my black briefcase

the bills I cannot pay,
the notices that I knew
would unfailingly come some day,
the letters to my children,
signed, sealed but never to be
delivered till much later, maybe,
by someone else's hand

and so,
I carry my briefcase
every day,
an appendage human,
opens only for additions,
never any subtractions,
many reminders included,
for letters previous posted, sent,
and stamped~marked
past, way past, overdue

the authorities demand satisfaction,
at the very least they want my
whereabouts

the doctors asks,
what's wrong,
you never filled that essential
prescription~poem I wrote for you,
that was even writ legible
so you could not deny its
existing urgency

that **** briefcase is so heavy,
tempted to chuck it into the Peconic,
but it was a loving gift from her,
not realizing that I carried no case,
just so burdens invisible
were imagined lighter, or extinct,
but easily ignored

where do you keep yours?

the forget~me~knots that you
don't want but can't crush
legally or courageously

when they open that unhappy pandora,
they will wonder why nothing was e'er said,
but they won't ask twice, but understand,
for who among us
does not have a black briefcase?

a true story...once upon a time when on the edge of edges,
I opened it and dealt with every one of its contents,
I felt relieved, and was ready to re-live
in another shape unknown

abecedarian Jun 2014

she has great shoulders

But I always forget to tell her

and I tell her that too

and she asks why I forget

reply comes easy

it just a wayfaring, stepping stone

on the way to my

kissing your neck,

and thus overlooked,

but always the first thing I see...

#great #shoulders #abecedarian

Jun 2014

Poetoftheway

who can be crueler, men or women?

a qualified transgender,
who could answer better!

the art of being cruel,
spirit crushing human stoning,
well, none can do it better than
the ***** female,
who made me
what I am today,
that made her man,
a woman

thin smile with shining eyes,
as she harpoons you repeatedly,
and dying you is
her midnight snack,
in between eating you
alive three times
daily

so I became a woman
but not like her,
no ***** here
gentle loving tenderness mantra,
so I can resolve this question

men commit cruelty unintentionally,
with no sense of sensibility,
taking, using, with nary a thought
of what they crime committing,
to their unintentional intentions
they are so ******* blind,
it hurts so much worse,
cause they cruel us girls
just for the using,
that a cruelty so unreal
its definition cannot be found
in any dictionary..

Jun 2014

Third Mate Third

The Art Teacher (for the morning girl)

The Art Teacher

for the one whose initials mean morning

"teaching art isn't about teaching art. it's just about letting people be - letting them be them, showing them it's ok. i don't know...that's why i like it. everyone is so scared...i like to try to show them they don't have to be afraid."

~~~~~~~

writ by one woman,
an art teacher
whose young life story
is a chain refrain,

put it on me,
put it down right on me

her see
nowadays
is her sea
of nowadays nothing but troubles,
ocean thirteen fathoms deep

what hasn't gone wrong,
just wasn't worth
being put on the list

we all need someone to lean on,
so here I am,
leaning on her,

surprise!

her prize,
a strength so profound
when depths plummeted,
she curses the dark deservedly
then writes me
another poem and
her sinking ship
never goes under,
despite life's repeated
offensive attempts
to play her,
down after down

you see she gets it,
not quite rightly,
she
is an artwork,
momentarily
needy for a frame suitable,
and I,

well,
am in a museum gallery
admiring her,
for she is great
art,
and from great
trouble,
her art grows greater,
her persona painting
simpler and straighter

so here I am thinking
student minoring in art,
think she is an art,
a teacher majoring
in teaching how to be

so here I am laughing,
my pandora gremlin
does it again,
playing games,
first "Lean On Me"

and then
"Let It Be"

so let her be,
so she can teach
the art of letting us
be

PostScript:
musta paid extra for this pandora
service that reads hearts and minds
for as this concludes,
it "plays"me for,
Tom Petty is singing me a lullabye,
"I Won't Back Down"

Jun 2014

Third Mate Third

heard you the first time

a book listener,
earbud'd, her literary tastes
sensately incessant,
to head-hear me speak,
iPad down, iPhone paused,
a 10~30 second ritual
while I grrrrin and bear it

a precious jeweled day,
sun providing a great moderation,
76 degrees Fahrenheit,
a steady breeze, 10~15 mph,
a human cooler
she blanket cosseted,
me relieved,
just a memory now,
a sworn oath to do a three mile morning
hike in the nature reserve

overcome with gratitude for that,
and a perfection blessing of a day,
in normal voice, I let the guard take a weekend day off,
pronouncing I love you vey much
at this very moment of poetry inscribing...

so she stops, unbuds, buttons pushed,
and says what dud, duh,
what was it that you said?

nothing unimportant, says me
(why spoil her twice, thinking)

No I insist!

so I repeat my grace laudatory

and she says, I
just wanted to hear it
twice....

and i wonder what else she hears
when I am being disregarded....

I guess this,
a love poem
of sorts,
though confused,
cause I been used,
well and proper
and quite like it,
I think....a little devilry
a spice to a relationship repast,
don't you worry,
I'll get her back
but where, when, how...

Mmmmmm....

Jun 2014

Third Mate Third

Notification: You!

You: it is 2:10 am
Me: Eastern Standard Mystical Time, yup...
You: why are you up, writing?
Me: the drugs wore off
You: *** the drugs?
Say it ain't so, kiddo?
Me: yup, I did engage
with some strong stuff
ce soir, the woman too,
and she is drowning in her dreams.
Easy and cheap,
scored some us some................
Asian Fusion
Thai Food, Indonesian small plates...

You: idiot!
Me: just answering your question
You: so where is this poem, shaman?
Me: You!
You: Me?
Me: yup.
You are my early morning poem,
which I have entitled Notification: You!

Notification

I am deeply unsure.

Am I notifying you,
or am I notifying myself?

Lost command of my
native language,
the emotions too strong,
Blue Java
the color of my word blood,
strong swirling,
uncontaminated by cow's milk,
but by cows jumping over the moon,
who have come to give me gifts of
Notifications.

Hey ****** ******,
The Cat and the fiddle,
The Cow jumped over the moon.
The little Dog laughed,
To see such sport,
And the Dish ran away with the Spoon

Perfectly clear to me.
I am the Spoon,
You are the Dish.

(Shaman, Shaman, hey man,
you still sound drugged,
we urgent need some clarifications!)

When I wake up,
uncertain about a slew,
a portmanteau
of important life~things,
(Example: when should I
Capitalize a word,
a life, a me, a You?)

there are strangers,
Strangers still,
yet strangers no more,
sending me uncoded messages
intended to decode me,
Notifications,
they are called,

and they
Explode me.

capsules of comments
that encapsulate me,
emasculate my speaking abilities,
reduced to rolling in the gutter,
guttural cries to emit and utter,
man, I got friends I never met,
and that's ok
we just notify each other
thinking of you
and no more words necessary

life is groovy...