"grumpily" poems
Skin milky soft against golden brown light nudging you awake.
Hair jet black against a porcelain complexion.
Angular face throwing shadows onto my body as the sun licks it up.
Grumpily turn your back.
I see now, You are a morning flower m'love.
You may not know it,
and you may not like it,
You're quick to bloom,
and soon to wilt,
I'm sorry I plucked you,
I'm sorry I killed you,
I didn't know you were but only a morning flower m'love.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
she posts her credentials
privately, to just you,
in the din of a currently popular
university barroom
and you dressed in your
pick up best,
plumes of all male grinning,
reeking in thinking -
oh yeah!
va va voom,
lucky
laughs and liquor,
cheap 3.2 Ohio beers on tap,
come super highway fast via
as my finger flick be wagging
to an attentive bartender
who recognizes,
a new venture worth
his investing in a newly forming
gene pool of the
collegial world of what you children
can google as
The Sixities
you see, she says,
she is minor famous,
had two minutes in a movie
called Woodstock,
instantly recalled distinctively,
which you honor with
a dozen roses rising of
very cool
and a few daisies of
wow
so young,
she's hitch hiking thru life,
karma, ying and yang, Sagittarius and
Hesse's Siddharta,
a little ****** break out back,
our lives have intersected in
Cleveland in 1969,
and there is no question unanswered,
your bed, is her bed,
this night
you puzzle yourself,
memory recycler,
why in 2015,
you celebrate a one stand,
a single strand
excavated from
the meta data of your brain
tonight,
from among a hundred lifetimes previous
*Why Woodstock Woman Wonder
and you do,
why, wonder,
have you stayed with me so long,
that your face is indelible tattooed,
easy extracted from ancient cells
risen by this
dawn's early light?*
are you pining old man,
are you dying old man,
trying to write it all down
before the insurance company
grumpily has to pay up?
this carefree woman, no,
young forever girl,
looking up to you
asking where can she crash tonight,
answered in a single guttural
exclamation sensation,
with me babe,
with me baby
fifty years later,
crashing you,
crashing with you,
with roses and daisies that never died
wonder where she is today,
a grandmother multiple,
or sleeping gone from an overdose
of stuff you occasionally fooled around with,
or are you spending another night
in your tripping life,
with another
one night man*
no answers given,
but it is, it was,
a single dot on the trail of dots and dashes,
the existential Camus moments of
of two ordinaries that intersected,
however briefly,
and you wonder,
not why, but if,
*Woodstock Woman,
do you remember me?
I need you to,
I want you to,
explain better
why we are crashing together
one more time*
~~~
August 20, 2015
5:32am
nyc
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Milka sat on her bicycle
looking at you
the Saturday morning sun
was warm
you'd just finished work
and had met her
by the bridge
where we going?
she asked
we could leave the bikes
at my place
and go into town
to the cinema
you said
what just sit there
in the dark
and not be able
to see each other
or such?
she said
we could ride
to where I used to live
and see the pond there
where I used to fish?
you said
is it far?
she said
not too far
she pulled a face
can't go to my place
she said
my mother's home
as she usually is
no chance
of being alone
with you there
she said grumpily
mine is no good
at weekends
you said
she looked at you
her eyes gazing
the old pond then
it is
she said
and you began to cycle
with her beside you
back up the hill
and by the farmhouse
where she lived
and along narrow lanes
between hedgerows
and birds flying out
and the occasional
car rushing by
she beside you
talking all the way
about how her mother
moans about her
not doing this or that
or not doing
the chores properly
and how her two brothers
tease her
about going out with you
and how you needed
to see a shrink
and you smile
knowing her brothers well
then you're on the main road
and a mile or so
and you are there
and go in
by the back way
along a narrow lane
and into the woods
behind the cottage
where you used to live
and along the narrow ride
through the woods
to the field
and then the pond
which is peaceful
and the water is still
and a few ducks
swim there
and birds sing
from tall trees
you rest the bikes
against trees
and sit on the grass
by the pond
quiet here
you said
we used to call this
the lake
who's we?
Milka said
my old girlfriend and I
you replied
where is she now?
we don't see
each other any more
you said
Milka said nothing
but gazed at the water
of the pond
at the ducks there
and looked
at the fish
just beneath
the surface
did you make out here?
she asked
now and then
you said
why bring me here?
she said moodily
it's quiet
and we can be alone
you said
is that all?
not wanting relive
old memories with me?
she said
you gazed at her
no of course not
that was a different thing
different love
so you say
she said
should we leave then?
you said
she stared at the pond
at the ducks drifting
and the sunlight
through the branches
of tall trees
no
she said
I like it here
she lay down
on the grass
sunlight on her face
her hands resting
on her abdomen
you lay beside her
did you really
make out here?
now and then
did no one see you?
not that we ever knew
you said
she smiled
risky
what if someone had?
we didn't think of that
at the time
bet you didn't
she said
what was it like
the first time?
it's history
you said
we're what matters now
she nodded
yes I guess we are
she said
and the sun shone bright
through the tall trees
and a bird flew by
over head.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 6:33 AM UTC
I walked Auntie's dog Dancer
across by the parade grounds
while Auntie did the washing
in the copper
the dog kept near me
as we walked
looking back at me
to make sure I hadn't got behind
we saw Auntie's friend Milly
with her 5 year old daughter Elsie
Dancer stopped and wagged its tail
and licked Milly's hand
and Elsie glared at me
hello Benny
Milly said
hello
I said
say hello to Benny Elsie
Milly said
Elsie stared at her mother
then at me
hello to Benny Elsie
she said stiffly
no you bad girl
say it properly
or I'll slap your backside
Milly said
hello Benny
Elsie said grumpily
hello Elsie
I said politely
as Auntie said I should
what's your auntie doing?
Milly said
she's doing the washing
I said
o I see
well do you want
to come to our place
and have a glass of milk
and a biscuit?
she said
Dancer too?
I said
yes Dancer too
she said
Elsie pulled a face
and we walked back
to Milly's place
the other side
of the parade ground
and we went up
some black metal stairs
and into her flat
Milly went off
to the kitchen
with Dancer following
to get him
a bowl of water
and us some
milk and biscuits
how are you?
I said to Elsie
she stared at me
like I was a bad smell
then said
hope you
don't stay long
I want to play
with my dolls
and don't want you
playing with them
boys don't play with dolls
I looked at her
trying to see
if there was a little bit
of a smile
but there wasn't
just her small lips
shut tight
and her eyes
looking at me
just come for milk
and biscuits
I said
Elsie put her hands
behind her back
and walked off
and sat on
a battered looking sofa
Milly brought us
milk and biscuits
and said to me
sit on the sofa
next to Elsie
and I'll go get
my cup of tea
off she went
and I sat next to Elsie
and she moved
along a bit
from me
and sipped her milk
and clutched her biscuits
in case Dancer came
and ate them
(which he would)
Milly came back
and sat down
in an old chair opposite
near the fireplace
with her cup of tea
well aren't
you two a pair
just like brother
and sister
Milly said smiling
don't want him
as a brother
Elsie said glumly
that's not nice Elsie
what's got into you
Milly said
Dancer came in
and sat opposite me
and wagged his tail
and looked at me
for a biscuit
I broke off a bit
and gave him some
and he took it gently
and it was gone
in the blink of an eye
then looked at Elsie
his head to one side
gazing at her
she broke off a bit
and gave it to me
to give to Dancer
and he took it gently
and then walked off
and sat down
by the fireplace
good dog
Elsie said
Milly talked
about her and Auntie
and about her husband
in Germany
and my uncle
in Korea
I sat a bit nearer
to Elsie as Milly talked
and Elsie looked at me
dark eyed and moody.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 2:37 AM UTC
Giant, gruff, grinning
it grabs gratuitously
at my body.
Grumpily grappling
onto my arm
and throwing.
I grasp at green air,
I find only the graceless
graininess of gravity.
It, grunting,
grips my insides
and greases the ground
with my grimy gremlins,
my greatest, grueling torment.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
Anne rubbed the stump
of her amputated leg.
She sat in her wheelchair.
I sat opposite
wondering what
it must be like
to have one leg.
Pull your skirt down,
the nursing nun said,
it's indecent
to show off
your leg like that.
Anne stared at the nun.
My leg hurts,
she said,
rubbing it,
helps it.
Where does it hurt?
the nun asked.
Everywhere
even the toes hurt,
Anne said grumpily.
The leg
has been amputated,
so how can it hurt?
the nun said,
now pull the skirt
over the stump,
Benedict doesn't
want to see
your stump.
I didn't mind,
but I said nothing;
I looked at the nun's
black habit,
her thin features,
her pointed nose,
thin lips.
Anne pulled the skirt
over her stump slowly.
It's my stump,
I should be able
to show it
to whom ever I want,
anyway, Benny likes
gawking at my stump,
he does it
all the **** time.
The nun gazed
at Anne in silence;
then at me.
Your manners
need to be brought
into line, young lady,
if you
were at my old school,
you would learn manners
or else.
Anne sat back
in her wheelchair.
But I’m not
at your old school,
I’m in a nursing home
after the butcher’s job
the doctors did
on my leg,
she said.
The nun's features stiffened.
I looked at Anne
and her tilted head
and the hidden stump.
There are many
complaints about you,
the nun said,
from other children
and the other
sister nuns;
we will report you
to the nursing home
authorities,
the nun said.
Anne said nothing,
but looked
at the swings
where other children
played.
I sat looking
at the nun,
her hands hidden
in the pockets
of her habit.
She walked off stiffly
across the green grass.
How about her,
Kid, huh?
I gazed
at the walking off nun.
Guess she was
a bit annoyed,
I said.
So what, Kid,
who gives a cat's ***
what they think or say?
I shrugged.
Push me to the beach,
she said,
get me away
from these penguins, Kid,
off to the sea.
So I pushed
the wheelchair down
the avenue of trees,
anything for Anne,
anything to please.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC
On my way from the camel
to the child
I would like to be
an impressive peacock!
Some dandy! An Oscar.
But what really happens is this:
A Zen-master shows up
and rips this aphorism apart:
„Better to stick your nose into
the galaxy,“ he utters grumpily,
„don’t miss that beauty!“
And what a nice philosophy –
I will take that opportunity.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
Stirred from my sleep
By a knock at the door
Awoke and dragged myself down the stairs
Grumpily looked in the messy at my messy hair
Stared and thought ‘it’s too early’ with baggy eyes
Quickly changed to sweats and a T-shirt
‘It’s a salesman,’ I thought, ‘who cares.’
Peeked out the door with a fake smile
Ready to listen to mindless chatter
Blinded by the light filtering in
I stepped back and flinched
Re-opened my eyes
I underestimated my guest
It was you, looking dazzling as ever
Messy hair and bright eyes
Never thought I’d see this sight
Threw open the door without a word
Tackled you and fell to the grass
Laughed and rolled around with glee
You held my face in your hands
Planted a single kiss on my lips
And told me I looked as beautiful as ever.
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 8:41 PM UTC
I'd drive down that road
still laughing at a joke,
with the ghost of a smile on
my face from seeing a friend's
smile,
grumpily silent after failing
a test,
grudgingly alright after a
stressful lab.
always on the road, headed home.
I can complain about the heat
and the south and the suffocation
and the big, impersonal town
till I'm blue in the face
but it's where my house is, even
if it's not home, and it's beautiful
sometimes.
I cross the intersection just as the light
flashes yellow
and in the rearview cars spill out
where I've been not a second before.
the action gets smaller as I get
farther away.
I am leaving, and everything is covering
the ground where I've passed
like nothing is different
because nothing is different.
we pass through intersections
every day.
we have to get where we're going.
we leave things behind.
sometimes we don't come back.
intersecting lines that never
cross again.
parallells would be different;
to not know what you're missing.
members are stronger
in tension than in compression.
once in tension, always in tension.
pulling separate ways
destined to long
from afar.
we pass through.
we cross over.
sometimes we don't come back.
I can't stand that.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
This room gives me unhappy thoughts
As I sit grumpily and down
I never listen, all self-taught
None make me smile even a clown
Early I know but still sleepy
My mind temps me to dream freely
I should be there outside running
There in the cool river swimming
There’s a movement on the girls side
Curiosity aroused inside
Our teacher came all settle down
Then called a name new to my ears..
Curiosity fills my dull soul
I look up and my time slow
A sudden bliss ignite my heart
Oh, Monday not a bad start
There standing in front of me
This naked mortal eyes to see
Young and innocent, an angel
With a pretty charming name "Belle"
A star fallen to the earth
With a face that glows in every smile
Her warm voice a sweet symphony
What a thrill she's my new classmate..
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Stockholm
Moira said grumpily
I wanted
to go to Greece
but the **** war
put a stop
to that
she was sitting
with me
in a small café
she was in denim
with a pink blouse
smoking
a menthol cigarette
I like it here
I said
it's clean
and the girls
are nice and ****
and I am not?
she said
staring at me
her Scottish tones
sharp as razors
present company
included
I said smiling
she didn't smile
her lips were thin
and her eyes
were icy blue
I think have
Swedish roots
I said
she inhaled
and looked away
I’m fed up
she said
that Yank woman
is getting to me
with her talk
of men and ***
and how much
she can have them
eating out
of her hand
and I have to share
a tent with the *****
why she can't share
with the men
in camp
is beyond me
I don't fancy her
at all
I said
I should hope not
Moira said
I had you down
as one with taste
I lit a cigarette
and watched her
sitting opposite
she sipped
her *** and cola
your brother said
you were engaged
I said
what's that to you?
she said
nothing except
I can't imagine you
engaged to anyone
well I’m not
any more
I gave him the elbow
always after
getting me
into his bed
after a night out
what's wrong
with men
can't they just
have a night out
without ***
guess not
I said
I drank my beer
and studied her
moody features
anyway
she said
hope you're not
expecting anything
after this wee
drink and smoke?
I wouldn’t dream of it
I said
but I had
but I didn't her
well not
at that time
I had to wait
for her mood
to clear
and her heart
to soften
and the Yank dame
to take a hike
to some guy's bed
and I made plans
but only
in my young guy's head.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
Watching trains?
Lydia's
old man says
where abouts?
Waterloo
I tell him
I smell beer
on his breath
as he sways
on the step
Lydia
stands behind
her old man
gazing through
the narrow gap
between his
arm and chest
why watch trains?
he asks me
we like trains
I tell him
the steam trains
he stares hard
hands on hips
this right Kid?
he asks her
looking down
with glazed eyes
yes Daddy
she replies
timidly
ok Kid
you can go
but you boy
keep her close
keep her safe
he tells me
sure I will
I tell him
you'd better
course I will
he goes in
grumpily
walking slow
down the hall
Lydia
looks at me
her small frame
seeming so
under fed
let's go then
I tell her
she lets loose
a small smile
and we go
through the Square
down the slope
enough coins
for the fare
on the bus
and maybe
2 doughnuts
1 coffee
and 1 tea.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
is oreny even an word
remember child
how grumpy
of
me
demanding you
you demanding me
grumpily
oreny
what "poem" is this
how dare we
please forgive me ma'am
i
am
an
dedicated
hole digger
orneyer
than
any
grumpy ol hole
you done ever seen dug
?
...
..
.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 1:32 PM UTC