Tanka- Clancy’s bed
Cuddled in his round
plush lined circular cushioned
bed comforting him
through the nights on his own as
I snuggle alone in the Queen.
Cuddled in his round
plush lined circular cushioned
bed comforting him
through the nights on his own as
I snuggle alone in the Queen.
Inspired by John Steinbeck’s personal “Pigasus” stamp and motto
We have forgotten about
Our wings and feathers
We have silenced our songs
Instead, we are content to eat slop
Snort loudly, and wallow in mud
Once the fat, pinky flesh is satisfied
Or is it?
What will it take to rise?
What will it take
For the mire to become the miracle?
Could there be a day
When pigs actually fly?
Ad astra per alas porci!
There are moments I want to live in forever,
to stop time
and let an eternity or two
go by,
like when your lips
are anywhere on my body.
Yesterday morning,
we invited the dog upstairs
for the first time since we got her.
She jumped on the bed,
laid down between us,
and barely moved for two hours,
so content just to be with her people.
Happiness and peace
radiating off of her,
eyes half closed,
as I just kept petting her.
There are days so filled with joy
(like the innocence
and excitement
of a puppy)
that I hope to remember them
forever.
I am so lucky
to love you both.
an ode, of sorts, to fellow poets this month
an arrow connects me to you–
and you. forward. back. a surprise
around the bend. heartfelt-ness
near. heartbreak there. two doors
down, a reminder. all
in breath-filled words and breaks
and imagery. community. unity.
trust. green-fresh-vulnerability.
kind connections. sans rejections.
all engaged in kentucky affections,
in blue-white-gold-green.
in poetry.
in hope.
TODAY WHAT SHOULD BE EVERYDAY, BUT ISN’T
I spend the morning trying/ to remember what it is I have to do.
I make a list in order of importance:
1. submit poems to KSPS contests—both close June 30
shit today is June 27
2. write a poem or something
3. do PT exercises-did already and am now my list is out of order
4. look up side effects and research of efficacy on people with TBIIs for memory enhancing drugs Aricept, Namenda, Exelon/ my GP says I might should consider taking
5. prepare for tonight’s comedy/talent show Thunderdome Balls hosting gig in Louisville at Planet of the Tapes
I type on the computer keyboard,/ this counts as writing/even if I ‘m not using a pen/ even if it’s just a list/ list poems are a definite type of poem /
and making is creating,
and I’m using words,
attempting eloquence and alliteration. This will suffice
as LexPoMo’s today poem.
Yes people, this is a poem./ Especially if I insert slashes and dashes/
for line breaks, don’t forget line breaks.
Exelon is a Chicago based utility corporation/
on the surface appears to have nothing/ to do with enhancing memory.
I’m curious, but must stick to the script/ the list,
but wait — home careers—do I want a career with Exelon,
maybe they are the makers of this drug/ I’m tempted to go, to see
if this is the company for me, for cures to my ailments/
financial and cranial?
I resist the urge/ reverse the cursor/ don’t go there. Go where?
Different search words reveal:
Rivastigmine administered 2 hours after closed head injury reduced edema and accelerated recovery. What about 24 years after/ one‘s memories and life fell/ to the earth to become one/ with compacted soil never/ to return to the brain they left?/ Is this drug to fix this frigging mess-of-me?/ Side effects—dizziness, diarrhea, depression,/ memory loss, skin rash, insomnia, blurred vision,/ etc…—the list is long—many things I already struggle with,/ in one way or another, /some not yet, but I know/ I sure as hell don’t want to risk/ burning sensations along with my frequent urinations!
Shit I forgot to put on my list;
read emails and respond/ to those that warrant response,/ delete what needs deleting, /like all the things my mind deletes minute by minute.
I was late with the lunch today
And for that I was chastised
The Blue Jay lands on the iron table
Cocks its head, ruffles its feathers, and jeers
Where are my peanuts, lady
The squirrel scurries to the back door
Stands on its hind legs and taps on the glass
Where are my peanuts, lady
The chipmunk darts out from its lair
Sniffs the air and stamps its front feet
Where are my peanuts, lady
I see and obey
Opening the door, I sprinkle shell peanuts
The squirrel grabs a peanut and buries it in the grass
The jay grabs a peanut and flies to a tree
The chipmunk stuffs its cheeks until they bulge
Five peanuts full, it scampers back to its lair
The lunch lady’s work is done
Most of my family left,
some to England,
others farther, to America,
before the Germans came.
I couldn’t, with my husband
needing my care, the neighbors
eventually needing my nursing.
Somehow, I survived the horrors.
All these years out of touch,
I need to send letters, a photo.
They’ll have heard the news,
but don’t need the truth from me.
(after an unattributed late-1946 photograph of a portrait photographer in Warsaw, Poland, colorized by Marina Maral and found at https://www.flickr.com/photos/132844921@N08/37365621530)
