Poetry/story

“Where would you like to sit?”

A choice!

So small

Yet something I rarely get.

I wondered what he thought.

Or did he at all…

One person reading a book.

One person staring out at the rain.

One person with his head resting back.

And me just trying to ignore the pain.

Scattered throughout the place

Each alone in our own little space.

Is he thinking of his spouse?

The work he needs to do on his house?

Or only the words he will over and over relay

“…and the soup of the day…”

As Phil Collins songs played.

I sipped hot coffee and ate my cake.

And wondered

“What kind of tips do the loners pay?”

I’d totally soaked the seat.

Sweat slid me around those who’d sat before me

Fabric softener times five hundred seventy three.

So much it had dripped down my legs to my feet.

While in my head I composed this poetry.

I felt guilty for not cleaning my plate

But food looks so much better at 2am

Much more appetizing

Than it actually tastes.

“No box for me,” I lied, “I’m running late.”

“I have errands to run anyway.”

I laughed to myself

Playing normal

Was so easily said!

In 10 minutes I’d be back in my bed!

Hmm

Maybe I’d not be a liar and buy flowers instead.

When a voice interrupted the ramblings in my head.

One of the four of us spoke:

” Do you often come here alone?”

She asked.

” I like to be away from the questions, the decisions, the phone! At first I was sad to be here alone but now I compose poetry I will write when I get home.”

We talked of books.

Mourning characters at the end of a great

Story.

Her current book which was graphic and gory.

How I’d stay awake reading until morning

And if I didn’t like the ending

I threw it in a fury!

(A trait I passed to my daughter which I willingly shared.)

A book should be thrown

One that you own

If it ends with the enemy on the thrown!

We chatted about authors.

We spoke of our daughters.

And at the end of our talk

She wrote her favorite books down

On my to-go pizza box.

I should go home and get in my bed

I know the lack of capability in my muscle disease legs.

And yet…

This outing had brought happy thoughts into my head.

So,

I went and bought some flowers instead.

Poetry

When I fell into the abyss

I never hit the ground

I grasped upward into the darkness

Silence all around

I think,

A hand will surely come

As everyone has witnessed

My world…

Undone.

I hear them laughing in the distance

With their salad forks

With their quick retorts

Their elegant events and attire

To their friends they report.

Their rhinestone entitlement

Moving them forward

Gift wrapping to perfection

Perfectly placed bows

Schedules adhered to

Friday night shows

Sunday painted fingernails and toes.

Marvelous and divine

These words repeatedly slide

Because your BMW and tuxedo

Do make everything

Quite

Sublime

Your exquisite,

By your own terms,

Perfect lives.

My hangnails are picked

As are my cracked lips

I’m left without a quick quip

Devoid of banter or wit

I’ve no desire to play

Society charades

Nor participate in your parades.

I’ve watched from the sidelines

Of the arena

I’ve seen the slayer

The players

The innocent lamb

I see it all from “Bethany Land”

I know the world of cowards

Although I cannot comprehend

I know the world of the liars

The deniers

Who’ve not come once to my defense.

So I use my pen

Again and again

Where the silence ends,

But the courageous do not win.

I see you all

In your pretentious bliss

I see you all

From my view

Deep

In the abyss.

POETRY/RHYME

SOMETIMES

MINDFUL BLISS

BECOMES A DEAD WISH

BLOWING A DANDELION

INTO THE ABYSS

COMING BACK TO REALITY

AFTER A MOMENT WITH A BUMBLE BEE

MAKES ME FEEL LIKE AN ADDICT

MY OTHER REALITY IS TOO PAINFUL TO BEAR

MINDFULNESS IS LIKE A DRUG

WITH NO FIX

BECAUSE I CANT LIVE THERE

AND I COME BACK TO

THIS

A REALITY I CANT LIVE WITH

OR IN

TWO WORLDS

I AM SPLIT

WHERE IS THE WISDOM

IN A COPING SKILL

THAT’S RIPPED

JAGGED

SOMETIMES I MISS

BEING OBLIVIOUS

WHERE DO I FIT

IN THIS LIFE WITH SUCH BEAUTY

BUT EQUAL PAIN

TOSSED IN THE MIX

I WANT TO LIVE

NOT JUST

EXIST

Poetry

The mirror speaks

Ordinary

My soul shouts

Extraordinary

My body feels

Weak

My heart

Sings

My fingers

Curved

Yet

They still write

These words

What you see

Is not what you’ve heard

I am

One sun ray

In a blizzard

I am one color

In the rainbow

I am one footstep

In the snow

My mind screams

Til I open a window

Then I’m free

As the wind blows

Clearing out

The hollows

Poetry/ bit of a horror story

The dead soldier

Entered my being while I was

Restlessly sleeping

He told me to

Keep walking

Just keep walking

It’s 1953

Over a bridge

Through a creek

We’d crossed the Delaware

The previous day or week

I had to deliver the letter

Perseverance

Through my bloodied feet

My injured knee

Had to get the letter

From Bethany:

“It’s hard for him

To watch me suffering

Wishing a different life for me

Ironically

I hope with all of my being

That one day

He can once again dream.

He knows

My body is dying.

Being together

Was our destiny

But,

Love hopes

For things unseen

I’ll meet you in heaven honey

There,

We will get our eternity

You keep on living

And

At every bumble bee

At every horse grazing

At every ray of light on a leaf

And when you see that tint of pink

As you watch the sun setting

There will be a part of me

Loving you

And our girl

Until the next time

We meet.”

I woke to his hand on my back

I looked intently at my own hand

Was this me

Or was I that man

Where was the letter

I feel I’ve been deserted

On this island

I’m awake

But I don’t know if I am

What if I’m a soldier

Dreaming of me

Or maybe it was just

The ambien.

Poetry/ true story

I dreamed that night

Of blood spattered red

I heard

“ No one will hear your screams!

You’ll be dead!”

I woke and slid out of bed

One millimeter each step.

Tossed my shirt over my arm

As the floor creaked an alarm

But he lay still

As I crept

My photo

Propped up on the window ledge

A photoshoot I’d always regret.

Hours before

It was a fairytale land

We’d traveled for hours

To a long grassy path

That took us far far back

To his one room shack

My feet still black

From the unswept floor

His mattress there in the back corner.

I recall this thought:

I must be special

So special

That this beautiful man

Who I’d only just met

With the unusual name

Ahmet

His fancy jeep

All the money he said!

Yet,

We lay here now on this filthy bed.

I was fascinated by his black hair

Covering his muscled chest

My hand rested there.

His fingers round my wrist

Tightly he lay sleeping my arm in a fist.

I was lured there

By such charm

And finesse

My mother even captivated

By

Ahmet

So different from the old man

From my past

But the same

In the fact

I was again

Trapped.

I peeled back each finger

One by one

Slowly slipping out from under his thumb

It was almost dawn

But too dark still to see

So I moved ever so slowly

My feet snagging on the splintered

Wood floor

Barely breathing

Through his lair

Only in my underwear

As the floor creaked again

I froze there.

What fun you two will have

As my mom wished us well

And I laughed while he drove me

Unknowingly to hell.

Slow motion my mind moved

Through the previous days

How he’d brought me here

In a whirlwind of a haze.

Sweat was dripping down my back

Falling onto my legs

The door knob spun

My hands were so wet.

I hadn’t made it out yet

When he rose his head

I knew,

I just knew,

I’d soon be dead.

I used my shirt to open the door

Leaving it ajar

I ran on dead legs

To my cheaply bought

Pray it would start,

Car.

I heard

Ping

Ping

Ping

As my ears started to ring

I saw the birds

But they did not sing

I saw the wind

But I felt no breeze.

I looked out the window

Bark flew from the tree

His bullets all missing me.

In the mirror

As I fled

I saw a brief glimpse of

Ahmet

Standing with his dark haired chest

Pointing his gun at my head.

It was then I noticed…

All the leaves

In the trees…

Look painted

In blood spattered

Red.

Poetry/true story/Ebb Tide

I used to wonder

What is she thinking

As she stared out over the lake

Her eyes glazed.

It’s like another time…

She’d smile when she saw me

“Bethy, would you play me Ebb Tide?”

I would climb the step ladder to reach the keys

The electric organ was too high for me

I felt I never played it

Just right

To bring back the light in her eyes

I’d always give it another try

I was one with the notes

Reading the music

From very old brown sheets

I think that song became a part of me.

When I came back to her

She was always turned

Waiting for me with a smile

As I returned

No longer lost in her stare

She was fully present

With me sitting there.

Then immediately up making sandwiches

Picnics under the grape arbor

Swinging in the hammock

Filling my life with utter glee

Nana and her little Bethy

I used to ponder

What was she thinking

Dreaming

Hoping

Leaving

As she stared blankly

Yet deeply

What was she waiting

Or wishing

For

I look out my window

Now

And I stare

I connect to her

See her

Sitting there

35 years later

I know what was missing in her soul

It’s absent in me as I grow old

Now I know

About the sorrow

About the hope

About the losses

In time

So tonight

I searched for that plastic bin

That had those precious memories within

I traced the words I’d never read

Following with my finger

The melody in my head

I finally heard

And understood

Why

She asked me play for her,

Ebb Tide.