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Dad’s passing spans 18 months beginning with lung cancer surgeon removes left lung  for 6 weeks he receives radiation treatments Dad gains strength everyone gives thumbs up within several months doctors discover cancer spread to tumor in brain head shaved tumor removed skull resembles stitched baseball Dad lapses into twilight state body shrinks everyone knows his life is ending doctors and family wait for cancer to attack vital ***** only matter of time in january 1991 iraqi scud missiles launch at israel Odysseus in lobby of movie theater when he hears news calls Mom from telephone booth she asks if he is ok nothing could prepare him for horror he feels witnessing Dad slowly die Mom Penelope Odysseus quite vulnerable during this time dependent on trained intensive-care nurse to watch over Dad at home administer drugs monitor condition nurse able-bodied to guide or carry Dad to bathroom assist in his goings cleaning him Mom hires several nurses who each borrow money from her and Penelope Sean each nurse never repays loan and steals jewelry from Mom other belongings from house once a week Odysseus takes Dad out to lunch accompanied by nurse Odysseus places cap with bulls insignia on Dad’s bald stitched-up head Dad nods gives high-five Odysseus talks about feats michael jordan and entire team perform Dad avid fan Odysseus drives Dad nurse in toyota to favorite lunch spots Dad has no appetite no words but manages frail smile in august 1991 Odysseus has first one-man show at prestigious gallery run by Keith ******* Keith published Odysseus in college literary magazine decade earlier 17 large color field scapes hang on two long walls Dad too ill to attend opening never sees show in film documentary shot at gallery by Sean Odysseus explains “the work is about opening up possibilities clean slates for new worlds rawest moment of narrative very beginning of story all we are presented with is stage i’m scared of story right now suspicious of story don’t even want to deal with story once story starts then everything gets messed up all these things happen at this point in story it’s just this exciting stage full of possibilities full of potential the very beginning and you don’t know what is presented yet” near end of Dad’s struggle in late summer Odysseus asks Mom and Penelope to allow him to visit father alone in hospital they reluctantly consent Dad lying semiconscious in bed Odysseus holds back tears looks at withered father Dad breathes inconsistent occasional fluttering eyelids Odysseus begins to talk aloud about their lives together wonders if Dad reached his goals? does he feel fulfilled with life? is he prepared for death? Dad is 71 years old does he feel cheated of time? did Odysseus disgrace Dad or make him proud? Odysseus feels guilt suspects he may have embarrassed even shamed Dad wonders if Dad deep in his heart believes Odysseus is sad disappointment? he forces words out of his mouth “Dad can you hear me? Dad i love you Dad forgive me please for not becoming what you wanted me to be Dad” phone rings suddenly who could be calling at solemn moment? Odysseus lets it ring but ringing will not stop unwillingly he answers “hello?” “Odysseus don’t do it! Don’t hurt Dad!” it is Penelope calling worried he might commit some murderous act Odysseus and Penelope snap at each other for moment he hangs up thinks what a tragic breach of trust realizes no one not Penelope Mom Chris anyone in family honestly trusts him he wonders if Dad overheard angered remarks with Penelope what a sad way to die hearing your own children quarreling Dad dies august 31 1991 same date cousin Chris’s son Maynard celebrates 3rd birthday Mom’s brother Karl comes from california to help family discovers Dad took out undisclosed $15,000. loan to offset lack of earnings Dad typically overextended himself Karl pitches in to compensate for borrowed money after Dad dies Schwartzpilgrim house falls apart Mom weeps for many months they were married more than 50 years Odysseus feels sorry for Mom all alone in big house she invites family for dinner but it is never same Odysseus’s inheritance is old toyota with 80 thousand miles Dad said he wanted to buy Odysseus new volvo Odysseus is grateful for car which allows him to drive Farina to lake in dream Dad is sitting in back seat bandages wrap around his head same way doctors dressed him after brain tumor surgery Odysseus driving toyota looking for parking space there are none to be found they drive around block several times Dad suggests “try driving around the block one more time maybe parking space will open up” Odysseus answers “no i think we need to go few blocks further” Dad says “Odysseus you’re in drivers’ seat now but try my way one last time” they drive around block find parking space right in front of house Odysseus wakes up confused asks aloud “Dad is dead right?” it is not easy losing a father forgiving forgetting
guy scutellaro Feb 2018
When I walk towards the dog his eyes follow my every step.
Eyes  blue like hard candy. Lips curled above white fangs
smile at me with a smirk of someone who has awakened
from a bad dream.

I think I hear him sigh and as I kneel beside him, his cold eyes catch some light from the pulsateing drum bar sign.
"What do you see?" I ask. "What can you feel?"

Inside the bar I order a shot of bourbon and as I put the bourbon to my lips I see the dog standing on a barstool next to the fireplace. His lips are contorted tightly above its teeth and his eyes pulsate red light. After staring in disbelief the impossibility of situation dies. His eyes flash quickly several times. He knows me .

I order 2 shots of bourbon and walk over to were the mutt was sitting. He is not there and I'm beginning to wonder if I have imagined the dog when I feel something ice cold rubbing against my leg,  I look down. The mutt winks at me. I crouch down to put the glass of whiskey in front of him. Then I touch my glass to his.

"I've learned to moan without making a sound. " I tell my friend as his stiff tongue stubbornly licks up the bourbon.

He slowly turns his big, ****** head towards me. "Out of the lowest the highest reaches his peak,"  his hoarse voice whispers. Causiously I stroke his head. He growls but it is not too menacing. It becomes more like a contented humming. The faster I caress the louder the droning becomes. His eyes dilate and I become mesmerized watching them grow from a warm yellow radiance to a terrifying hot white.

And with a vicious snap the dog sinks his teeth into my hand.

I **** my hand loose. Quickly I stand up and punt kick the little ******* into the fireplace. My wounds are deep but bloodless. A cold numbness  travels up my arm, into my chest, and down to my toes.

And just when I 've lost all feeling. I begin to burn. The fire is burning me from the inside out, so no one knows how I feel.
Instead, I stare at the dog in the fire place as steam rises from his head. His eyes flash at me three or four times.

I give him the finger.

When I walk into the poolroom, I put quarter on the table. It is a crowded room of tired faces unable to radiate any light of their own.

"The fire has consumed me. The true believer of snow and sad faces, I am a shell."

I am confused, frightened. I hear the words as if they are my thoughts. But then across the room hidden in a dark corner I discern the silhouette of the mutt. His eyes are shut but I can faintly see his subtle smile.

It's my game so pretending as if nothing has happened I select a pool stick. A tall man in a leather jacket comes over and tells me it is his game.

we argue.

And the dog's voice groans, "No matter what you dream it'll end in ashes or ice. Hit him with the pool cue." The next thing I know I'm slamming the pool stick into the man's face. Blood rushes from his wound. People rush from the shadows. Hands grab me. Punch and kick me. I'm dragged to the door and tossed into the gutter.

Semiconscious, sometimes dreaming, I roll over and face the dog.
From the shadows someone comes behind me, I try to roll over to see the voice but cannot.

"What does this world consist of?" The voice whispers into my ear. "Empty lots, a dead dog, and visions of the night."
The taxi is silent the driver's stopped trying
A crossing appears with no pedestrians crossing
Houses line the street with a warm yellow lighting
The night drizzle lightens, the pavements start frosting.

Shouldn't winter nights be spent comfortably
Rapped in familiarity?

Turn into the car park, the barrier is rising
Wretched is the destination, cold and disheartening
One day you'll return and your mindset will brighten
For now we will visit under the cold grey lighting.

Should I dare to peak inside?
The driver shrugs. I daren't decide.

The automatic doors squeak ominously open
No round of applause, no standing ovations
A pin could be heard, the canteen is broken
Seldom celebrated, there are few worse locations.

Should I lower my temperament
Become stoic and sensible?

The escalator moans while taking us further
The corridors smell stale, they echo a murmur
A slip-away comment in a labyrinth of tension
Hospital blue reflects in the eyes of the visitors.

Could I muster the strength to go inside?
I'm here, I've done it, all sadness must hide.

The nurse hands over the apron, i feel inhuman,
You lie propped on a cushion, restlessly muttering.
'It's a bad dream, it's okay' I'm nervously stuttering.
My stomach churns at the pain you're experiencing.

Should i dare to show my tears?
I needn't alarm onlookers and familiars.

Your bed-light flickers, the room dissapears
In the darkness we're calm, inhibitions are cleared
Such split-second clarity has calmed me for years.
I smile fearlessly pulling your hand gently nearer.

Should I dare to leave your side?
I'd blame myself, it would shatter my pride.

So here we sit for hours on end, semiconscious
Semi-talking, the volta on which all cruxces depend
Your dream-like graciousness cleanses and encompasses;
Myself and others, regale tales of your accomplishments.
Ashley Centers Aug 2010
Lying there in your arms on my bed
without a care in the world. Laying there
and pretending that maybe, for just one minute,
you were mine again and I was yours.

Our hands intertwined and sweet kisses
on the forehead let me know you still care. The way I
tickle your arm and nestle my head in your chest
drives you crazy. The way you wrap your arms around me
and pull me closer; the way you tickle my back makes me
melt while I'm lying in a dreamy,
semiconscious state with you.

What do you miss the most?
Oh god, everything. I miss a lot of things.
I miss the way you smiled at me like I was the only thing
that mattered in the whole wide world.

What do you miss the most?
I miss the connection we had that summer.
Me too. Me too.

If you could change one thing, do something
differently, what would it be?
I would fight like hell to see you more,
spend more time just like this.
How about you?
Hey, that wasn't in the rules.
Since when have I ever followed the rules?
I would kiss you more.

Do you remember our last kiss? I do.
I remember everything about it and it drives
me absolutely crazy.

It was hot outside, really hot, and I had to leave
but your car needed some work before you could
make it home. We said goodbye and I had turned away
to leave before spinning around for one last kiss.
God, that was incredible.

What happened to us?
And please, don't feed me any *******.

We don't even have to say a word.
You lying here with me is enough.
This is a veryyy rough draft.

Copyright 2010 Ashley Centers
Sum It  Sep 2013
Blanked Dreams
Sum It Sep 2013
I do not remember my dream from last night
or nights before
I do not even remember if ---
I have been dreaming
Since days and past, i have been sleeping late and waking early
****-a-doodle-doo then
I try to remember unconscious or
semiconscious activities happening around when i was deep with sleep
...My memories do not agree for me

What happened to the dreams
of my childhood--- what was my childhood dream
or those dreams of achieving something-- something
I wanted to buy,  something very bad
something I do not quite remember now
Where was the place I was destined for
My brain is losing its nerves
What was it I wanted to become!

Pinch me!
Pinch me--- Oh, reality!
I turn my pages of my private dream journal
Someone seemed to have robbed my letters off the pages
I panic and I slap myself
I panic and I bang my head
I panic and I scream out my lungs
I panic and I call for help
I panic and I ask
"Why are you all laughing at me?"
I panic for now they are declaring my mad
I panic trying to run around and hide
I look at the mirror to find no one inside

Why me? .............................!
Is it me who forgot my dreams?
oh me!
or my dreams who abandoned me?
****!
Or were they just snatched away?
Written on August 30, 2013
g clair  Mar 2014
water sounds
g clair Mar 2014
half-asleep I'm hearing
the soft and soothing flow
of water's musical soundtrack
in sleepy afterglow

nothing matters,  nothing troubling
and that distant sound is nice
warm springs from hillside bubbling
through snow and thawing ice

blue morning came too early
into my chilly room
kiss the new day darling  
from your cozy warm cocoon

and still this brook
is babbling, a semiconscious stream
waters from the highest mount
cascading into dream

still in semi darkness
wishing wake would go away
a pang of something,  sadness
way too tired right now to pray

in my state, no words to utter
sensing he was ever near
wanted me to " simply listen, love
to living waters here"

moving water it's own music
crystal tones from babbling brook
if my ears could fish the woodlands
rushing rivers they would hook....

senses fully wakened wonder
what on earth  that sound?
for you know there's neither mountain
nor a stream for miles around.

No resin fountains flowing
nor a pond with motored fall
only snow and none was going
far too cold to melt at all.

So I sat up rather quickly
could a pipe have rot and burst?
and my stomach feeling sickly
at the thought, and how my thirst

perhaps a water vandal
running down the bathroom aisle
best go check that faulty handle
it's been going for a while.

rising up, my ears were scoping
leaning head toward window sill
softly stepping toward the place
where it was playing for me still

And what would I discover
in the fir tree just out yonder
but a flock of bubbling blackbirds
in the branches and I ponder...

blackbird
babble in light of day
teach this broken heart to learn to sway
come what may

you became the water and my worries washed away....
water wash my sad away
stand in stillness, listen to them pray...
all my days...
Attributed To Concerned parents
of Traumatized Refugee
Dear Fred and Mary Anne MacLeod Trump...

Posthumous belated tattered letter fragment
recently discovered (liberally sprinkled with
hyperbole (presumed for greater audacious
zealousness), sans accidentally acquired
by yours truly.

Miscellaneous personal item highly valued
when thwarted from auctioneer, whose gently
persuasion collectible merchandise requisitioned,
thence keepsake property perfunctory mandatorily forfeited.

Due compensation from sole male heir (me),
whose long since (resting in eternal
peace) papa suffered degradation,
humiliation and understandable lamentation
as a kid living in Flatbush.

Authorities and expert legal scholars
pieced together what probably comprised
a lengthy epistle rivaling the Epic of
Gilgamesh).

Recollection recounted torturous,
malicious, and flagitious mean spiritedness
visited upon the ambitious, cadaverous, and
timorous body electric high-jinxed introverted male,
whose abstemious, conscientious, and nutritious
dietary regime, could not forestall rigor mortis.

A postscript (purportedly penned prior to
once philosophical pensive poet's papa's passing)
stated that said personage felt bitterness,
disharmonious envious self loathing.

That grownup man known as mine father,
though once upon a time, said recently
anonymous deceased old fogey ironically
registered as an atrocious, cantankerous,
and egregious deplorable high school student.

Also, the author of what constitutes partial
opprobrious litany attests during his
idolatrous, notorious, and semiconscious
Arab zombie school daze.

He ranked as de facto semiprecious,
tremulous and unanimous scapegoat
bullied by a bumptious, callous,
disputatious hippopotamus of a brat
infamous bruiser later in his life to become
forty fifth president of UnIted States.

Though documentation incomplete, the un
named subject referred within torn shred
recovered included signatory couching
ambiguous references to a tenebrous,
unscrupulous, and vicious ******* initials.

Dee Tee quickly intuitively assessed
as one inhumane specimen, whose pugnacious,
pretentious, and pestiferous, persona characterized
impetuous, adulterous apprenticeship appetite
for erecting ******* skyscrapers.

This once pacific pilloried pupil, whose grown
son (myself), now recalls father's misty eyed
anecdotes dripping with acrimonious, curmudgeonly
grouchy, grizzly and crotchety old sorries,
viz refashioned abominable kamikaze
psychological sorties.

I can vividly recall (how painful unto his old age)
oft daddy's repeated quotidian taunts, whereby
that bad ***, acidulous, avaricious, contemptuous,
enormous, and grievous big boy trumpeting
bruiser exuded devious, heinous, libelous, and
parsimonious tightwad, though born into wealth.
Kristen  Mar 2015
can°tsleep
Kristen Mar 2015
But good God, I'm restless!
I can't even sleep...
In day I have been terribly tired and haunted by a lassitude,
Lashed in place by listlessness,

And now that the stars have come,
And the moon has crossed overhead,
I couldn't sleep if I wanted to.
Angst! Malaise!
Like a ghoul,
Haunting me
The same as the lassitude which should have preempted it-

The sleepless night crawls up and down my arms
Like a lover's touch when you've already said,
"Dear, not tonight."
I love the night but
Sleep, come take me into your embrace.
Let me join the soft waves of the semiconscious sea
And dream--
I lie, eyes wide in the dark
Staring down a screen which soaks up my words like a sponge..
Full yet? I hope not, for I must dribble out more.
Dabbing paint in loud colors on a dark canvas×
       •  ••    •• • ~
I lay in bed pretending.
My feet at the pillows,
My head at the foot;
Perhaps there are times this energy is welcome,
And I'd treat it as a gift,
And that's probably usual but
tonight--
Tonight it is ennui.
Tonight it is a disoccupation,
An unoccupation,
And it makes me squirm~~
PassionUnique Apr 2015
I stumbled across a dream last night, or at least that’s what I believe it was
I seem to be having trouble deciphering whether it was a dream or possible an incomplete fantasy
Cause I seem to be awake, so I poked myself with a stick so I could feel the pain, I felt it so that must mean that I’m semiconscious
Or maybe reality is subconsciously catching up to  me, so I jumped in shower to wash the Sin away, then my animalistic Desire came into play, whispering nothing to me but that naught language
As my thought started to Unravel, I hopped out the shower because as cold as the water was the my real intentions seem to add fuel to the fire, and as the Steam starts to fill up the room, this all had seem to Excite me, it was quite the Delicious Poison
Metaphorically speaking
Instantly I knew wrong was wrong, but wrong never felt so good, yes was yes and no wasn’t even in my vocabulary,
Temptation surrounded my system , but my logical thinking stood in Tact, as I put pen to paper  an  intriguing presences captivated my attention intensifying this situation,
So I inquisitively and roughly took the music out my ear to stop the Teactresses   because I realized that temptation was sitting next to me the whole time
So you tell me is this something I should take lightly, because it seems hard as hell to carry.
Either way the thought of it is still hard to Admit.

-Passion_Unique
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
Had nothing far ahead
Had nothing close by
Chasing a dream, I was framing my world
Actions and thoughts were governed, perfect
To me, I was a normal
Normal was every day too

On April 1, I got accepted
Thus started magic on me
Paranormal, euphoric
Who cares, how I was to the rest?
LHC started inside my head
Releasing God particles
New words,
New feelings started to run my veins
Intoxicated
Semiconscious
Was I.

Was it a black magic?
Sure, It was something new
A fuel for active brain.
I was not poet, then it happened.
Shared frommy Anthology, Canvas: Echoes and Reflection, 2018.

— The End —