When I woke up
my name...was gone.

As if it had jumped ship
took a train and

ended up incognito
in Tuscaloosa

as an unsuccessful
travelling salesman.

Who the hell I was
...I couldn't tell you.

It was as if
I was being

slowly erased.

Things too
started to lose

their names
looking at me

startled like
people

shocked to see
themselves

suddenly in the ****
walking down the High Street.

Only a telephone
remembered its name

and started talking to me
in a high shrill voice.

"Ring ring ringringring!"
it said.

"Ring ring ringringring!"
it said again.

But although I
remembered its name

I didn't remember
what it was for.

So it just rang and rang
itself

into
silence.

"Shut it!"
I shouted silently.

"Honey..?"
somebody who

claimed to be
my wife

( what ever that
was )

handed me words
like hieroglyphics

written upon
the air.

"Tusaloosa!
I said.

"Wot...?"
she hieroglyphed.

"Tuscaloosa...that's
my name!"

I told her
for want of something

better to say.

"Tuscaloosa!"
I kept saying

trying to make it
make sense.

But it didn't.

Nothing..didn't

My wife started weeping
into the telephone thing

and that's how I
came to be here.

Wherever here
...is?

TUSCALOOSA

when I woke up
my name...was gone
as if it had jumped ship

took a train and
ended up incognito
in Tuscaloosa

as an unsuccessful
travelling
salesman

who the hell
I was
...I couldn't tell you

it was as if
I was being
slowly erased

things too
started to lose
their names

looking at me
startled like
people

shocked to see themselves
suddenly in the ****
walking down the High Street

only a telephone
remembered its name
and started talking to me

in a high shrill voice
"Ring ring ringringring!"
it said

"Ring ring ringringring!"
it said again
but although I

remembered its name
I didn't remember
what it was for

So it just rang and rang
itself into
silence

"Shut it!"
I shouted silently
"Honey..?"

somebody who
claimed to be
my wife

( what ever that
was )
handed me words

like hieroglyphics
written upon
the air

"Tusaloosa! I said.
"Wot...?"
she hieroglyphed

"Tuscaloosa...that's
my name!"
I told her

for want of
something
better to say

"Tuscaloosa!"
I kept saying
trying to make it

make sense.
but it didn't.
nothing..didn't

my wife started weeping
into the telephone thing
and that's how I

came to be here
wherever here
...is?

TUSCALOOSA

when I woke up
my name...was gone
as if it had jumped ship

took a train and
ended up incognito
in Tuscaloosa

as an unsuccessful
travelling
salesman

who the hell
I was
...I couldn't tell you

it was as if
I was being
slowly erased

things too
started to lose
their names

looking at me
startled like
people

shocked to see themselves
suddenly in the ****
walking down the High Street

only a telephone
remembered its name
and started talking to me

in a high shrill voice
"Ring ring ringringring!"
it said

"Ring ring ringringring!"
it said again
but although I

remembered its name
I didn't remember
what it was for

So it just rang and rang
itself into
silence

"Shut it!"
I shouted silently
"Honey..?"

somebody who
claimed to be
my wife

( what ever that
was )
handed me words

like hieroglyphics
written upon
the air

"Tusaloosa! I said.
"Wot...?"
she hieroglyphed

"Tuscaloosa...that's
my name!"
I told her

for want of
something
better to say

"Tuscaloosa!"
I kept saying
trying to make it

make sense.
but it didn't.
nothing..didn't

my wife started weeping
into the telephone thing
and that's how I

came to be here
wherever here
...is?

You tore my beliefs from their foundation
I lay, cut and broken, looking at a calm blue sky
While thunder threatens a repeat and rain soaks my skin.
I’m too shocked to realize this is not my imagination.
The fierce wind took my breath and I can’t get it back no matter how hard I try.
Words stumble over my tongue and don’t make it over the din.

I sensed something brewing, yet went forward with blind eyes
The anger rising like heat waves from the concrete.
The sadness leaching from the pavement, fueling the air.
It never ceases to amaze me, the fact that I’m surprised.
My thoughts, flailing about like a child’s tantrum, never complete.

Suddenly, it's upon me, and I walk into its lair.

Welcome inside the bear’s cage.
You won’t see me coming in the wrapping rain.
I’m going to tear you apart until there’s nothing more.
Everything you ever wanted, exploding in the windy rage...
           till nothing remains.
                       Choke the inflow,
                                    transition to a new tower,
                                                          ­       repeat as before.

say that I'm defiant

in the face of howling winds

who gave us skill to build a world

and ripped apart both ends

from what sensitivity

such love was spawned

what insanity

unleashed the violence

Who shaped

This storm

this man

He scorns

4107 by beth lindly

                                             4

i have been born into a southern city twice,

once to parents that counted and once to those that didn’t.

twenty-one years and i haven’t ever sat all the way

through a game of football, or soccer, or anything

except gymnastics. southern life is the same as

gymnastics – you don’t have to know the rules to

know when someone messes up, when someone falls,

when someone scrapes the length of their fingers trying

to pull themselves up. there is a spillway by the house where i

grew up that wasn’t full this morning. when my father

drove us to school in the fall, through those blurry mornings,

i could see a small rhombus of sun shining on lake tuscaloosa but

it was only in the fall and only in those mornings. i am proud

to have noticed that rhombus. we lived in a different house

until i was five years old.  i had a sesame street comforter

and we didn’t have cable. all they ever taught me was the

cockroach on the wall does not exist if you can’t see it.

(or, at least, i haven’t seen that cockroach since then. who’s

to say.)

                                             1

the death of fairies is something that has once made me sad.

i thought there were some behind my elementary school’s quarry

but they were just honeysuckle, and it was november when i went

back, anyway. there were never any fairies around my house.

i checked in the herb garden my mother grew in our front

yard, with all the mint and oregano that went into the soups she made.

my ex told me to stop calling it “my house” because the room

that saw me stay up past 2 a.m. to talk to him now sees my

sister write on the walls. but someone else wakes me up now and

my home can become whatever i need it to be.

                                             0

i had a dream last week about my dog dying and i remembered

it over lunch with my parents with such a horrid suddenness that

i thought it had happened right then. “no, beth,” my father chuckled.

“millie hasn’t died.” “she’s doing just fine,” my mother agreed.

but she has, i thought, i saw it clear as anything.

my dog’s brain has been recently deteriorating, the pieces

taking with them her ability to hear. our family has taken to stomping

on the ground so she can feel the vibrations of come get your food,

come outside, just come here. i am proud that she can feel the vibrations

that call her home.

                                             7

the fog that exists separating me from my dirt and blood has yet

to be predicted by james spann – a 70 percent chance that when i’m seventy

i won’t be able to remember how my backyard looked without the deck.

i am twenty-one and soon i won’t be and it will continue like that until

my memories have cateracted into a milky blur of greens and purples

when i was a child and maroons and blues when i thought i was an adult.

my hope is that i will start an herb garden and plunge my hands

in the warm earth and feel the vibrations that might call me home,

if they want to.

he jokes about tuscaloosa
and being buried in dixie
shot in his truck near the border
or set on fire for a better purpose
had gone down in a tomato fight
somewhere in texas,

and when he's mad he dredges up
all the things he secretly hates about me
but'll ne'er admit, 'cause sometimes he doesn't
even know what he's feeling, has got all his
spirit out in ten arms searching for the best
way to put down one sentence--

he's pretty scary when he's angry
looks like might just lash out or
shoot through my redwood patio
'specially with the threat of his truck
runnin' in the background, rumbling
in the driveway ready to take him away--

he used all my favorite things to get inside
but starts to take them away one by one
I tell my mom same, same cause it's
the same story, different page, different chapter
same book, same shelf, same dust

he once said I was what he was tryin' to get back to
told me he was takin' his mom to church
once brought up the Lord in a dim light
but now he don't see the point
I'll tell you what,


I'll tell you *what

The town grew silent as an eerie sound rumbled near
Run, run run fast gather the covers go to the nearest shelter ,
What? No sirens to warn us of the evil whisk of wind that would leave mass destruction on that April night . The ripping and roaring , the sound of a train blowing it's whistle , the ripping off  trees from the ground , like a scene from the wizard of Oz , it's massive force carried houses animals and yes people to , from here to there slinging them in circular motion, this beast had no mercy in my town,. It jumped in one place untouched ground next door, it slung the cars so hard they were sticking in the concrete bridges. My God in Heaven have mercy on us .
Walking , running screaming for lost loved ones, death and destruction offered the sight of a war zone where we were all on the front line and lost something that night.
Trampling over the unseen, the crumbled homes downed trees the bodies of people the sound of sirens the smell of gas the sound of the chainsaws roaring cutting through the rubbles of 2hat remained.
It left my town, home of the crimson Tide, bruised and broken and torn to the soul as we lost so much to the tornado that night
All we had left  now was little to remain.  God bless Tuscaloosa
©kimmied1105

The climate change & the weather never fair.
Ecocentric so it’s so many ways I want to clear the air.
Hurt by the things I hear, like I wasn’t there.
Sending money to my family & they still call me gross when the net everywhere.
12 hour work days after driving from Tuscaloosa when I couldn’t rest.
Craving success, cut off the love of my life due to stress.
How do I tell the person next to me I need to isolate myself?
How do I tell someone I give reassurance I actually hate myself?
& I’m the villain because I didn’t drag you through my bad episode?
Success come with seasons & we fell before the summer because I couldn’t stand to see you cold.
The price to keep moving, my past is littered with good people.
Every time I step up I fall in to puddles of tears like I’m racing steeple.
I hear the unsweet tea but my mouth never bitter.
Would I have taken a Phoenix contract if I was still with her?
We never know what God needs to erase to write the story.
Most common evidence of weak faith is when we worry.
If you lining up for success, you need God on the corner to go that route.
To get in your bag sometimes some people have to come out.

Have you ever heard the sound of a rumbling train, when there were no train tracks anywhere near?
The wind of a tornado screeching and screaming fury and reeking havick upon a city with no warning, embarked is this memory this time of year.
On April 27, 2011, life's changed forever in the city I lived, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, Home of the Crimson Tide, would never be the same.
A scene from a horror movie can't even compare as we became the victom of a war zone that day
Trees flew through the air picking up houses and vehicles, anything in it's path, as the monster of this spinning wind left nothing but the rubble and the people homeless and dead . Those that survived this wicked storm would never be the same . The destruction of this tornado came out of the sky and ripped our life away.
When it was over it had only just begun as it left a mangled city
As people walked through the neighbor hoods searching for loved ones that the storm had picked up and spit out somewhere along the way, kids screaming for their parents , animals laying dead the sound of sirens screeching through our heads. People trapped beneath their homes where they ran to be safe but little did they know their was no such place on this day when the tornado that took so many lifes and swept our homes away there was no safe place to stay. I hope to one day forget this horror trapped in my head, my best friend and I found his family in their  twisted home 75 feet from where it once set as there were no survivors of the 3 . So this time of year leaves me saddened   if you can imagine a war zone you then will see the memories in my head.

The town grew silent as an eerie sound rumbled near
Run, run run fast gather the covers go to the nearest shelter ,
What? No sirens to warn us of the evil whisk of wind that would leave mass destruction on that April night . The ripping and roaring , the sound of a train blowing it's whistle , the ripping off  trees from the ground , like a scene from the wizard of Oz , it's massive force carried houses animals and yes people to , from here to there slinging them in circular motion, this beast had no mercy in my town,. It jumped in one place untouched ground next door, it slung the cars so hard they were sticking in the concrete bridges. My God in Heaven have mercy on us .
Walking , running screaming for lost loved ones, death and destruction offered the sight of a war zone where we were all on the front line and lost something that night.
Trampling over the unseen, the crumbled homes downed trees the bodies of people the sound of sirens the smell of gas the sound of the chainsaws roaring cutting through the rubbles of that remained.
It left my town, home of the crimson Tide, bruised and broken and torn to the soul as we lost so much to the tornado that night
All we had left  now was little to remain.  God bless Tuscaloosa

I sat there in my apartment
eating a cheeseburger
from Hardee’s on 15th Street. The
sound of my VCR and my
own thoughts comforted me. My friend
the internet kept me connected
to my boyfriend which I appreciated. The weather
outside had told me of strange burst of winds.
The radio had told me
of tornadoes in Tuscaloosa. A girl in December
told me I was safe to go home if
I lived nearby. School was over
and I didn’t feel like cooking, which
explained the Hardee’s. I chewed and chewed
like I had not a care in the world. I was eating,
I was in my apartment,
I was safe.

Then everything went black
and silent in my apartment.
Everything except the strange
sound outside my apartment. I heard it
just after my apartment was silenced.
“What the hell is that?” I asked myself,
because I lived alone. I walked
to the window, the blinds already shut.
I peeked outside. I saw the devil outside my window.
It was as tall as the sky, as wide as a mile, and angry. It roared
and threw everything it swallowed randomly.
It was 100 feet away, and coming closer. I closed
my blinds and blinked.  Disbelief set in for a moment.
“I did not just see that.” I told myself.
“You should look again”, myself told me.
So I peeked out the blinds again. The devil
was still there and coming closer. It was
not a nightmare. It was not
a figment of my imagination.
It was there and I was in danger.
I felt the danger wash over me. Fear
tasted like impending death
that day, bitter and stuck in my throat.
I grabbed my cell phone and a quilt
that use to rest on my parents’ bed
until I was allowed to take it.
I ran to the bathroom,
still tasting fear. I called
my mother as the devil
came closer.

“Mom! There’s a tornado outside and it’s coming to get me!!”
I’ll admit, I panicked,
but you would too if
the devil was right outside your door
and you didn’t know
if this was the end.  
“Now is the time to go into survivor mode”
my mother informed me in a calm voice.
So after screaming and panicking and
not dying of a panic attack,
I closed my eyes and became calm.
I waited for a calming outside
before I explored the outside. There was
some damage to my apartment, significant damage
to my apartment building, 7 out of 8 of my windows
in my van were imploded from
the pressure of the devil,
worse damage to my connecting neighborhood
(but no deaths, though somewhere not far
from there a house killed some students)
and no Alberta City.
My damages felt insignificant in comparison to that.

Mahogany hands
Reach through the flowing wind
Full of oxygen and pollen and pollution
A mahogany girl sits in the green grass
Waiting for the white bus that is slow
Expressional brown eyes
Look into the blue sky
Painted with teals and slates and colors
Other than sky blue
The weather is warm and schizophrenic
An impending uncertainty
The smell of rain faint but noticeable
In the distance
White lightning slashes through the sky
Mahogany skin cannot feel
The intensity
But mahogany skin can feel
The static in the air
The mahogany skin prickles all over
As the current dances

Suddenly there stands
A man dressed plainly
In a white t-shirt and blue jeans and a golden cross
Who vaguely resembles Daniel Radcliffe facially
But has never been told so
The greeny plant people
Dance wildly to the rhythm called wind
Then the sky pours its heart on Tuscaloosa
Filling the air with a myriad of water
Mahogany drowns on a Monday

I was travelling to the place where I come from. The anniversary of my grandmother slapping a nun, otherwise known as my mother’s birthday, was a day away. I lost myself in the groove of my earphones to substitute my lost car radio. Suddenly, as if attacked by an imaginary beast, a strange sound could be heard beyond my earphones. My wind rider also became harder to control, so I let it come to a stop on its own. I investigated my chariot of transportation and discovered that I was now unable to go further. I was stuck between two cities and not close enough for me to walk for assistance. A kind strange happened by and helped me in my dilemma. I am very grateful to him. Because of his generosity, I was able to continue on my journey.

I was driving my van
When my tire exploded
I had no spare
So I was stuck there
Between Tuscaloosa and Centreville.
I was lucky that man
Happened to turn around.
It was a blessing.

Even as an old curmudgeon, aye pucker
and raspily suction, albeit toothless mouth
drawing reminiscent guffaws affecting
(think feeble attempt
impersonating plumber plunging -
unclogging backed up toilet),
flushed with satisfaction,
now snakes into following non sequitur,
whereby then upperclassman,
whose name Scott Lambert

I suddenly remembered
modest fellow one year my senior  
- donned tee shirt
“please support your local ******”
yes folks back in the day,
one long haired pencil neck geek
palled around with another
hirsute nerd - Roger Kummerer,
(who both of us graduated Methacton
High School class of 1977),

and yours truly readily
admitting, alluding, and attesting
without shadow of doubt
representing the dumber
than rocks of said rolling stones
foo fighting beastie boys
allied with Smokey and the bandits,
the latter donning outsize
particolored grey pachyderm trunks,
Tuscaloosa so far away;

especially as Mummer doth strut
on unseasonably warm New Year's Day
sporting polar bear look-alike
gabardine garb getup trumpeting,
merrily squeezing Charmin
rubbing her/his tuchus
excellently exhibiting posterior
as chief motormouth sound
of combo motorboat hummer.

Mein kampf elapsed distressfully
even now scores of decades later
ah..., the joys of amazingly aging gracefully
recalling happily never
being beat into pulp daily courtesy
imagine dragons saving me hide  
'though dimming sense and sensibility
before (appearing gratefully dead)
lifeless body dumped into gully,
nevertheless all the while fully
maintaining consciousness, and forcefully
summoning forth latent powers gleefully
choking living daylights masterfully

delivering just desserts upon Tom Viglione,
whose plaintive laments truthfully
resonate as blessed music
to ears unaccustomed hearing pitifully
sounding long overdue comeuppance
forever disbelieving wrongfully
perpetrated intimidating injustice
witnessed courtesy mine doppelgänger,
who wanted to strangle  
the m*r f*rs yearningly
fueling an ordinarily meek lad
only in his dreams, he envisions zestfully.

Pugnacious thuggish hooligans... although
decades long since elapsed,
whereby muscle bound hoodlums
jockeyed to rain
one after another verbal Hawaiian punch,
and bandied fist viz physical blow
threatening introverted diminutive boy
who, no surprise did eventually,
albeit (shamefacedly, sneakingly,
and stuntedly) didst grow

(as an aside resembled anorexic
Kris Kringle **... **... **...),
which long sleeved Santa suit
rendered invisible liver spots;      
said epidermal splotches black and indigo
wracked (in my pinion), impacted, and affected...,
this punster, he haint Joe
King, but upholds true value
nudging anonymous reader to chuckle
thru contrived written words y'know

good humor less or mo'
yours truly aspires toward po'
whit tree linkedin with infusing,
feebly, lamely, and quirkily
(no matter recognizing ex post facto)
impossible mission reporting punks to principal,
hence describing, envisioning, forsaking passivity
as defensive modus operandi status quo
finally freeing mine unsung
inner foreigner juke box hero.