My mother didn't have a television
nobody did
because their weren't any
until someone had a vision

to bring radio to life

radio singers and soap opera players
circus acts
and vaudeville comedians

all came together in one box

After that there was only one
thing left to do
and that was

go to the moon

.

Pacing backstage like a bull in the batter
Thrashing about as if china exists
Driven to drink by some wine on a platter
Blowing off steam for he could not resist

Snorting a scene when the lines are recited
Reading the script just a few seconds more
Up with the curtain by hands so excited
Wishing the winter had closed every door

Shoveling snow in a thong made of paper
Counting the flakes that attended his show
In the front row as the smiles did taper
Sat an old woman he knew long ago

She held a bag printed green with a flower
Wore her hair up and her underwear down
Gazed up at him as if she held the power
Reached in her satchel and pulled out a crown

Glistening gold trimmed in jewelry gleaming
Something indeed that was fit for a king
Pinching his skin just in case he was dreaming
Thinking it must be the silliest thing

Low went the lights with the audience hushing
Now was his time as he stood on the mark
Hoping that nobody noticed him blushing
The brightest of red in the darkest of dark

Then as he spoke in an accent so fitting
Words written out by some dude named Shakespeare
Looked to his feet where the crown was now sitting
An inscription inside “For a lousy King Lear”

He searched for the woman and noticed her leaving
Screaming out loud, “What’s the meaning of this?”
When she looked back, now his eyes not believing
She wore his face as she blew him a kiss

Had he gone mad as the world became hazy
Spinning in place, royalty gone insane
“Give me your praises,” he shouted like crazy
“Tell me you love me and tell me your name”

“I’m called Cordelia and I far from love you
Your acting *****, you’ve no talent at all
I’ll give you no praise, no that’s something I won’t do”
And there she stood as the curtain did fall

She started to laugh as the sirens were blaring
They carted him off on a stretcher of gold
To the asylum with everyone staring
Tossing the tickets that they had been sold

Then out of nowhere the crowd started cheering
She took his stage, now her kingdom, she swore
Taking a bow, the applause so endearing
She had no choice but to give an encore

A woman, old and poor,
               has a cabin by the shore.
Here she lives everyday.
Here she is content to stay.

The village people know her well
                from all the stories she will tell
about a warrior long ago.
A man she claims herself to know.

All the children gather 'round,
                  listening to her every sound.
As she speaks she looks about.
She speaks the truth there is no doubt.

"He was strong and brave" she'll say,
                   "and at the times he went away"
"his youthful wife would always cry."
"She knew not where he went, or why."

"All she knew was when he went
                     to all these places he was sent,
that he come back, just as he left,
and wipe the tears that she had wept."

"As he returned from every war,
                      he would come gently to the door.
He'd hold her close, and told her so,
he wished he'd never have to go."

"But, then one day of later years"
                        she says with eyes abound with tears,
"He left again, to not return,
and of his fate she'd never learn."

"She'd wait and wait to have him back,
                         but, he's one thing she'd always lack."
"And, so she waited everyday,"
and here she waits for him today.

The air breezy today, but the sky
Blue.

The sun out today
And my sleeves rolled up to.

The grass vivid green
The bees flying for a while.

The kids are all in school
Learning uneducations style.

Poets are writing
To let their feelings drift.

Lovers are making love,
Some are cheating, getting away for now with it.

Cars are driving pushing steel
Drivers in a hurry.

The squirrels outside, take natures ride
No longer do they worry.

The pollution down on the other side
Of town makes its debut.

Bars down the road filled with drunken loads
Hurt and pain, filled with cigarette ****'s.

Streets cracked, cement chalked
By the little ones who don't care.

I wish I was young, again not to stress
Of the adulthood that I've arrived to here.

The skin at the bed of her nails shone, tight.
Forever healing, windows that rattle
With the changing of her moods.
Love was a locket, an heirloom
That insisted its presence
Upon her bedside table.
She could turn out every light
And it would still be there.
Steady metronome,
Lifeless thud,
Invasive thought.

The carpet gathered artefacts from late night walks.
Bad habits clung to the walls.
No pillow talk, only muffled strings,
Failed symphonies,
Conversations three years old:
Memories that play Chinese whispers
Across the faces in the ceiling.
Irregularity of breath,
Sleep comes, clothed in Zopiclone;
A mind that never rests.

Narcosis in the morning,
Nausea over dried toast,
Sweet flamenco on the radio,
But there is nothing to calm her bones.

The red wine cast last night’s shadow,
Hollow in the eyes, first hit of daylight,
First hit of nicotine
To prove she is still alive.
Anxiety: the ball and chain,
Always dragging her behind.
Living as a ghost,
The people at the bus-stop stare,
The traffic, the signs, the passers-by,
The doldrums in the headlines,
The rain upon her window;
The heart attack and vine.

Prescription pills in the afternoon
To get her through the day,
Until she can get her fix,
Have her fill,
And finally hide away.

The high-street parade comes alive after dark,
Lanterns on the lake, the fish-bowl
Of a small town, familiar tongues that roll;
Memorised anecdotes across the ashtray,
The lipstick on her teeth.
Clumsy in victory, each stumble confined
To look as if she has walked through life
Without ever missing a stride.

There is nowhere to breathe
But in the solitude of her insanity.
She paints the walls
To the colours of her moods:

Grey in the long, long winter,
Blue in the onset of June.