Posts for June 14, 2019 (page 5)

I Didn’t Flush  
I am so far behind a poem a day
what can I say I have been busy
I had to beat the predicted rain
and mow for 16 hours in 2 days
and then the forecast changed
what can I say I spent almost a whole
day doing nothing I have a ton of work
for a zone map amendment public
hearing with city council presentation
the comedian said you can’t fight
city hall oh what a ball it is to try
even thought the stress
makes me often want to die
I try and I try and I get more confused
I’ve decided apathy is one ideal
way to fix that and it doesn’t make me pee
like weed from a vape does cause I cough
and coughs make my bladder spasm
and it’s about the only time I squirt
cause when I vibrate I gush
and when I pee on a potty or try to squat
it runs and dribbles and flows
over ass cheeks inner thighs
calves OMG my bladder is so mean to me
actually it is that frigging muscle
PC is its acronym pubococcygeal is the P
and let me tell like what can I say
but I can’t find that muscle to save
my soul and I insert balls in there
and try to hold them in and succeed
until I stand then it pops out and rolls
away if the floors are uneven or if I am in public
once one popped out when I started to pee
I was so happy they make newer toilets
differently cause I thought for sure
that was $50 down the drain
like that Chinese algae eater
in Susie Cream Cheese’s tank I cleaned
while she was away and Super Sucker
that was its name was in the filter not moving
so I said dead and put him in one of the dorms
toilets at Lake Erie College for Women
and the bastard woke up from the dead
and shot down the hole in the bottom of the john
and I reached my arm in but he was gone
not like my ball that stayed much closer
like with in arms reach although I pissed
on my arm and I worried for years
about the day the Chinese Super Sucker
would come back up into the toilets
of one of the buildings at that college
or somewhere near and latch
onto some unsuspecting persons ass
and I laughed and I worried Lake Erie
might become its home and it would grow
to the size of the Loch Ness Nellie
and it would be all my fault
and the I guess I told Susie Cream Cheese 
I flushed her prized fish
down the drain
but I didn’t flush.
Really I didn’t flush.

an open envelope
no reply
yet

what do we blame
when we no longer have
the mailman 

Wild turkeys are not as stupid
as their domesticated brethren,
but, near-sighed and cautious, they follow
in flocks, electing a leader. I hear apocrypha
about how, since less are hunting, they abound
in farmers’ back fields, numerous. Sometimes,
outside the city, I’ll see the pinion
of a young straggler, splayed
by the highway’s grated side.

We both know the waters are rising,
and if we’re sunk,
I am carrying my blue statue
for help in the afterlife,
piling on all the clothes I can,
and making my escape
on lifeboat number 6.

Sunrises as earth rotates into its rays
Society slumbers from rest
While the wren flees her nest. 

Darkness fades away
Into this dawn, 
A new day

All the while,
I sit in traffic
Thinking about the wren. 

When I was five
my toddler brother almost died;
a peanut from a piece of Baby Ruth
winged its way into his windpipe
from the candy bar Dad left on top
of the crib rail; hiding in the damp
of the clothes hamper I heard
the awful halt of Kevin’s choking wail
and Mom’s frantic calls for Dad
to come back in from the driveway

Unlike other memories the truth
of this one’s refreshed by family lore
and a couple of old photos:
the five hour rush to the hospital
in the big city for special surgery,
Dad pulled over for speeding and
the policeman giving us a siren escort,
Kevin blue and barely breathing,
my siblings left at home with Aunty,
that lonely week at Grandmother’s  
Louisville home playing by myself

Before he died at 40 Kevin was an actor
and a tap dancer and a lover of men;
in light-hearted banter at family events
we blame it on that piece of Baby Ruth
 

swimming shallows where small boys wade
while mothers read novels and magazines
my jaws clamp round luscious little legs –
the surprised cry and splash!  

I pivot, wagging wildly from snout to tail
carry my catch to the deep and gulp
soft sweet flesh and matchstick bones
thinking God has been good to me today  

Ще ви разкажа за зова на своята душа 
Единствено,  която ме разбира 
Учи ме как мога да  греша 
И в грешката си нов урок аз да намирам.
Учи ме в доверие напред 
С нея да вървя и без да спирам 
Да слушам предложения навред
Които във живота ме намират.
И да избирам важните от тях,
Които са за мен и ми показват
Каква да бъда ,за да има ред
В душата и в духа ми тъй прекрасни.
Когато се науча да вървя,
По стъпките ,  които ми предлага, 
Ще имам шанс да въдворя
Хармония , спокойствие и вяра!

My thoughts flow
like rusty water from rusty pipes
that takes time to run clear. 

Contaminated with impure memories like
fresh squeezed orange juice
that must be processed
to get to what is real.  

A tear must form like beads
on meringue of my mind’s
lemon pie straight from the oven
still too hot to eat.

NPR TED talk inspiration
for my soul devoid of reason
making the little boy me
sit up straight
feet on the floor look ahead attention.  

And when I arrive at this point
before it is curdled to whey
I’ll take a sip and embrace it
before it slips away. 

Late spring. Redbuds dot
Kentucky hillsides as strong
winds whip up quick
storms through the greening
valley. When their pale
magenta blossoms open—just for two
maybe three weeks—it’s like the part
of the fireworks show where you stop
speechless except for a long
ahhhh. June now,

the fence lizards are sunbathing
on jagged rocks, the sweet pinks
are gone from the hills, although lush
layers of green roll over
the landscape in manifold
shades and textures. All year
I long for the return
of the redbuds, their pastel
kisses signaling the end
of black ice and thick

socks. Summer with its shuffling
turtles and irritable brown
wasps will keep flaring
until September. Meanwhile,
I can’t let go of the peaceable
spring redbud. Its delicacy haunts
me and like a favorite
aunt who comes to stay
once a year, entrusts
me with its brief, rare calyx.