Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
  Jun 2020 Still Crazy
Carl Fynn
The struggles I had to face is something she wont go through!
No! Never! Not while I live , and definitely not under my watch.
THE CRY OF AN AFRICAN MOTHER

My daughter is a lawyer in the making.
She's intelligent, a doctor figure.
THE HOPE OF AN AFRICAN FATHER

Study hard baby
You'll take care of your sibling someday
and build us a better home.
THE PRAYER OF AN AFRICAN PARENT
................................................................­.................................................................­.....................................
Your good intent overshadowed by your failures and inabilities.
Genuine goodwill expressed in a confusing web of past decisions
Your way out shackles me to a prison wall painted in your dreams and wishes

I open my eyes to two options,
the wall of desolation and
the gateway of disrespect and ungratefulness .

I'd love to stay in these chains
enjoy the discomfort of your comfort.
but i cant!
I have a life to live
a destiny to realize

I cant live your dream
all the night you had to cry at nature's unfair gift of failure
could have turned to smiles and pride.
With the weapon of childbirth
You were assured a sweet revenge on nature

but the truth is...
all you have is an opportunity to be you
I'd love to be the doctor you long for.
**** to be a lawyer just to satisfy your thirst

but....
What difference would it make
I get to be the doctor.... not you
I wear the wig ...... not you
You'd still be a slave to nature
and me, a prisoner to the horror of your past.

I cant live your dream
tho i dream of living the future you've planned for me,
all i wake up to is a pillow, a ***** sheet and REALITY!

I choose the gateway of disrespect
carrying along the tag of an ungrateful son
battling nature to the realization of my dreams
while staring at the Right to a wig and a stethoscope on the wall.

Hanging between those crafty wooden frame
is your key to vengeance
to me,
the crown of a wasted years chasing after your dream.

Sorry mom --- Sorry dad
I cant live your dream.
Still Crazy Oct 2019
“High in an ingredient called allicin, garlic can help stimulate circulation and blood flow to ****** organs in both men and women. However, because of garlic's mood-killing smell, eat it in moderation.”

while researching mold, stumbled on this factoid,
the one that’s asking
what is moderation in love?
and where in the oddest places, we find answers...

oft thought that pure love is extremist,
and any extreme needs to thrive on its antimatter,
so goodness, needs speckles of unkind,
and ****** promotions, aides that aid,
present an invoice needy for stamping “paid!”

such is the casino we play life in,
you cannot leave till you’re paid up,
paid in full in heartbreak joyous,
so the odor of love, keener, fruited,
when absent and the green grocer
no longer smiles when his ex-best garlic
customer walks by(e)

I toiled in seduction fields, gathering fruits and flowers,
now, reduced to a window-sill gardener whose
crop will grow from citified rain, small stunted,
leaden and ripe for discardation

troll me not, your stuff is your stuff,
mine is mine, when we meet, you will be slow to recognize,
but you will smell my garlic, and know it’s

that poet
exactly

au revoir, no!

it’s not your eyes that will acknowledge
my existence, but the dirt beneath my fingernails,
and the perfume of what might have been therein contained
if you, sadly unlike me,
are!
s t i l l
crazy after all these (tears) years
  Jun 2019 Still Crazy
no truth login
lesson #1: in the beginning, all poems on Earth were formless

on blended knee, the approaching, humility, raging, barely  
tempered by a gale force need, the forthcoming yoga pose of compose

you have urgings, mostly in a blink of an eye,
then going, gone notions, the writing is so a losing effort,
you turn the paper’s aperture sideways hoping to get an
inside straight insight,
but the poem refuses to come, the creation ******
delayed is torturous and the poem birthing, even worse

so you revert to basics to give the formless a shape,
recalling  a child’s learning that in the beginning:

“the earth was formless and void,
darkness was over the surface of the deep,
and the Spirit of God was hovering
over the surface of the waters.…”

so you insert a single sheet of 20Lb bond paper,
sliding the typewriters carriage smooth swift  
over to the starting gate hell’s bell, typewriter machine smell erotically exciting creative fluids boiling,
typing, laughing out loud, forming entree to the hinted hallway
of a womb opening to a crafting with three words:

                               in the beginning
Still Crazy Jun 2019
drrry spells

~for the r in all of us~

a normanative condition, a kitchen condiment, an un-relished
I’m-in-a-pickle relish, when there in no hot **** dogged doggedly poem perspiration in the fridge or anywhere to be found; nothing but a top sliced bun, ah, plain buns, old stale dog ones is all ya got left for dinner, during one of them there drrry spells that
no blonde tanned unweathered weatherperson ever
forecast correctly

Normanative? Oh yeah.

the tyranny of the white, white bread, the white, whittle ya down screen, couture-cold water from tap direct, neck bent, jugged to try and fail to wash down that lumpen ball of dog fur brain drain clog that’s backing up the paper words, in a stomach churning brine holding you back from reaching the top of the Mt. Everest,

rite Normanative?

Normanative.Oh yeah. Son of Norma and Normally.
It’s in the bibell, look it up!

she-he is my pooka, (nope, uh-uh, look it up) a six foot tall rabbit,
climbing up my brain stem, strategically strangling my words like
a flea killer collar round my neck, one that actually visually works,
my flea bit words fall to the floor, to live with the dust mites descendants of the ole south, drafts and rejection letters, all whose blessed memory may never die etc. etc.

that was the condition of my normanative condition when I dropped in (yup, look it up),

Norman sarcastically asking, how’s the weather up there,
any rain in that-northern-brain, down here it’s as dry as an southern old dog porch panting in Jewlie, breathiny out summer hottie poems, write out like it’s crazy going out of style, oh yeah, forgot
you don’t speak dawg that well.

so I don’t know nothing about your drry spells, just climb into
the hottest hot tub, staying all the summer months if necessary,
reading old poems about busted hearts, old dogs, unrealized loves that can’t be forgot, promises kept that one never made, other curses,
battlefields of yore, sweatin’ out the toxins till r
sends along a new one, rocking my toenails to my disbelieving eyes,
for I’m a mentally patient person,
whose never seen a drrry spell so long, that was not worth
wading thru, waiting for, till something busted out and
another thunderstorm of a literary good one, errr come along

like I said, I’m a mental patient man, still crazy after all these years...
(yup, that too, you could look it up if ya made this far)
  Jun 2019 Still Crazy
no truth login
my way to say,
present, in Wonderland.

present in your life when least expected,
no qualifying reassurance reason,
and best!
dessert-deserved more than the rest of the days

prefer to have a postman ring twice,
imagining the look on your confused face,
the genuine life velocity wholeheartedly surprised,
the tickling happiest angst of wondering why...

the present of presence is selfish, me-gleeful,
good for the soul, and the surprise message,
for my presence is all the greater by my absence,
well, it tickles that warm spot you almost forgot about
that no rowed columnar calendar manager can pretend provide

that’s what is all about...
(and stop grinning already)
the unexpected, the ******* jack wondering,
the whys grows lesser,  
the message très simple:
the no reason season of surprise,
starts with a daily sunrise..  

C'est la vie au pays des merveilles


postscript
————-
(Holiday and Birthday wishes/presents are now de rigeur, obligatory,
forgetting unacceptable, even as a date’s meaning grow less significant,
now that we’re on Facebook to be advised by AI that controls it & destroys simultaneously,
the reduction of the remembering quality of life)
Next page