May I join you in the doghouse, Rover?
I wish to retire till the party's over.
Since three o'clock I've done my best
To entertain each tiny guest. My conscience now I've left behind me,
And if they want me, let them find me.
I blew their bubbles, I sailed their boats,
I kept them from each other's throats. I told them tales of magic lands,
I took them out to wash their hands.
I sorted their rubbers and tied their laces,
I wiped their noses and dried their faces. Of similarities there's lots
Twixt tiny tots and Hottentots.
I've earned repose to heal the ravages
Of these angelic-looking savages. Oh, progeny playing by itself
Is a lonely little elf,
But progeny in roistering batches
Would drive St. francis from here to Natchez. Shunned are the games a parent proposes,
They prefer to squirt each other with hoses,
Their playmates are their natural foemen
And they like to poke each other's abdomen. Their joy needs another woe's to cushion it,
Say a puddle, and someone littler to push in it.
They observe with glee the ballistic results
Of ice cream with spoons for catapults, And inform the assembly with tears and glares
That everyone's presents are better than theirs.
Oh, little women and little men,
Someday I hope to love you again, But not till after the party's over,
So give me the key to the doghouse, Rover

Who the hell am I kidding?!
Why you
Just look at yourself
I can't even take it
I held the leash for too long
And honey,
Your in the doghouse
While I'm in the kitchen
Pondering faded memories
Nothing more than dust
Only seen in a ray of sunlight
I totally just forgot I had a dog

What’s your poison, Judas?
Manhattan! I find myself now an integral component of the strangest coalition of strangers anyone could possibly imagine, from all different countries and backgrounds and walks of life, now wandering about, underneath and in and out of the streets and back alleys of this city of sin, from the fish markets to the brothels--

What’s your poison, Judas?
Irish Coffee! Never before has there been a better time to wake up, fling open the shutters of the musty, ancient houses on Main Street and smell the gorgeous plainness of the morning breeze in spring laced with simple undertones of violets and honey and dew all contained in a material essence of the awe-inspiring wonder of this perfect, elegant world--

What’s your poison, Judas?
Sidecar! Here I am riding with the king of kings to the great stone castle atop the hill with the peach trees and the plum trees and the juniper bushes out back that holds luxurious ***** in the luxurious ballroom every Saturday evening where all the loveliest of girls come to drink and dance and to rendezvous to the frozen pond on the edge of the property--

What’s your poison, Judas?
Old Fashioned! Those smug supercilious charlatans way down by the river at the old boys’ club with their tailored suits and their waxed mustaches all get mighty offended every time some young gun with an hopeful persuasion tries to stir the ***, tries to just start a ripple, dips his raw, gentle hand in the bowl for a measly ******* second--

What’s your poison, Judas?
Planter’s Punch! You’d think that we were common thieves by the way that we’ve been received lately, brutally being beaten like insolent slaves, earning scars on my back and my hands as punishment for speaking my mind, and sharing the wisdom I’ve been given while I toil in this unrelenting desert sun, hungry, poor and fatigued--

What’s your poison, Judas?
French 75! Tormented by the cruel pangs of doubt in the face of adversity, I wish day in and day out that I could keep the faith in this enterprise I had when we first began, but the suffering has become simply too miserable to bear any longer and I now feel a tremor in my bone marrow that urges me towards the rebellion on the horizon like a yellow-bellied turncoat--

What’s your poison, Judas?
Whiskey Sour! The air may be cold, and the winds may whip with biting fervor, but with every breath I desperately drag into my heavy, tar-coated lungs to cleanse myself with icy purity this bitter taste still refuses to surrender or concede, and my villainous mouth remains a moist, infectious cesspool harboring the basest of vicious, vile vermin and crawling roaches--

What’s your poison, Judas?
****** Mary! You could scrub the callous palm clean off of my left hand with a hideous clump of rusty, jagged steel wool and wash the wound through and through with vinegar and Borax and this cursed, godforsaken spot on my conscience and on my very soul wouldn’t fade a half of an inch, only sink itself deeper in the flesh and shoot out its brutal clawlike hooks--

What’s your poison, Judas?
Jack Rose! The sorry ******* ******* was doomed, ******, destined for the doghouse from his first innocent and infantile breath, but after thirty good years I had to be the unlucky one the powers chose to fulfill the predictions of the powers' sons, I had to put the leaded bullet in his bleeding back, I had to pull the devilish trigger, and testify--

What’s your poison, Judas?
Last Word! Is there nothing you can do to please just take it far away from me, where I can’t see it, where I can’t even imagine it, where it might as well not even exist, where someone who needs it can have it, where that someone is anybody with a lick of morality, anybody but a back-stabbing, treasonous, perverted, weaseling, ****-of-the-earth Benedict--

What’s your poison, Judas?
Wine with gall.

I miss mine homie,
Who in the world's name is homie? One mayeth ask.....
Well homie
Is mine old German Shepherd.....
Dad named him that
Funny yes I know.... Long story ....
And though I haveth many Angel's here on earth......
Homie,
Was mine true pet angel....

He always watched out for me when I was around nine years old.
And when one day,
At mine birthday party...
Mine friends tried to be OK with homie,
As me and homie were soulmates friend and being wise...
So mine friend's tried to feed homie through his fence hotdogs,
Like I did with no problem...

And mine old buddy Danny found out.
Homie didn't eat hot dog's
Unless I Gaveth them to him ....
Me, his best friend and soulmate!
Fed them to him....
As I saw homie ready to rip Danny's hand off...
I just chuckled and told homie...
Down boy down...

Homie always listened...
He was mine soulmate....
My do I miss mine homie...

As I remembered one day coming home from school...
Mum picking me up from that young learning center,
She said son I got something to tell thee,
On the way home...


(Yes mum)
I said...

Well,
Homie died
I found him whilst thou was at school son...
( said mum)

I couldn't say nothing
I think I just said really?

As mum told me
He was found in his doghouse
Curled up
Dead.....

I questioned her?
Where is he mother?
Wherein did thou layeth his body mum?
I asked....

She told me she had taken him to some place about fifteen minutes away,
And buried him in some wood's....

I wasn't angry with her.
Nor even father,
I was hurt because I didint get to see his body...
I was hurt because I told mother and father all the time...
Bring him INSIDE!!!!!!
When it got cold...
As I remember it was cold
And snowing when he died........

Yes I understood homie was a big dog
And couldst be a little wild at times....
Though we had a basement
With rooms in that basement
And couldst haveth put a cage down there....

So I felt horrible I didint just bring him in
Even though they thought it was fine to stay outside
During winter......

Mum thought he was poisoned
By someone putting something in his food....
My opinion is he died alone,
When I was gone,
And froze to death....
Don't like thinking of it...
I just miss him to mine soul!!!!!!!!!
I forgive mum and dad not angry,
Just canst waiteth to see mine angel again...

R.I.P homie baby boy...
See you in heaven (:

The table waited
For the father and mother
For the merry children
For a splendid dinner
Beside the fire
Where memories flickered
Of roast turkey
And hot cocoa
And a puppy emerging
In a bright parcel
Of red and green
The festive colors

The walls remember
Candle lit evenings
Where stories were told
Under warm blankets
The children would snicker
And laugh in glee
And excitement
As the mother kissed them
And the father said good night

The porch reminiscing
Bright summer days
Where the family
Played joyous games
And sang with the guitar

The yard misses
Seeing the children
In clean uniform
Marching off to school
And coming home
With tired smiles

And the rusty old car
Creaks his hinges
As he weeps
Remembering the father
Who polished and cleaned
During dusty days

And the curtains were weary
For they wanted to move
To let sunlight in
To recapture moments
When the family
Would chase each other
Around the house
Playing hide and seek
Shrieking and exclaiming
In happy voices

The old tree so ancient
Bent over the house
Missing when the son
Would climb his branches
And when in night
He watches them in silence
Camping under his leaves
Huddling each other
In warm plump arms
And when the tree
Peeks in the window
He would see the daughters
Gladly dressing up
For birthday parties

And the doghouse
The wooden old doghouse
Falling apart
Looks at the past
At a little puppy
Licking at his bone
And then coming out
With dozens of other puppies


And the dusty floorboards
Weak and brittle
Will creak at night
Remembering footsteps
Entering and leaving
The grandiose proud door
With a bronze doorknob

And a chandelier would clink
When the wind passes
Filling the house
With flashbacks
Of a new baby
Of graduations
And weddings
And then of noise
Noises of fun
And laughter
And giggles

They cannot remember
The blind day
When everyone vanished
Not a letter of goodbye
Not a wave of the hand
No words no memories
Nothing
Sadness and peace once again

They all sighed
As the sun vanished
In the edge of the neighborhood
They all wept
For the old wood
In the middle of everyone
Waiting for the family
The sad dining table
In ashes and burnt chairs
The table waited

7 a.m.

The familiar sound of singing robots
Wakes me from my mummified state
Postpone instead of dismiss yet again
Did I pick the couch or recliner today?

Stumble into the pitch black bedroom
And fumble around for my uniform
My eyes only adjust when I am finished
So I can perform the morning norm

I love yous and kisses are exchanged
Between multiple people in the house
Before everyone leaves to their jobs
Or tries to remember their sheep count

7 a.m.

The sounds of deep sleep and coughing
Accompanied by the touch of your body
Only become clear after a different alarm
And multiple beings having to go "*****"

You walk back in and start your routine
While I watch with infinite fascination
And as you finish I start mine as well
You starting your annual salutations

So multiple people perform the kisses
And I love yous like any ordinary day
It might be the poet in me but I swear
I would never want it any other way

I walk across
to Hannah's flat
in Arrol House
and knock at the door

Mrs Scott opens
the door and stands there
she's a short thin woman
with a face of granite
with a slit
where her mouth is

whit is it?
she says
her Scottish accent
rough as stone

is Hannah home?
I ask

I dunnae kinn
she replies
HANNAH
she bellows
over her shoulder
Benedcit is haur fur ye
she adds
scowling at me

jist coming
Hannah replies
from back in the flat

yoo'll hae tae bide
Mrs Scott says

and walks back inside
leaving me
on the red tiled step

I look into the interior
of the flat
and smell breakfast
having been cooked

I look back
into the Square
kids are playing
near by
on the pram sheds
and over by the wall
girls are doing handstands
their feet
against the wall
dresses falling
over their heads
showing underwear

sorry about Mum
she has a mouth on her
Hannah says
where we going?
she asks

thought we'd go
to the South Bank
see the Thames and boats
and have ice cream
I say

do I need money?
she asks

just about 2/-
I say
for bus fares
and ice cream

I'll ask Mum
for a handout
but wait for the answer

Mum have you 2/-
I can have?
Hannah asks

fa dae ye hink
Ah am Rockerfeller?
nae Ah huvnae
her mother replies

no problem
I say to Hannah
I'll have enough
for us both

are you sure?

yes don't aggravate
your mother more
than you have to

so Hannah gets her coat
and we walk off
through the Square

she's like that sometimes
Hannah says
she's as tight
as a wing nut

we walk down the *****
and up Meadow Row

I ask her how her father is

she says
he's Ok but in
the doghouse more often
as not with Mum
but he's a softy
to Mum's hardness
but Mum says
he's soft in the heed
but he's lovely really
Hannah says

-I know her old man
he's English and a bit
simple after helping
to empty out Belsen camp
in 1945 where some
he told me were
more dead as alive-

we wait at the bus stop
she with her dark hair
pony tailed
with a tartan skirt
and white blouse
and me in blue jeans
and white shirt
and quiff of brown hair
and hazel eyes

she with a budding beauty
with her mother's
touch of tongue
who if roused
could give words
full lung.

Last night when I came home, I noticed a very delicious
fragrance enveloping me. The jasmine was not in bloom,
so I knew it couldn't be that stealing through window drafts,
and the incense sticks were long extinguished.

Was it Lakshmi? Her divine fragrance perfumes the three
worlds and I sensed an unusual lightness in the atmosphere.
This morning I still detected a unique aroma, though not as pronounced.

I went outside, in the backyard, to let the dog out and observed two orange speckled butterflies dancing near her doghouse. I shooed them away protectively.  As I did this, they moved over to another location, but one hovered near my hands.

It fluttered around my hands for a good minute. I was able to hear,
witness and breathe in the amazing oscillation of it's fragile wings.
Gorgeous mosaic patterns glittered between the rays of sunlight bathing
our golden communion. I could clearly see its ebony face peering curiously up at me.

Soon a third butterfly joined the party, and a trinity of sweetness pulsated close. After a while they all took off in different directions.

Later, I reflected while swinging in the garden jhoola how wonderfully connected we all are.

This Unity transcends the mental, emotional and physical barriers, preconceptions and dimensions of our ordinary awareness.  

Love has a lot to do with it, respect, peace, truth and right conduct too.

Somewhere in all our minds,
At the end of a mile long staircase,
full of trips and hazards,
is a thirsty dog.
And I know he bit your wrists, boy,
but he only did it to lead you away
from the monsters on the landing,
From the growing growling,
Snapping and snarling,
So consider your stigmata,
dogmatic,
because holy or otherwise,
its easy to wonder why
old ghosts dont die,
when you wont let them rest.
So let him *****
your furniture,
he's wet from pulling you a shore.
For some,
treading water is the same as drowning.
And when you're taking on water,
All you can do is keep on paddling.
Its been sink or sin for a while now.
So keep an eye out for the light house,
because it's hard to see the friendly faces
In a sea of smiling sharks.
They circle in a pit of
unrequited doves,
bad choices,
terrible clichés,
and tenuous extended metaphors.

It doesn't matter though.
The defenders of Diogenes,
and his lonely bathtub,
were won over long ago,
when we were 'more' than
the some of our hearts,
all spring and itch,
getting started on the road.
So cast away the stop sign,
drink deep and celebrate,
the Doghouse is a good place to be,
but there's monsters on the landing.

Sometimes the doghouse
Is where you wanna be
free-dom and freedumb
Are blessings in disguise
Have you realized
That their punishments
Provide you space
Time, shelter
And shade
From their looming shade

Doghouses
Are standing fixtures
Provide reflection
Dissection
And Introspection
With the added benefit
Of protection  from the elements

Mind it
But don’t MIND it
it’s not that bad
When you’re all good

Relax friend
You can rest easy

The table waited
For the father and mother
For the merry children
For a splendid dinner
Beside the fire
Where memories flickered
Of roast turkey
And hot cocoa
And a puppy emerging
In a bright parcel
Of red and green
The festive colors

The walls remember
Candle lit evenings
Where stories were told
Under warm blankets
The children would snicker
And laugh in glee
And excitement
As the mother kissed them
And the father said good night

The porch reminiscing
Bright summer days
Where the family
Played joyous games
And sang with the guitar

The yard misses
Seeing the children
In clean uniform
Marching off to school
And coming home
With tired smiles

And the rusty old car
Creaks his hinges
As he weeps
Remembering the father
Who polished and cleaned
During dusty days

And the curtains were weary
For they wanted to move
To let sunlight in
To recapture moments
When the family
Would chase each other
Around the house
Playing hide and seek
Shrieking and exclaiming
In happy voices

The old tree so ancient
Bent over the house
Missing when the son
Would climb his branches
And when in night
He watches them in silence
Camping under his leaves
Huddling each other
In warm plump arms
And when the tree
Peeks in the window
He would see the daughters
Gladly dressing up
For birthday parties

And the doghouse
The wooden old doghouse
Falling apart
Looks at the past
At a little puppy
Licking at his bone
And then coming out
With dozens of other puppies


And the dusty floorboards
Weak and brittle
Will creak at night
Remembering footsteps
Entering and leaving
The grandiose proud door
With a bronze doorknob

And a chandelier would clink
When the wind passes
Filling the house
With flashbacks
Of a new baby
Of graduations
And weddings
And then of noise
Noises of fun
And laughter
And giggles

They cannot remember
The blind day
When everyone vanished
Not a letter of goodbye
Not a wave of the hand
No words no memories
Nothing
Sadness and peace once again

They all sighed
As the sun vanished
In the edge of the neighborhood
They all wept
For the old wood
In the middle of everyone
Waiting for the family
The sad dining table
With ashes and burnt chairs
The table waited...

In the way you stare at the sun
Just because you forget you’re not supposed to

When you let your hair fall in front of your face so I won’t see you blush
Or when you push it out of your eyes to make sure I see how mad you are
But not really because you know that I love to make you mad just so I can make it up to you with an unexpected gesture, But you have to pretend you’re mad so it will be a surprise

You love surprises

The way you try to cover up your freckles even though you know I’ll just wipe off the make-up
There’s that mad expression again, I call it your Doghouse face
Baby I’m sorry but really, that just wasn’t your color, it looked simply awful
You giggle and that was my plan all along, just to make you laugh

You might get me back later by calling me Pooky or some other God awful atrocity in front of the guys
You think you’ve won now but I take their jeering as proof of their jealousy of my silly
beautiful girl
My girl with golden hair like the essence of light itself

Ragged at the ends where you tried to cut it yourself

Torn, like your memories
As frayed as the edges of your drug addled mind

I know that its not that you don’t care about me that you sneak out of my arms in the night
Just that my pleads for you to be safe are no match for the begging from your veins
And when I find you in the morning curled up in a corner I want to yell and shake you until I can make you give a ****
Then you’re eyes find mine and I melt, realizing I’ve already forgiven you
I sink down the wall next to you and hold your shaking frame while you mumble how you’re so sorry, so so sorry
You just can’t help yourself
It’s okay baby girl, I’m here
I’ll help you
Just let me
Please let me and I’ll save you.

please
please

please just

let me
let me

All I have now are these memories
A simple list of treasures
  Your stubborn need to criticize yourself
Your pale hand running through your golden hair
  A bony hand running through ragged strands
Your satin skin against mine in the dark
  Feeling a world map of scars and abuse like trying to read your broken mind with a touch
Being dragged through the same stores for hours watching your face light up when you try on anything in reach
  Being thrown out of stores after finding our pockets empty
Running through the grass barefoot and falling down for an excuse to watch you spin yourself dizzy
  Holding your hair back while you try to tell me the puking is from spinning too fast
The way you drag a cigarette too deep and try to cover a cough
The way you have to talk to everyone on the street
Old or young, rich or poor
You can’t focus
You bite your nails
You hate TV but love the movies
You love hamburgers and daffodils
Skittles but not green or yellow
The color scarlet, not red
Laughing too loud in all the wrong places
Pretending you don’t care what anyone thinks but spending hours in the mirror

How you have to fall asleep with my arms around you but kicking me bruised in your sleep
But I keep a tight hold and I don’t dare let go

Please baby girl, let me protect you
I would rather die than see the smallest piece of sadness in your emerald eyes

You couldn’t hold me back
I don’t want a normal life

Don’t do this

There’s always hope
Its never too late
If you’re broken I will fix you
I won’t ever give up

I love you Beka

Don’t do this

And I always will

I took Fifth Street home last night—
two blocks back from the corner
store selling dry-mouth Camels
cheaper than the shop downtown.
Away from the newspaper boxes
selling the Gazette, Times,
Tribune, Post, Weekly, Daily,
Whatever for one dollar
and fifty cents a pop.

The crumbling sidewalks
took the glare of porch lights
and slid with 'em the length
of this rusted chain-link
fence spanning four yards,
three front doors, two
pipe railings, and a doghouse.

The ice salt sprinkled
from the stoops earlier that day
made the glasswalk melt
and bubble up, popping
like Christmas bulbs
beneath my shoes.

No ifs
no buts
he called you all *****
and that puts him in the doghouse.

Dear Journal
I am haunted by many things in my life. There are scar that wrap around my body, old broken bones and bruises that never really healed up. There were words of hatred that people spewed at me. Still none of those ghosts compare to the dead that haunt heart an constantly reappear in my dreams.
I remember two little furballs, not far apart in age. My fluffy darlings, both mutt females, from different parents. However, they treated each other like sisters. Playful and protective of each other, but suspicious of strangers. I would walk them both, when I came to visit. Up so early in the morning just to spend time with both of my pups, Laura and Snuggles.  How surprised when I came home to visit one week. I can’t say how long it had been. It seems like years has passed since my last visit. My first instinct was to see my little girl. Even though in dog years they were old ladies.  I made it there ready to play. Only to find an empty doghouse and vacant leash. My poor snuggles lost to the ravages of age. No one had bothered to tell me. Had I been so long gone that they had forgotten or was I to blame? I spent the next few hours with my other pup. Then I disappeared again of into the vapors of my life. I managed to return a few more times to see her, Laura, who had been my very first pet. Still like everything else she passed away. In my absence I was uninformed once again. Once in a while I find myself teared up. When I see a little puppy playing in the field or an old dog sitting lazily in the sun. I feel a tinge of guilt for not being there, when I should.
Many years before that, there was a little blonde haired boy; we were friends off and on. It was during one of those off times, when a bus he was on crashed. He was thrown from his seat, through the glass window. They say his last words where spent in asking if everyone else was okay. He didn’t even make it to his teens. I was lazy and selfish, and chose to not go to his funeral, now I wish I had because every once and while he walks in my dreams.
But the ghost who haunts my dream most frequently is an old man. I knew him all of my life. He payed for my birth. In a house full of women he was a quiet fixture, who would tickle me every time I went for a hug. Looking back I can tell for a fact he was haunted by specters of his own. Still, when I visited there was always a smile for me, and when I needed it there were words of encouragement. He never told me he was disappointed me and seldom raised his voice to me. If I was bad there was a quick swat of a flyswatter, but then it was over. We watched the rain together; we sat and stared at the stars together. We were truly kindred spirits, me and my grandpa. I wish I could say he died swift and in his sleep. But his life was taken away in bits in pieces. First he got diabetes, then he ended up in a home, such a proud animal now locked in a cage but he never complained. Then he had to lose a leg. For eighty years he had been strong and independent man. Now he was reduced to only weekly visits to his own home. Still, he never complained. The last day he was alive I saw him in the hospital the doctor said he was getting better. I kissed him on the forehead and told him I loved him. He said thank you. I felt ashamed. I must have failed him in some way for him to be grateful for that one pronouncement of love. Had I kept my feeling for him to myself or forgotten to remind him enough. I let it pass I was certain I would see him again, then I would tell him again, and each time after I would do the same.
When we left the hospital, my grandma said he would die today. I argued with her. The doctor had told us he was getting better. I failed to convince her. The next day I got the call. I ran a hot shower and sat in the tub and cried. I did not go to see my family. I was selfish.
Now more often then naught I see him again and again. He has both of his legs.

I’ve had a terrible day today
The horse had broken a shoe,
I had to get to the marketplace
And didn’t know what to do,
So I borrowed the neighbour’s horse and cart
Was stopped by the local cop,
He said that the stuff on the neighbour’s cart
Had been stolen, from a shop!

He wouldn’t believe it wasn’t mine
And locked me up in a cell,
I’m being done for the stolen goods
And the stolen cart as well.
It took them hours to bail me out
Then I had to walk back home,
Fifteen miles to the mountain top
And the tongue of a rabid crone.

‘Why do you always do these things,
Why is it always you?
The guy next door, he never gets caught
But he’s so much smarter - True!’
I didn’t think she’d ever give up,
My dinner was down the drain,
They say that marriage is so much bliss,
Then why is there so much pain?

The kids were screaming about the place
When they should have been in bed,
She said she couldn’t control them, but
At least the kids were fed.
I bit a crust that was far too old
And it almost broke my teeth,
Then saw the thing was covered in mould,
All that I want is Sleep!

‘All that I want is sleep,’ I said
As I staggered off to my room,
It seemed a conspiracy overhead
Was acting out in the gloom,
A crash, a clash on the tiles above
I thought it was drunken Joe,
He’s always fooling about at night,
Him and his ‘** ** **!’

The wife snuck into the bedroom then
And she said, ‘Don’t make a peep!
Or Father Christmas will hear you, Ben,
You ought to be sound asleep!’
My eyes bugged out and I leapt on up
Flung open the window wide,
‘And how do you think I’m supposed to sleep
With you ******* about outside!’

I heard the chomping of many teeth
And a very distinctive ‘Neigh!’
Stuck my head out so far that I
Could see this silver sleigh.
I yelled, ‘Hey get off my effing roof,
You’re damaging all my tiles!’
And then this guy in a bright red suit
Looked down, his face all smiles.

All he could say was ‘** ** **’,
He’d come from some funny farm,
I yelled, ‘Do you want a bunch of fives?’
He started to look alarmed.
I heard the rattle of antler horns
As he started to ride away,
I couldn’t believe my eyes to see
It was Santa’s Silver Sleigh!

They’ve stuck me out in the doghouse here,
I had to kick out the dog,
But found, at least, that his rug was fleece
I could sleep at last, like a log.
There’d better not be another day
Like this, as I said to Steve,
‘You’d think that someone would warn me when
It’s coming up Christmas Eve!’

David Lewis Paget

REMEMBRANCE of HARRIET HARRIS –

mile ate mum: Christened as averred one Harriet Kuritsky. A Brooklyn babe born on November 13th nineteen thirty five, the youngest (and last of the lot tubby alive) of four siblings (only one brother), whose Brexit from world viz terminal illness, she did not survive.

The following emotions communicating heartfelt grief practically vanquished as existence turned a new mo' tiff leaf. A recurring abysmal grief stricken state consumed my entire being immediately fool low wing her demise, but pooch less so now. Perpetual tears of sadness seemed not to a-bate, when grim reaper brandished signature scythe 'n of deadlocked fate.

Twas about 11:00 a.m. 2005 third of May, our dearly beloved mother fought tooth and nail to keep death at bay (as recounted by eldest and youngest sisters, who elected to remain on vigil that day), nonetheless rigor mortis upper hand brought (supposed) painless swift death, her diseased and emaciated riddled body gone lifeless and ashen gray.

Profound mourning brought misty eyes
from only heir misses, whom hissed mom
more so than then now, but noneless
more than plaintive words spell
with agonizingly pained heart and soul
rent asunder psyche pell-mell
no amount of weeping can quiet and quell.

Cathartic for me to give posthumous ode
conveyed in an easy to read poetic code
to help accept finality and permanent loss,
now only retrievable from nostalgic memories
identified as childhood doghouse favorite abode.

Her cremated ashes no longer remain sealed in nondescript box boot scattered to the four winds at a favorite secluded spot - that really rocks with the Moss evoking a spring stein.

White, powdery chalk like material
devoid of any vestigial semblance
to her once living and vibrant self
that unique persona pulverized and vaporized
(housed former svelte and tall
Arthur Murray ball-room dance teacher
a half-century plus prior to her demise

which beauty, charm and grace quickly
caught the attention of my father
who courted and eventually proposed
to this young flirt and tease of a gal)

inert organic matter represented sole
residual embodiment reduced to dust
and near nothingness former corpo
real being of blood, bone and flesh

weighing no more than a dozen hatch marks
on the scale absence bore down heavy
like millstones round the neck per
black void created by defeat with
Grim Reaper toward this woman,

who birthed and nursed me into
manhood momma’s only grown son
felt torturous ripples of grievous sadness,
no matter years of suppressed anger,
and rage in addition to emotional
conflicts between us, which
in variably wrought unpleasant relationship
and legacy of discord writ large across
the tapestry of mine existence.

The mongrel lays stow in drowse
In her wooden colorless doghouse,
With five half-blooded pups;
Tussling softly and loose-limbed,
Ringroundabout at her breast -
The rain has surged at last,
This world is now grey yet beautiful,
This drizzle of cloudburst
Gushes and rushes like a nosebleed -
The unapproachable splendor
of the empyrean coming undone
(Bababadalgharaghtakamminarronn-
konnbronntonnerronntuonnt­hunnt-
rovarrhounawnskawntoohoo-
hoordenenthurnuk)
Oh what a chocolate-box day
For five-tuplet pups , black as coal,
White as a swan and brown as oak
to be tussling softly in.


- Jamie F. Nugent

So what we love to
walkgossip
$ % & * + + =
I felt like the
despicable
All me *******

Putting on
my Pinterest-face
The pictures have
gone girls!!!
We are loving it bad
We became phone
The culture set
Pearls
Be fit just so_
He sits not so
Professional
Hitman
I really cannot take
any more
Let's not get banned

What!! Β- 4 *******
† $ talks ******* @
Her computer
Like a recreation park
You are talking to me

Tony Montanna
Miley Hanna Banana
Went to Fiamma
Wearing paisley
Bandana
With her *******
She could ride that

Honda
Help me, Rhonda
despicable
Undescrible
Why don't you walk out
on me every time
Doing a
May West
why don't you
come up
and see me
sometime
The fit dime
a dozen
divorces
WC Field
my little
chickadee
Has magical
forces
Swindling
your
spouses

The universe
dark curse
get reversed
Oh! Geez
Too girly
Courageous
Holly Molly
candy Pez
Such *****
Robin the
"Razzmatazz"
Holy cow take a
Shirley bow
Materialistic
cool jazz
New York City
bad climate
cabbies and
druggies

Rebel Rebel
became Sybil
With her cute
puppies
The meter is down any
After hours mortals
The Holy bad Rap
Her laptop non-stop
Top it off with ******
down to her garter

Being almost famous
please don't
bother me I can
compel anyone
that looks at me

Don't tell your boyfriend
The ring holder brother
I am far from anyone's
"Pyscho Mothers"
No trespassing
My Darlings
Desperate wives
inside the
doghouse

******* they did it
In the roughhouse
Perk me up
Pitbulls
Car tolls
Spy girls
tracking fools

Pack their suitcases

Swirly Girly
sardines
Misconduct
Acting up the Dunes
I love the month of June
There is always a sucker
getting married
I could clean anyone
dry mouth just wet
that kisser dry
Vermouth ***** liquor

I am not the sun-shiner
Worshipper

What a hotline love
destroyer
My income is generating
All escapades bomb raid's
never to be held back
escapes
Reprehensible so
despicable
Horse-y **** all
over the stable
The weaker ***
better

The Holy cable
so mischievous
The endless
opportunity
Delicious
The social media
All criteria
My sweet lord,
We are managing
just fine and very
few good ones

Valentines Day
there
good with
rejections bad ones
The best gossiper
on the mic
Those girls
being hostile
"St Thomas Apostle"
Such credibility
******* the
bad omen

Holy Toledo
walk the talk
who wins the
lotto "Gents"
¢ ¢ makes no cents
Hearing gossip
City hurry all linked
Her handcuffs his
chickadee Minked
Going first class with my
younger shades whats up
With fifty shades deeper?
To get older I can never
be beat because
I am wiser
She is the pussycat
so nifty

she scratched her views
What a snare nose
Elephant pants were
too thrifty
Her red devil
stilettos
No Ghettos in Brooklyn
That where I was born
Whats up with these
disposable coffee cups
So many remakes
TV
I rather ramble
on in my
RV
Charlies Angels
SUV
Fridays have the cup
of dirt
Oreo crumbs
it's on me
Martinelli Grape
Despicable hot
Holy night waxed
She faxed
Her voluptuous
love handles
He got her
lovesick
Glove-trick
broomstick
Chocolate
Nesquick

2 die 4 her
2-quick
Dove love trick
He possesses you
one chosen
boondock
sticks

Goodbye
Mr. Chips
bad season
bad hand trash
For big and hot lips
******* he ran
with my chips (Mash)
script movie part
Not a part
******* he wasn't fit
Her French Onion soup
The scoop exploded
Cabernet Sauvignon
Dr. Pepper Brittish
Cannon
Swizzle part deeper

Alice, she is 10 feet tall
"Extravaganza"
I will never be
an extra so small
Come over
to see me
sometimes all
In May West
My chick a dee
propaganda

*** in the City
Miranda
She is kinda
Hot tamales
Hacienda
The fire lit
fiesta

Being
washed out
Dr. Shrink
Like a snipper
skunk

Wonka kick
The 3D movie
The whole
shebang
Bang bang I
shot you down


You could rest azure
In their hair
4C bread
crumbs
Messy
detangled web
Little Deb
Red ties affair
guys start holy-****
So much hair
to wink, they saw me
for who?
*******
Molly Woo

Chinese food
Robin hood rich me
Eggrolls Rock and roll
Her ducked head
Like duck sauce
What a truce
Perfectly damaged
® for reckless
She didn't get her
debut shot

Bad luck turned
my fit to good luck
Picked those
madmen
women are courageous
So Soon then a boom
But when do I see
confidence *******
Just sit
******* just pray_

it is hard for the nostalgic to forgive. I was raised on awareness and reincarnation. I remember, doghouse, the dollmaker’s tornado. and how to clear for my drunkest brother a mousetrap from a mountain path. believing, as a hostage would, in the taker’s amnesia.

a dog is not barking.  father, no mystery.  mother is telling a woman that what the woman has is a child of god.  I’m in my room like the sort of thing exists in certain parts.  ****, doghouse catalogues, the animal that saw god finish.  my real friend has imaginary muscle control.  I want to touch him but am not sure how much my fingertips have.  my brother’s sanity is how a baseball bat makes it onto a crowded subway.  in the dream, my father irons my mother’s back with his palms and his palms are scarred.  in my friend there are magnets.

I pull up to the house and don't recognize any of the vehicles. My mom is driving her new car she got after the accident she didn't tell me about because we don't speak as much as we used to.

It's the middle of the day and yet it's as if a darkness has worked its way between the walls of the home. There is one light. A motion light. Crunching steps activate it above the door. I am illuminated. The doghouse next to me is my reflection. Dark. Empty. Folding in on itself like a sheet. I enter and the house exhales a shallow, broken breath. Like a house of cards falling down. Like something is missing.

Obviously that something would be my dead grandparents.

My mother's voice greets me and I'm startled. The tone sounds awful cheery for someone who, as of 15 hours ago, doesn't have parents anymore. Exhale.

The house is the same as I remember. I was here last week for ***** sake. Here to watch my grandma. She never liked to be home alone after she got back from the hospital.
After part of her got back from the hospital.
After the hospital.
She was never the same after that. Only the same conversation with a skipping record.
Eat carrots to avoid ****** noses. (Yes grandma.)
You should move to Hollywood. (I'm not that good of an actor grandma.)
Your other grandma hates me. (She doesn't hate you grandma.)

We don't talk as much as we used to.
We didn't talk as much as we used to.
It's death in two parts.

We're in grandma's room now. Sheets are being folded. There's a coffee ring in a half drunk cup of coffee. She'll never finish it now.
Exhale.

An innocent question (Did you find her in the bed?) Opens a wound with turns into a story which bleeds into a card game where we used to have Thanksgiving dinner because my mothers eyes are cracking floodgates and she needs time to repair them before she drives home.
She lives alone.
And we don't talk as much as we used to.
Silence.
The sound of cards slapping a table.
My mother says that talking about what happened has helped her and her voice sounds like someone who as of 18 hours ago, doesn't have parents anymore.
Exhale.

I leave the house and it's.
Still. Dark. Black.
Every light is off. Even the dog is dead.

I leave the house and it's
empty inside. This time I don't mean metaphorically, I mean physically actually devoid of people, and I don't think this feat has happened in 35 years.

There's one light.
Motion light.
It turns on when I leave,
and then it never turns on again.

When Monday feels like Sunday
when you'd rather stay in bed because
last night you went to Carnival
and now the living dead see through the
bloodshot in your eyes,
when the blue sky's just a vampire that is
there to **** veins dry and you need that pint of alcohol
in order to get by,
I wonder why as I often do why I do the things I so often do.

When the night shades shade no night and the light burns in your eyes and the morning wakes you with a grin and you're making up those lies to spin
a yarn,
there'll be a countdown just as soon as you leave the safety of your room and the bride that was will teach the groom because that's what brides can do.

No breakfast lad for you, you're in the doghouse feeling sad,
bad boy.

Was the music worth all that,
when deflated feeling flat and how will you explain away the losing of another day?

I think I should have stayed at home instead
all this aggro's doing in my head
I'm going back to bed
until
tomorrow.

[magic pills]

a doll taped to a skateboard. you get the idea.  mirror for doghouse, nest for traffic light.

[mystique]

/ boredom, falling short
in a mom’s
coldest
child / I understood

your movie / is there a meal

choice

prepares, or a less

direct
psalm / a taller me

where ovens
talk

[scrap chapel]**

a black tire, the bed
of the fisherman’s
crow- death and guilt

genetic-

same dream, same bear-

the afterlife of god

– tree of more