"huntington" poems
HUNTINGTON sleeps in a house six feet long.
Huntington dreams of railroads he built and owned.
Huntington dreams of ten thousand men saying: Yes, sir.
Blithery sleeps in a house six feet long.
Blithery dreams of rails and ties he laid.
Blithery dreams of saying to Huntington: Yes, sir.
Huntington,
Blithery, sleep in houses six feet long.
8k
The progression of Huntington's disease often leads to the need of a wheelchair. My husband resisted using a wheelchair for many years, even though his poor balance and tiredness meant he was prone to falls. I didn't exactly pressurise him into using one. To be honest it was not just because it was another sign of loss of independence, but it would have been harder for me too in many respects.
What I wasn't prepared for, when the time came, was the social stigma attached to wheelchair users insofar as becoming a kind of non-entity! In a weekly blog I wrote in 2008 I wrote about the first time I took my husband out in a wheelchair. It angered me how peoples’ attitudes seemed to change overnight.
Walking down the High Street,
Hand in hand like lovers,
The couple blend into the crowd,
No different from the others.
As the years go by though,
His body having changed,
Has sadly meant a wheelchair,
Has had to be arranged.
Strolling down same High Street,
The woman now behind,
Her lover needing pushing,
Steep pavements so unkind.
Entering the bar now,
With awkward navigation;
People jump to open door,
Aware of situation.
“Thank you” says the man in chair,
When wheeled into the place;
“Welcome” say the helpers there,
But all avoid his face.
Carer gets the “Welcome” mouthed,
No looks with him they share;
Let’s treat this fellow human being,
As if he wasn't there.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
This is to all those misfits
To the Romeo car-washing in Inglewood inlets
To the Hippy selling crystals on the Venice boardwalk
The Magician swallowing 8-balls at the Huntington Beach peer
The Rapper selling CDs in the Ranch Market parking lot
The **** tatting in a makeshift garage
The Poet slinging chapbooks at cafes and rec centers…
Not androids pontificating from lecterns
But grimy roots burrowing deep
Seismic rumblings toppling down
Insured ivory towers
Smashing pilled-paradigms beneath Docs
Hustling and slinging
In the forbidden outshacks of civilization
In tents, over barbed-wire, beside shards
Desperate and burning
For neither Truth or Beauty
But for LIFE
They do not tap wrists
No, they thump chests
To feel it beat
To feel it rage
For fugitive fugues
For new eternities
They embrace
********** romance
Graveyard necromance
The holy hunger for change
Defying commercials and charts
Shivering and howling on streets
Waging guerrilla war
Liberating cubicled-hearts
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
I remember the day I met you
with my toes in the sand,
staring at the beauty of Huntington beach
you with your friends,
and I with books of poetry
you glanced at me quickly
soon looking away when I looked your way,
and when I say this I mean this
your t-shirt
yes,
the tropical t-shirt
was soon at the end of my bed,
when you didn't know my name,
and I didn't know yours
all I knew,
was the tropical t-shirt,
with its stains,
holes and wrinkles,
was soon to never come back again
m.b
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
I don't believe that any body on this site is aware of my recent diagnosis of Huntington Disease and I wanted to get the chance to let all of you guys know and even though it has been a while since I have written anything new I still wanted to share it with you guys. I will let you guys know more as things progress but if you have any questions to ask about it just shoot me a message in this post and I will try to answer them as honestly as possible. I have come to enjoy your poetry and I have appreciated any positive comments you have left on my poetry too so I at least wanted to give you guys the heads up about it and where I am at with it.
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC
the virus of yesterday shadows
a
cold headed
girl with violence
crooked head reversed
and ivory *******
with silence
the best generations of her
mind
she saw
destroyed by
excess
evaporated blue eyes
on the huntington express
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
On the weathered pier of Huntington
laid upon the salt licked beach,
the old, hull of a forgotten
ship. Split, for its wooden fruit. The juice
of our sweat becoming mist
while we walked the plank,
in suspense, between clouds and sea.
The knotted surface sore
from sun. Burnt backs float
on the waters of their green veins,
like Guamamela1 on the ***** river
banks. “NO ACCESS,” signs in red
and white lights, harshly beating
against the dark skin of the wood,
the memory of another life.
I remember, my Lolo and Lola
bending to the waves of people
pressed still in one space.
The one time, they could hold onto
my hands, I felt them shaking.
In tongues they resurrected
the island, said there none
of this exists.
Why did I laugh?
1. Filipino hibiscus
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC
Jealous of a person that I don't even know
Angry with the person that let me go
I hardly recognize who I am anymore
Never have I harbored this much bitterness before
Walk me through the differences between me and her
Like walking the whole distance California to Virginia
A task so vast it seems insurmountable
Tell me what it means to you to promise things in double
Do you take her to the same places you and I would go
The thought of her tainting our lookout is enough to make me burn
Take her hammocking in our tree in the park close to school
At galaxie view remember when it was my body lying next to you
West Beach, Thousand Steps, Newport 56
Huntington, Laguna, San Diego for a switch
There is nothing new you possibly could do
Drive the whole coast searching, but you and I did that too
I hope I drive her crazy
I honestly hope she hates me
I hope I cause you lots of problems because your dreams still portray me
Realizing on the daily how you mistakenly betrayed me
I hope when you're with her you feel haunted with regret
I hope the thrill falls flat and conversation lies dead
And you walk away painfully aware
Of the fact that what we had was rare
Not every girl can take the late night thoughts you gave me
If you write her paragraphs past midnight
Then you're downright ******* crazy
Playing house with every person who is duped into the role play
If anyone asks, jealousy made me
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 6:14 PM UTC
a folding table bearing Super-8’s
sits outside as we leave lunch
pressing viewfinder to your algaeic eye,
you aim it at the sky,
at the soles of your feet,
at the dishevelled seller
but never
at
me.
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 11:31 PM UTC
You can apply
For reading "privileges"
At the Huntington library
If you are
Academic faculty
A research librarian
Or Phd candidate
If you are
An average citizen
Who enjoys reading
Don't bother
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 10:32 PM UTC
1. The sun is God and I am covered in faith.
2. It’s me it’s hugging
3. The bonfires sneak into my nose.
The sun warms me from the cool wind.
Cooked marshmallows melt on my tongue filled with sugar and fluff.
The harsh squawking of the seagulls pound my ears
The sunset fills my eyes with an orange glow that sinks into the ocean
4. The cold tide is stroking my feet with it’s salty smell and it’s clear appearance as it quietly claps over the tops of my feet.
5. Tracy Alexander cuddles up with me on the beach of Huntington Beach, California.
6. The sweet song of the seagulls beautifully sing above me.
7. The crude and annoying birds squawk at us
8. Gnarly
9. Because we were big and wore big shoes.
10. He would need fifteen notebooks to complete the project
11. The dull knifes of weakness and innocence bent as we tried to cut our steak
12. We were as sad as squids
13. He flew through the air
14. Wilson walked through the forest
15. The rain was coming with the dark clouds
16. And that lead him nowhere I could ever track. Till he’s so far away, so lost
17. The earth should be cloned to make a second home from ourselves
18. Du är perfekt
19. The wine slowly danced in a spinning circle as a hand made it ring around on it’s rim.
20. Even as the dark clouds cover over the small city, blacking everything out.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
Its that stretch of Huntington Beach
all sand and palm trees
You put on Jackson brown
I lean in smiling…turn it up
You roll the windows down
I make wind hills with my hand
It’s a late summer sun-golden
we are happy
Instinctively I reach for you
but you are looking away…singing
I remember then
you are not mine to touch
I lean back into the light
dancing…eyes closed
and remind myself
This is enough.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
I wanna go back
To Huntington
And let it all
And let me fall
Drifting away
With the waves
Of yesterday
And let go
To and fro
Till I'm on shore
And do it again
Over and over
Letting it play by play
Stuck
On repeat
Me you and Pete
Yeah
Blazing fools
I want sound
That bass
And drown
In rhythm
With the water
Rushing in
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 3:01 AM UTC
thy body electric experiences
constant dry cough and wheeze'n
perhaps explainable
via my headstrong commander in chief
o' me fifty nine shades of gray matter
resorting to treason
or deploying high crimes
and misdemeanors
during this budding spring season
thus, aye wonder what tooth ink
when there occurs
a momentary lapse of reason
noah egg zag jeer rate'n,
boot aye ham loath to axe 'cept
the onset of degenerative brain disorder
with ma noggin buzzing like bees
perhaps indicative of Alzheimer's
notorious amyloid
gunk plaque hard as cheese
Parkinson's, Huntington's Chorea disease,
or gamut of other no nonsense
mind playing game oh yea...absolutely much
worse than itching with fleas
Diffuse Lewy Body Malady,
(now thought to be the second
most common type of dementia,
akin to Google times anxiety
over a set plus spare lost black keys
Vascular Dementia, Frontotemporal Dementia
(FTD - Also known as
Pick's Disease), Depression,
Normal Pressure Hydrocephalus, ba jeez
perhaps inducing knock knees
Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease (CJD), where pleas
to divine entity, or merely the power
of positive thinking does absolutely nothing
hence tis ideal to relish each day,
where without fail
health of body, mind
and spirit doth prevail
more coveted, favored,
and immunized one to sail
their corporeal ship of state
rather rejoice, and in due time
embrace death, rather than decry
and blubber accursed fate to whale.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 12:41 AM UTC
There is a portrait
Sketched in aerosol color of blood, gently preaching love
Every day I've passed it asking myself where it was
Years later
A local artist calls himself Truth, added a dove
Mostly white except grey letters that say
"No dreams left behind, no hopes shunned"
I am not much more than the legacy or signage saying welcome to the 6-1-7, peace to Huntington
We are where little more than where we're coming from
I always figured if I paint a picture
Call it poetry
When I needed a rhythm
I'd listen to the avenue grind and hum
You can title it a documentary, but the thought alone reminds me of a homie who said you are buried beneath hate only
He moved away to Jamaica Plain with his lady
She a trap queen
He called it escaping, all I really saw for enlightenment was tail lights
And I was never one to run
Asked if me and my family would follow
I said I would holla soon
Haven't spoke in some time
Funny to find
The red letters are bold as ever
Even as the walls surrounding dulled
The avenue still grinds to the familiar tune
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 4:38 PM UTC
Vivienne wriggled restless draped in a veil of veneer,
She could never pass the stage of sleep same as her street number three.
“Our cycles are synchronized”, so the moon she did fear.
Their marriage froze frigid until deliquescing at month three,
Her lunacy at low tide leaked on her ****** red bed sheet,
Like the snow that would thaw, end of winter in ’33.
As a muse Viv was perfect, but the man suffered defeat,
With her parent’s heirs to riches, resentment followed suit.
Could it have been Dr. Huntington she inherited? Viv was swiftly swept off her feet.
The white walls met her head like a drum beating mute,
As in the fourth circle, Pluto, dressed in a white coat shocked her brain.
Across town Tom was receiving an award, celebrating with the astute.
“*Viv ruined him as a man, though quite the poet he became”,
For if it weren’t for Vivienne, Tom would have acquired far inferior fame.
_TRF
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 10:06 PM UTC
This dream was so real...
The Man
The Legend
The Legendary Drunk Poet Hisself
Asks to see my poetry
Tells me to bring wine
*Dont Forget the wine ************
So I drive over in my El Camino
&
Bellbottoms
Only I’ve got a can of Fruit Punch
12%
Alcohol
Instead of a bottle of wine
As Hank requested
you have to make the reader jump off the cliff with you in your first line, otherwise there’s no point
sip
good God! What is this?!
I’m thinking he’s gonna be furious
But he takes a deep pull
Knocks out half a can
Looks at it
Fruit Punch eh?
I show him my stuff. He likes it. Some of it.
No more poetry for the day man. Say, let’s go to the beach. Huntington or Hermosa. Grab another can or two of this amazing concoction
I tell him they have it in Lemonade
Peach Black Cherry...he lets out a smile
burp
It smells like Fruit Punch
*Well Come On **********
He talk in rhyme the rest of the day...n just like his words have told me about souls
The free one is rare...but you know it when you’re around one because you feel great and beautiful yourself when you’re near one
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 6:50 AM UTC
It's long
And meaningless
No point at all
I stand
Slight of build
About 6 feet tall
Drifting here
Drifting there
Praying and meditating
Who really cares
Jesus was poor
They hated him too
Sitting in the garden
Nothing to do
All I hear
Is talk of "bills"
The absurdity
Of human existence
Oh what a thrill
Call me lazy
I don't even care
That piece of wood
Just sits over there
If I am one day
Kicked out
Of my home
I'll pray to Jesus
Who sits
On his throne
I'm not responsible
I don't even care
Life is mostly
A meaningless joke
It's not even fair
I don't have
Any desires
Or goals
Just to barely
Do anything
And to grow old
So here is to
The emptiness
The meaningless
Of it all
Human life
Bores me
I don't even care
Too many distractions
So there
I went to Huntington Gardens
One place I love
And there I saw
A small white dove
And happy people
Showing each other love
I like being alone
That is my way
Today is just
Another day
And I could care less
If I don't get paid
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC
Beer and wine
***** and ***
tequila round the bend
don't plan on hurting anyone
the streets looking for the boots, the feet
hey your face! angel of gothic trance of the evening, where you headed?
do a disco two way and then blow a kiss to the lamp post
thirsty as can be, a few twenties at the side
chewing cinnamon gum, wals-a-do a top the cobblestone end of march
seeded in ***** **** tight-witted noisy blasphemous youth
edited two times so professor lets a quick C, won't argue the bill
the congressman, green stamp
switch to the left, with a marker pen
tag the newstand, Who made who? check it,
chuck an empty bottle down the alleyway
ha-ha! OH alive is this mind! Lifted to the stars!
wrap arms around the holsterd moon, from huntington beach up to long beach, through downtown where the staring eyes meet the hemp
roam and reel and Holy! you have NECTAR!
beer and wine,
***** and ***
a drop of tequila
couldn't hurt anyone
Mar 13, 2020
Mar 13, 2020 at 8:34 PM UTC