2010 one last remark about Mom she’s never had faith or trust in me she always doubts redirects me when i was little she continuously blamed me accusing me of being sick needing a psychiatrist at age 20 my parents committed me for disciplinary reasons to the Institute of Living a psychiatric hospital in Hartford Connecticut in a locked ward for 4 months Mom and Dad discouraged my aspirations to succeed as a painter/writer arguing the impracticality of my decision they thumbs downed Bayli even today she undermines my efforts to love protect her she scolds me for asking permission from my cousin Chris to allow his son Maynard to fly down here and help me pack then drive up to Chicago so i might get to know Maynard on a road trip she instructs hire professional packers for a $100. they’ll be glad to help you pack Mom has always stood in the way of my choices decisions



1975 Chicago in his parent’s kitchen Mom offers the cannolis are fresh from Kanella’s Bakery or try the chocolate fudge cake it’s absolutely delicious Odysseus replies are you trying to fatten me up or **** me with sweets Mom flirtatiously teases i’ve always been about your ruination Odys



2001 Tucson Mom comes for visit at Thanksgiving in her early 80s walking proud yet painfully on displaced hips she is an inspiration to Odysseus her eyes are clouded with cataracts yet she sees life as an eternal optimist since 1920 the world has changed so drastically yet Mom has learned to accept many things she previously did not tolerate she lives prudently on modest fixed income her fingers are arthritically deformed but she was once a great beauty many men desired her Odysseus asks if it was difficult for Mom to lose the power of her physical desirability he noticed her good looks waning in her 50s she answers she sensed her  attraction going in her 70s she still possesses regal qualities and is quite socially charming she chatters a flurry of familiar names events that keep her busy she travels around by herself Mom’s spirit endures but in reality she drifts further away with each passing season she is delicate and has difficulty remembering she echoes a distant past in the early evening of Thanksgiving Day they sit at table of elegant yet rather staid dining room of Mom’s choosing at Arizona Inn she says it reminds her of the way things used to be she wears tasteful black linen slacks black pumps thin silk knitted black turtleneck with string of pearls gold earrings her blonde hair coiffured in same fluffy sprayed style it has been for 50 years in his heart he knows a part of her wishes her son was more like Tom Steinberg who was a senior when Odysseus was a freshman at River Woods Academy The Steinbergs and Mom are still friendly Tom is a successful investment banker with a wife and child living in Winnetka Mom nervously touches the pearl strand around her neck she says you know Mort Rock’s wife Phyllis died i was such a good friend to her at her funeral they read how she said i was her best friend she left me 10 lousy thousand dollars in her will she’s worth millions it’s eating me up inside i needed that money desperately i can’t stop thinking about it 10 lousy thousand dollars went immediately to pay off loans i’m going to sell my jewelry i don’t know what i can get in the spring i’ll put the apartment up for sale or try to get a reverse mortgage from the bank i never told you kids before i’m not in good shape Odysseus comments i feel terrible i wish so much i could help maybe Phyllis Rock suspected you and her husband maybe all those years you were her best friend she read it as guilt and obligation Mom you need to be more truthful Mom cuts in i never had *** with Mort Rock that man drove me crazy he was nuts for me Mom orders the traditional turkey dinner Odysseus orders the Macadamia nut encrusted Hawaiian fish the waiter brings price fixed appetizers little circles of toasted bread with lightly browned melted cheese tiny triangular cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches roasted watercress nuts wrapped in bacon and little hot dogs pierced with fluffy ended toothpicks Mom begins to gobble as she remarks to Odysseus  why do you want to wear your hair like that? you look like you escaped from the camps Odysseus asks what camps are you referring to Mom? she replies the Concentration Camps! you’re a good-looking man and you still have a full head of hair why do you want to shave it off i don’t understand i think you should move back to Chicago Tucson has done nothing to offer look at you you’re all alone you don’t have any friends come home and be your old self again he answers my old self you don’t get it do you Mom do you remember my commodity trading debacle or my 40th birthday or you and aunt Rita’s ceaseless corrections Mom smugly retorts what do you mean your 40th birthday don’t you get smart with me you should be ashamed of yourself why must you keep bringing up the past you need to let go of the past you go into such details details i don’t remember what does it matter now it’s history we only wanted what we thought was best for you you never listened you were only interested in yourself plenty of other kids get beaten and come through just fine you don’t know what it’s like to be a parent it tears me up inside you talk like you had nothing to do with it i can’t take this abuse from you anymore her misshapen fingers hands begin trembling as her voice emotes you think i don’t realize we made mistakes with you you think we were such monsters i wasn’t a good mother i was a lousy ***** is that what you think answer me what are you a bump on a log Odysseus sits stiff in chair his voice shrinks he just sits there his legs shake under table Mom says your father was quick-tempered we were under so much financial pressure maybe we did send you away too soon if i had to do it again i’d do it differently what does it matter now it’s 50 years ago forget the past what do you want from me what can i do he listens silently wondering if Mom seeks some kind of redemption can her conceit permit it he knows he is ******* her he does not mean to be uncomfortable with his muteness Mom continues you were a difficult child remember all the trouble you caused look at you you’re still a difficult man he questions Mom can you hear yourself you think i’m difficult she answers you think we were such terrible parents you grew up in a house of violence his thumb and forefinger nervously touch his chin as he replies no you were good parents i was a problem child different from you you afforded me a beautiful home and brilliant education i wanted to investigate life and learn and grow you didn’t know what to do with a child like that as much as she tries Mom never has been a comfort for Odysseus or he for her he inadvertently stirs her to worry or snap and she in turn unthinkingly disturbs him nevertheless they love each other the waiter brings out salads Mom ordered iceberg lettuce with thousand island dressing Odysseus chose the spinach salad he takes several bites Mom remarks use your salad fork not your dinner fork you know better than that suddenly it occurs to him Mom is more fragile than he he thinks to himself silently Mom i realize your life is closing in on you your mind drifts and you need to fake and cover-up more than ever do you want me to come home and take care of you i will take care of you then he remembers how miserable they were together during his throat cancer recovery in her 3 bedroom Lake Shore Drive condominium immersed in contemplation he pushes the fork through spinach leafs Mom says sit up in the chair and put a smile on your face she self-consciously peeks around the room having lost his appetite Odysseus looks down at napkin on his lap glances at half-eaten salad bowl he gazes up at Mom the waiter arrives making a pained smile he clears the salads then serves the entrees after the waiter departs Mom speaks Odys look at me when i’m talking to you i think about a lot of things i should have done after the fact sometimes even years later Max and i made a lot of incorrect choices when it came to you he cuts in Mom you don’t have to say anymore i love you always have loved you and know you love me too Mom says you know how much i appreciate your paintings you’ve made my life richer i‘ve always been supportive of you in fact i’m your biggest fan right Odys right? thank you Mom i’m grateful Mom says i’ve spoken with psychiatrists and they all tell me the same answer tell your son to forget it why must you dwell in the past what did we do so dreadfully wrong i don’t understand you’re a hard case i wish i could get through to you i hope you can find it in your heart to forgive us you’ll sleep better he questions you know about my insomnia restless sleep nightmares Mom says i can imagine Odysseus’s eyes begin to water Mom i love you i wouldn’t be who i am without you Mom says don’t get so emotional you sound weak take it from me you must be strong in life learn discipline and willpower i love you too son Odysseus wonders if maybe he agitates Mom because he is a constant liability lacking fiscal self-reliance deep down Mom is a giggling gossiping playful girl spoiled by her father she never wanted to grow up and be burdened with the tasks of parenthood what woman of rare beauty and charm would want to give up her privilege and freedom for some kid especially a *******-up kid maybe deep down Mom resents Odysseus he stares down at the Macadamia nut encrusted Hawaiian fish and silently prays he will be released from his life all his stupid sins regrets self-pity self-hatred his vain inconsequential existence



i move organize empty shelves cabinets drawers closets edit wrap tape pack wonder if moving back to Chicago is one more mistake heaped on top of a 1000 mistakes a 1,000,000 mistakes is going home to help Mom my biggest mistake ever i simply know i must try to protect my Mom

Pinnocchio and the Queen!
Puppet image, sorrowful,
Rouge dusted sparkles bless his cheeks,
Such childlike image, as cheery angel,
Gay, misled by teen fantasy,
Hair coiffured not a whisper out of place,
In faded denim hot pants,
Appears out of place,
Parading as a shop mannequin,
Like a tiny harlequin,
Lust for some emotion,
Advertising wares for sale, in aim of a promotion,
A sad commodity,
Full of ****** satisfaction,
Young men, old men , suited men and booted men,
Seeking cutie prey,
Maybe,Streets paved in gold,
Fools gold in the truth was found,
Impure truth was the only thing he ever bought!
Prince Albert,although not his **** in truth,
Instead pond life **** took on the role, with cruel control,
Lives in land where tragic lies, and sorrow becomes magnified,
The shards of all, is ****** fantasies.
As an immigrant to land of city lights,
I see through windows fogged by city smoke!
Visualising through caring eyes,
What I see appalls me deep within,
Tears my soul to tears!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Every evening
she beams into my living room
bringing me the news of the world
Juanita ***
looking at me with her large eyes, gently tossing her coiffured blond hair
demurely enunciating ugly words through her beautifully shaped mouth

another insane event has occurred in some far off country
and Juanita *** has nice red lip gloss on tonight
a boat load of desperate people has reached our shores
only Juanita *** can make the word "asylum" sound ******
more bikie gang trouble in the city
if I had tats and a Harley Juanita, would you ride off with me?
a ******* released on bail
you shouldn't have to read such filth Juanita
the Government’s economic policies are working
who did you share your stimulus package with Juanita?
another loutish sportsman has disgraced himself in public
Juanita, let the sports reporter read that stuff in future
Parliamentarians hurl foul language at each other in Canberra
I love it when you talk ***** Juanita
debate continues about the best way to tackle climate change
if there was an ETS Juanita, would you trade emissions with me?

she is telling me that tomorrow it will be warm and moist
and Jesus Christ, Juanita *** has two buttons undone on her blouse
There will be another news update in an hour
but not from Juanita ***
and without Juanita ***
no news is good news

In black and white and shades of grey,
They stand there, the dicky bird watching few.
The groom in the ill fitting demob suit, shoes polished with spit.
The bride, voluptuous in white brocade clutching the fading blooms.
Her father, proud, reluctant to smile, relinquishing loving care of his little girl.
Best man, a real rocker, with dark flirting eyes, slicking back black hair.
Two young girls, pretty book ends to the nuptial scene,
Short skirts and coiffured hair, clutching flower strewn prayer books in gloved palms.
I am there, the only one left standing, remembering little of that day.
But how I hated that PINK dress.

Puppet image, sorrowful,
Rouge dusted sparkles bless his cheeks,
Such childlike image, as cheery angel,
Gay, misled by teen fantasy,
Hair coiffured not a whisper out of place,
In faded denim hot pants,
Appears out of place,
Parading as a shop mannequin,
Like a tiny harlequin,
Lust for some emotion,
Advertising wares for sale, in aim of a promotion,
A sad commodity,
Full of ****** satisfaction,
Young men, old men , suited men and booted men,
Seeking cutie prey,
Maybe,Streets paved in gold,
Fools gold in the truth was found,
Impure truth was the only thing he ever bought!
Prince Albert,although not his **** in truth,
Instead pond life **** took on the role, with cruel control,
Lives in land where tragic lies, and sorrow becomes magnified,
The shards of all, is ****** fantasies.
As an immigrant to land of city lights,
I see through windows fogged by city smoke!
Visualising through caring eyes,
What I see appalls me deep within,
Tears my soul to tears!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

.
From their private jets,
The primal privileged
Spot a spark earthwards,
The glint of the rolling
Out of guillotines.

Guillotines so tall, waiting,
Just for them and they know
It was coming, as they know
They have it coming.

The rabble they so despise,
Yet pander for as they pull
Wool and leave all in cold,
The wretched who someday
Read injustice in the leaves,
The Princes of sham, cloven,
Always bearing woven bags,
Carpet dreams of desperate,
Down trodden, never fearing
To be trampled, till the blade
Is shining in the searing light
Of new day.

For retribution is a fable
The reptilian upper classes
Are cold to see as it strikes,
Their forked tongues,
Eventual as slimy winter
Strangles themselves
In a hollow cave,
Unmarked.

Even the dirt is soiled
With their fame, their
Scaled names, even
Sun will not shine
On the bloodied blots
They have wrought.

Such murderous stiffs,
Who enslaved all warmth
And empathizers in a rug
Fit for a tomb.  And all their
Art as false as they!

The earthy shall rise
And salt their mortal
Wounds, songs will not be sung
For the indifferent masters
Who now pour into streets
Made for severed muck.

The only beauty they left:
Opulent, soppy-red coiffured heads
As they roll on the potholed,
Sooty pavements.

Leslie Howard
as the Scarlet Pimpernel
is a pure joy
to watch,
all big-collared foppish
tight-trousered dandy
& dainty eyeglass
peering,

& there’s scheming
from the glum & slightly
hunch-backed Robespierre,
weeping aristocrats,
in tumbrils,
& innocent playing
children,

oh so-tailored families
all huge-coiffured hair,
cravats & handkerchiefs
& cocky young jackanapes
playing chess,

the cheering crowds
all coarse & ugly,
with knitting bonneted-crones
anticipating as the drums roll,
& the blade falls,
to a mighty
cheer,

we can see
our own bewitching
Marie Antoinette,
our own sly & whispering
Rasputin,
our gold-folly Sun King,

but I cannot say
I want Madame
La Guillotine
to be set up,
in the square
this time,
no …
no that,

but a victorious
cheering mob,
does sometimes
haunt my dreams,
I confess
to say.

“I send them to the guillotine for the future happiness of the human race, but I do not allow torture.”

Robespierre

Today is April 1st. Transit strike.
Mayor Koch accepting the fact. Myself,
far from crisis central, in North
Manhattan, measuring the temperature
of my apartment. In the sun it is
warm. The crows have returned again
for Spring.

Today life and the city are o.k. Watching
cat in the morning sun. Drinking tea.
My 1300 dollars will melt like summer
snow, but in the meantime, like samurai
I do not show my fear. I remain still
as on the subway and prepared to fight.

I am sitting under the emergency brake
when a coiffured Latin woman rushes aboard.
The doors close but she decides she wants
out. She bangs on the door as the train begins
to move. I see it happen on her face,
she finds the red cord and pulls,
no hesitation.

Maybe someone's hand or foot was caught
in the door. Maybe she's just selfish and
impetuous, got on the uptown not the downtown
side. Maybe the friends she could have
been with didn't get aboard. Whatever
her reason, she acted and the train obeyed.

Some of the passengers sit through the
whole thing, some of us stand. Myself,
I stand, look for the hand caught in the door.
Later, walk home through the pouring rain.
Today is April 1st. Transit strike.
Sky blue, temperatures mild. Democracy
is great.

Oh Weather Girl, so smart and slim,
Safe in your air-conditioning,
Coiffured and prinked, make-up in place;
No freckles on that flawless face,
Nor sweat upon your marble brow –
I wonder if you’ll ever know
How much your dulcet verbiage
Sends me insane with helpless rage.

You tell me, as the best of news:
‘It’s a good day for barbecues,
‘for the high pressure over Spain
‘will block out the Atlantic rain;
‘the outlook’s fine, with lots of sun,
‘and we’ll have highs of thirty-one’.
And then you flash your perfect teeth,
Complacency beyond belief!

You stupid woman, don’t you know
My flowers and veg need rain to grow?
And since there’s been a hosepipe ban
I have to use my watering-can.
It hasn’t rained for days and days:
Do you know how much water weighs?

Of course the fault’s not down to you,
You only read the autocue;
But could you, please, once in a while,
Just switch off that ****** smile!!

Is the sun too bright
for the sky? Does it burn out
the azure like a moth trapped
in a light fixture till it dies?

Is the ocean too deep
for the land? Does it swallow
the green as it stands?

Is the nightingale too melodic
in her song? Singing all night
in the moonlight. Does her pitch throw
the switch on his wand?

Is the dandelion too strong
for his coiffured lawn? As he
cuts her down she rebounds, poking out
her head like a foot from under
the spread. He can’t shell her
like a prawn.

Pinnochio and The Queen
Puppet image, sorrowful,
Rouge dusted sparkles bless his cheeks,
Such childlike image, as cheery angel,
Gay, misled by teen fantasy,
Hair coiffured not a whisper out of place,
In faded denim hot pants,
Appears out of place,
Parading as a shop mannequin,
Like a tiny harlequin,
Lust for some emotion,
Advertising wares for sale, in aim of a promotion,
A sad commodity,
Full of ****** satisfaction,
Young men, old men , suited men and booted men,
Seeking cutie prey,
Maybe,Streets paved in gold,
Fools gold in the truth was found,
Impure truth was the only thing he ever bought!
Prince Albert,although not his **** in truth,
Instead pond life **** took on the role, with cruel control,
Lives in land where tragic lies, and sorrow becomes magnified,
The shards of all, is ****** fantasies.
As an immigrant to land of city lights,
I see through windows fogged by city smoke!
Visualising through caring eyes,
What I see appalls me deep within,
Tears my soul to tears!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

when I was young there were monsters
under the bed
under the stairs
certainly in the cupboard
only at night
never during the day
I never saw them
fanciful creatures
of fur and gnashing teeth
they disappeared with sleep


where I am now there are demons
at work
at my table
strolling around
during the day
I see them everywhere
they pass for beautiful
perfectly coiffured razor wire
smiles and poisoned kisses
hell has opened its gates
and I am wide awake

@journeyofdays

I found him standing on the side road
leaning against his
red Mustang 1946
with silver rimmed wheels
and black leather seat covers.
His eyes draped with
the black shades
and his hair,
spiked like a dude’s
but also, coiffured
like a gentlemans’.
His maroon polo neck,
making a perfect match
with his grey chinos,
underneath which he wore
black sneakers
with a watch in his hands.
Did I mention the veins on his hand !
I looked at him and caught him winking.
With a new gained confidence,
I walked up to him and touched his bulging manhood.
In a flash of a second,
he grabbed me and
laid me on the hood of his car.
And just when
he was about to kiss me on my ****,
I stopped him,
with a new found courage,
I stripped him of his chinos right there,
and held his ******* in my fist.
And my mouth gave him
the best *******.
Up down, rubbing my hands all over him,
spitting on the right times,
he came for me, grabbing my hair.
He put his hands on me
and came onto me.
I said “you taste like heaven’s personal brand of maple syrup”
and he gave me the most wittiest smile ever,
and whispered his phone number in my ear which is still etched on my mind.
I turned and he grabbed me, because that wasn’t the end.
He laid me on the bonnet again
and kissed me on the **** so hard that I still get wet, just thinking of it.
The way his tongue rolled around my *******, touching all the right places and how his fingers found my spot just on time, when I was about to come, and his touch triggered something, which I never knew existed in me before.
I came hard, on his mouth, and then he whispered in my ear, “you taste like heaven’s *** angel”
And after it was over, he went his way, I went mine,
both with a memory of the best ******* ever.

I’m feeling beautiful today.

Is it because
of this dress of velvet
like molten sapphire
against my skin
or the shimmering gold
a finest thread
lining my silhouette
in a filigree thin
Is it the mascara line
curving out
and making my lashes
flutter and sway
or the tint of pink
in a creamy blush
that on my cheeks
has come to stay
is it the curl in my lips
a contrived pout
or the click of my heels
on the floor it clouts
the bangles on my wrist
that sing as they jingle
the sparkling earlobes
as the earrings ******
is it the perfumed rose
that blooms in my scent
or the coiffured scarf
a colored accent
is it the swing in my gait
or my elusive trait
it is my voice, my gaze
or how, when i talk
my pupils dilate….

I feel beautiful today,
but i do not know why
i have thought all day
and now dark draws nigh
I feel beautiful today
so I should enjoy….

Arshia
Oct 5, 2014

The Old Couple
There is an unspoken acceptance you share a silence no need
to be entertaining and you are bore telling jokes told before
It is an easy quietness each one has their own interest
And to avoid problems a computer and two TV
I do this, and you do that, and I carefully avoid sarcasm
Which is arrogance badly concealed?
There is much to learn from Soap Operas such as Hair- styles
dresses are worn by slim actresses where a plot is easy to follow,
why complicated a play to be academic writers are showing off.
dense lines actors have to learn when it is about looking good
show love and rage in five minutes intervals
Always perfectly coiffured hair stays in place.
Our secret is she is not listening to me nor am I hearing her
this is what I call perfect harmony.
Yet both know there will only be one of them a new silence
that will be a burden on shoulders bent by age.

I want to taste you he said. Thank God I’m coiffured
for the good doctor. My lips were large and parted –

as he started to go down south
hungrily feeding his greedy mouth. When you’ve given

birth twice it stretches you out like a linebacker. And I
trimmed the gym with a weedwhacker because no one likes

hair in their mouth. I wondered had he ever tasted patient
before? I would surely **** him if he said I tasted like chicken,

or worse yet fish. But I think he liked my dish. I seasoned
it well with perfume and powder after a long night in the shower.

said this Friday
he's opening Georgia again when
bodies are still dropping. They can look
pretty for their
funeral. Their hair colored
and coiffured. Sitting pretty
on the pillow in their casket. And their
nails manicured, painted and shaped
for all to see as they lie across
their chest after this virus closes
their lungs. Yay! But they went
bowling! They knocked down the pins
as they did themselves!
Governor Kemp you're such a louse!

that his Tommy Bahama
thyme linen shirt
is pressed. Every day he’s
dressed in a new color with
a stand-up collar.

He cares
that is ebony satin hair
is coiffured and sprayed,
parted on the left side and laid
flat. No gust of wind can
disturb that!

He cares
that his cobalt convertible
BMW is washed and waxed. He’s not
relaxed till it glitters as gold. If
there's a scratch on the leather
next week it's sold.

He cares
that his wine cellar
is stocked with Dom Perignon
in the first row up top.

He cares
about women -
every one of them,
long as they're beautiful,
young and thin.