Posts for June 13, 2024 (page 5)

I wonder if the public even knows how close we are to overdose on a customer service model plan that values feelings over lifespan. Because those feelings translate to donations which empowers most the administrations. If you have the money in the green, your situation is pristine. But we have a system that tends to creep up on our people as they sleep. One day they wake up needing care and realize the problems everywhere. They rant and rave in a room to a nurse who really has to zoom. Because that customer service model plan needs us to round on every. patient. every. hour… understand?

Be sure to greet them 
with a healthy Bonjour,
all your readers that is,
all that clicking for your wisdom
which you have none
and thus a good thing
you’ve no readers

*****

But I digress
for it looks as if
my exile to Alligator Lake
may be interrupted.
I’ve been called to attend
Penelope’s marriage vows
at my former home sweet home,
the houseboat on Herrington Lake.

Ah the Dix of the Bluegrass.

*****

Autobiography 
is a geography of one’s heart
with its regular tic-tocks,
skipped beats, flutterings,
and even congestive failures
which can be Lived With.

Autobiography
is a topographical map
with its isomers
giving the illusion
of a life with peaks and valleys.

*****

My sister, Helen, says
there’s nothing more boring
than someone whose father
left when they were five or mother
died when they were eleven.
Maybe so.
Helen is a nonagenarian,
she should know.

blue-sky celebrations. i sit
on periwinkle swing, enveloped
in oversized yellow sweatshirt,
absorb nature’s radio songs–
cheer-cheer-cheer       here-here
that echo from white-tipped crepe
myrtles.              hur-up hur-up
whoa-whoa-whoa          whoa
from red oak. three cats bob
heads from tree to tree to bush.
kentucky speaks from very near–
purty purty purty.         clear chirps,
flirty chirps.      drum-roll-echo
pecking.      also from afar–
caw-caw-caw        wha-wha-wharp
from an evergreen who
has withstood decades of ice
storms, new disease.   witt–witt-split
hoo-ah-hoo-ah           hoo-ah
caw-caw.   but then i spot a tick.
oh-dear oh-dear.     yes, nature also
comes with tiny-dot bloodsuckers,
eight legs of nasty.    for today, 
i smash my demon with mighty
force.    and the trills start up again.
wee-hoo wee-hoo wee-hoo

SCOTUS taking bribes

Judicial philosophy

Negotiable

Now in his dreams, the serpent, Sigmund Freud, was more crafty and more sexually potent than any of the other beasts of the field that the Lord God had made.  

He said to the woman, “Did God actually say, ‘You shall not eat of any tree in the garden’?” And the woman stretched out on her couch and said to the serpent, “We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden, but God said, “You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the midst of the garden, neither shall you touch it, lest you die.”  But the serpent said to the woman, “You will not surely die.  You are merely crushed by interdictions, and you need to be set free from the judgments of others.” So the woman said “What others?” To which the serpent said “God and the angels, you hysterical dummy.”  

So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to free one of guilt, seeing it as subjective, seeing that she could weaken the guilt by analyzing it, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate.     Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that God wanted to keep them under His power and influence, not to mention keeping them naked due to some weird fixation on his God Mother. And they sewed fig leaves together, made themselves loincloths, and the man did smoke the world’s first cigar, which frightened the woman, much the way the serpent had.  

My boots are on, camouflage green,
ready to embrace sun-dappled grass, 
and shady vines on the forest floor.

Maybe I’m too old to live off the grid,
free from big business, living to live,
with water from rain, fuel from sol,
food from land, nature take its toll.

But, my boots are on, camouflage green, 
If you need me, I’ll be in the forest green. 

Searing heat bright glare
Darkness provides small respite
Everything cracked, sere
Hair,plants,heels,skin,lips,nails
Days inside with stale dry air

Liar liar
Pants on fire
Wounded little boy
Unable to keep your ploy
Your secret found out
I knew what you were about
Lying in wait
To catch some bait
Only expressing manipulative interest
Such a silly little narcissit
I know your game all too well 
You could not cast your spell
Away from me 
Your immaturity
You could never satisfy my desires
All of me you will never acquire

Hard nut of a poem
the last pistachio in the bowl,
its unsplit shell.
Black walnut still in its husk.
A dusty bag of Christmas nuts,
not a cracker in sight.
Hard nut of a June poem
buried deep in the sun-dry dirt.
nowhere near ready to sprout.

Boys just keep coming
they fall from the sky
three now, all mixed together
twisted and writhing.  

Hands reach and grab for it
a new Thing wanted every few minutes
Mario stuck in a power-up stance
Lighting McQueen with worn red paint.  

The smallest, still struggling, without solid words
sits squished between two much more seasoned pros
begins to exert himself in singular spirit
with a scream loud enough to be the one, the only.