Hey Brain

You again

Yeah...you ready to write now?

Nah

Seriously!?

Throw me a bone, I beg you I plead!
Don't make me grovel from down on my knees!
I want to write verses, stanzas, and rhymes
I want to write odes that span hundreds of lines!
You don't understand the depths I would go
if only you'd let my creativity flow
within me there's power of unfathomable wonder
I will rip apart planets, I'll tear universes asunder!
I want to dip my brush into the paint of my mind
and just go to town until my mind paint is dried.
Paint that will land on more than the canvas
the floor, ceiling and walls will be stained with this madness!

My mind is spinning with various hues
greens, reds, and yellows -- purples and blues
My heart's 'bout to beat right out of my chest
and trust me, dear brain, that'd be a magnificent mess
If I go too much longer, I may go insane
and start writing of kumquats who dance in the rain
with whom are they dancing out there in the rain?
Why, none other than the late Saddam al Hussein
and those kumquats are making Saddam a mite jealous
due to the fact that they have much better moustaches
And why do kumquats have moustaches you wonder?
I'm so glad you asked, 'cause they're from the Down Under
Yes those kumqats were Australian, but they're not long for that land
Tom Selleck just ate 'em.  Rhyme like Yoda, I can

See what you do, when you do this to me?
When the one thing you do is not a **** thing?

My apathetic brain, why must you sit here and fight
Put down your defenses, and
just.
let.
me.
WRITE.

Umm...you just...kinda did

Oh.  Thanks...I think.

*Whatever

Soft scents of new frangipanis
Waft gently over evening sprinkles
Tasting sweet orange Kumquats
Under green canvas umbrella

(@Puchong, December 2018)

You're wearing too many rings,
just like me.
You're wearing glasses,
just like me. (except mine don't fix my eyes because my eyes are fixed fine)
You're calling me a Little Monster
and I'm laughing, giggling, because monsters don't exist
(except in the closet and in the basement and inside the vacuum)
and you're smiling at me and everything's gold from the fire.
You are wearing an office-shirt, with a collar and a pocket and buttons
tucked into your brown pants
almost like it's seven thirty in the morning, every morning
except it's not. It's Christmas Eve Eve, and I know that because Mama told me
because that's why Grammy and Grampy and Aunts and Uncles and Cousins are being loud in the Living Room
(which is weird because why isn't the kitchen called the Eating Room or our bedrooms called the Sleeping Rooms)
and I know that you're wearing serious-clothes because that's What Grammy Wants to See
and I've been waiting for this day for a whole year. Which is like forever.

I ask for a story and your face wrinkles a little because
I ask for them all the time, I collect them like old people collect money and bank letters and shoes
and you're getting tired of telling them, probably,
but I want the air to shimmer behind your voice
and I want to be the only one that hears it
so I beg.

And you tell me about a magic carpet you had when you were a boy
about fruit--like bananas and apples and kumquats--coming to life
about the time Santa slept late
about when dragons used to be pets and how we used to fly them like cars

and the air is still shimmering but
I'm getting sad
sad,
which I never do when you tell stories
because I'm realizing that all your stories have already happened.
They're ghosts, gone by, never coming back,
beautiful things lost, disappeared.
And you never tell me about the future
because you don't know it any better than I do
and the world seems kind of scary,
too big for me,
ready to **** me in like the vacuum.

You stop your voice, you peek at me
and see my eyes
and then you hug me
all warm because we're by the fire
and the room is silent except for the crackles and snaps
and voices coming from downstairs.

And your shirt is soft and I'm crying
hot water leaks from my eyes, falling down beside my nose
because no one knows the future and it's all too perfect right now.
And you let me go and you kiss my forehead and
say "is it all better now?"
and I nod because I love you
not that I know what love is, but it feels that way
and I'm safe.

Today there's an orange peel
And yet another bee
And I am still discouraged

The peel is vibrant
Like the color of the kumquats
On your tree
Mistaken for a key lime

But I was happy
Because I never really liked key limes anyway

Round, the kumquats grow
Sharp-leaved,  they green the sky
The gate opens wide

(Chiara, Francesca, Rosa and Pedra remained on the beach.)

Chiara and Pedra decided to take a look along
The coast to search some food; Francesca and Rosa carried
The boat across the beach to hide it; 'How can you be so strong? ''
Asked Rosa; ''I listened to Chiara when I got married.



We depleted a fortune and Lucca was very rich.''
''So, this strength of yours comes from your tristesse, '' replied Rosa.
''My inner emptiness became affection.'' 'She's a witch.''
'She's a good soul, but inside her, she keeps thorns of mimosa.''


They had to undergo that difficult time and to
Organize their lunch; Rosa stopped to sip some drops of water
From the canteen she carried, '' it's entirely up to you
To leave him now.' ''My father is ill; I'm his only daughter.''


They were tired after the grim events of the previous
Hours; meanwhile, Chiara and Pedra were sifting through the salty
Air of the beach. Chiara said, '' I don't trust Fargo, he's devious.''
''We have no other chance, '' replied Pedra. ''His logic is faulty, ''


Continued Chiara, ''they should remain here with us.''
Pedra stayed for a few minutes being caught by the sparkle
Of the broken waves; she said, ''we have something to discuss.
Don't you think that your ideas are too matriarchal? ''


They enjoyed the salty stink of the seaweeds and the clicking
Of the living shells that they had tossed together for the meal.
While eating, they cut off the mollusks from their sticking
Shells; dozens of gulls were wheeling over the waves. ''Pleasant peal, ''


Said Francesca, '' the chance of meeting another one while
Staying here is very slim.'' '' I really grasp the scale of our
Surroundings, '' said Chiara while giving her seaweeds with a smile.
Rosa said, '' eat some kumquats, figs, and pears; you need power.''

(Rosa brought some fruits to complete the meal.)


(To be continued…)

Poem by Marieta Maglas

fill my mouth with peels of kumquats and bits of botanicals,
saliva drying with orris root

unpleasantness gagged with the molding fruits with sweet odor,
pearls begin to rot

pupils stung with the stems of lilacs as tears of
youth turn to sweet wine,
to be a sloshing treat in my skull

citrine stuffed beneath the skin peeled back in elegant strips,
cherub cheeks of baby fat

knobby knees bound in willow branches to tremble,
the warm blood is as sweet