small cheap rooms where you walk
down the hall to the
bathroom can seem romantic to
a young writer.
even the rejection slips are
amusing because you are sure that
you are
one of the best.

but while sitting there
looking across the room
at the portable typer
waiting for you on the table
you are really
in a sense
insane

as you wait for
one more night to arrive to sit and
type Immortal Words--but now you
just sit and think about it
on your first afternoon in a strange city.

looking over at the door you
almost
expect a beautiful woman to walk in.

being young
helps get you through
many senseless and terrible
days.

being old
does
too.

drunk again at 3 a.m. at the end of my 2nd bottle
of wine, I have typed from a dozen to 15 pages of
poesy
an old man
maddened for the flesh of young girls in this
dwindling twilight
liver gone
kidneys going
pancrea pooped
top-floor blood pressure
while all the fear of the wasted years
laughs between my toes
no woman will live with me
no Florence Nightingale to watch the
Johnny Carson show with
if I have a stroke I will lay here for six
days, my three cats hungrily ripping the flesh
from my elbows, wrists, head
the radio playing classical music ...
I promised myself never to write old man poems
but this one's funny, you see, excusable, be-
cause I've long gone past using myself and there's
still more left
here at 3 a.m. I am going to take this sheet from
the typer
pour another glass and
insert
make love to the fresh new whiteness
maybe get lucky
again
first for
me
later
for you.
from "All's Normal Here" - 1985

‪Me and the typer ‬
we fight the world
with vicious fury
We shake mountains
Entire lakes
of tears ripple
as we live
our truth
as men

A colorless, eye-shaped smoke in the sky is my eyes,
That, instead of seeing, creates new skies,
New ground, and on it a new population.


None can be sure about my subjective realisation,
But what I see is more like a simplification
Of a horribly bad-mad world.


I myself am not sure how the colours are whirled;
The colours of dream- and under-world
As clothes in a washing machine.


Myself is supposed to whirl inside that machine,
Among the instinctive desires and unclean,
Inherited demands.


While my true existence that no one understands
Is beyond those dark-coloured commands,
Just dwelling for observation.

Sipping midnight whiskey behind the typer,
staring at a blank spot on the wall,
fingers frozen to the keyboard in mid-sentence,
another wave of anguish
floods the mind.

The spot on the wall is a sounding board
to rail against enemies
and debate ideas,
and howl the cries of a madman
who will forever ponder
damaged souls left
in his wake.

Sins committed once belonged to others.
Then I learned how to inflict pain
in my own style.
Now, regrets languish
in *****-soaked reflections.
They stir quiet torment,
a just retribution
for honest men

That bartender poured my bourbon
and took an interest in my life.
'What's wrong, pal?
You can tell me.
I have all the answers.'
'Great,' I said. 'I don't know
any of the questions.'
For the rest of the night,
he left me with my typer
and silently refilled
the bourbon.

-Ron Gavalik

Note To The Reader: Attempting to read all of these would be ridiculous but I hope that you can scroll through and hopefully see something you can connect to.....

1. I am sad or unhappy a lot

2. I am happy sometimes though and so I try to make other people laugh then to make up for the times I make them cry

3. I love sunny days with a light breeze and alternately heavy rain and thunderstorms

4. I am a sucker for all things involving sugar in all its forms

5. I am an analyzer

6. I am a worrier

7. I am messy

8. I am opposed to people who aren't themselves and people who apologize for saying the truth

9. I am a terrible typer and speller

10. Fine is a word I use for almost everything

11. I dislike spending time with most of the people I know

12. I dont think the apocalypse would be a bad thing

13. Eight is my lucky number

14. I love books as they are my escape

15. I am in love

16. I want to be an artist

17. Music is my life and the reason I'm still alive  

18. I only watch really funny movies or really sad movies

19. I love making lists

20. I love buying new notebooks and pencils

21. I'm self conscious and stubborn

22. I'm mildly lazy and very direct

23. Obsessed with DIY

25. Im a freak about germs

26. I am and have been depressed from a very young age

27. My favorite colors are blue and brown

28. I believe in magic but not true love

as I sat here alone tonight
I took my look around the place
listening to the magical, talented
voice of Mr. Leon Bridges
and begin to think about
people who I once knew, but
now are strangers, and strangers
who are kind of a family now
and those who've never left my side
I think about past flings
long nights, days of tears
weeks of uncertainty, years of regret
thoughts that only run though me
when I'm alone and its just that

It's my drink, my pasta
and this original Olivetti typer tonight
which pretty much sums up my life
and I realize how short the time
we have, we are gone so quickly
I see the world go by everyday
the bus drivers, the fellas goin' to work
girls at the bus stop, the lawyers
the mothers, the fathers, the children
I sometimes feel if nobody moved
if we didn't make the day rise up
would the world even spin around
we are so ******* important
and there is too many people
with closed eyes, waiting for the day to die

so here's to the artists
the unapologetic, the mother *******
the lovers, the insane
the everyday man not afraid of the morning

Been gone for a while
Lost my knack for words
The poet pipe used to be my crack
And I'd splice it with some herb.
But I lost the good vibration
That made me tic the keyboard tac
But some reason now I'm writing again
The youngin age is coming back.
I missed all my fellow typer's,
Penner's, grinners, ******'s
Writer's. Dont take ****** word wrong
Because trust me I'm a ****** to,
Hello out there my fellow poet
That's right, Gramps did miss you.
I've been enjoying the sun
Not trapped inside the hellopoetics cube
We all need some getaway time
To come back like a fresh flower
Renewed and refined. So for today
I inscribe my bloodlines time,
Because in time we record our being's,
Today I'm back to make fancy words
And tell you fanciful thing's.
Glad to see you, hello Mr and Mrs
Poetry, hope your doing well\
Gramps missed your typing keys.