the little daily everythings

the jokes we share

secret songs we sing

the private words between us only

so even when we are apart

we are never lonely

this is intimacy and i know why

it is the love never spared

between you and i

 

 

no more will i languish

in vainglorious anguish

 

it is so good to be alive and real

touching, seeing, being what i feel

there is poetry in emotion

no magic potion

just keeping on living

blessed by each day

you never know when

it will be taken away

 

 

i bitch and moan it could be worse

i am well enough to write this verse

 

holding hands

there is no other hand to hold like his

so warm so strong so good

holding together under fear

wishing that they could

keep each moment make it last

only the good seems to go too fast

the safest place without a qualm

hearts together palm to palm

oh and did i mention

the rumored 4th dimension?

in an attempt to restore order to disorder

i have broken this all down into phases. first, you have to survive the womb and all the external forces that assail it, then you have to be born, at the right time, in the right way, from the right womb...then you have to survive childhood diseases, microbial or those induced by man...then there is teenage and adolescent self dissolution and destruction...then there are the random acts i.e. the runaway mac truck, terrorized airline, inflamed ex lover, the mid 20's thru late 30's thing....

then, middle age and all the neoplastic invasions it may imply..

those who have successfully dodged all of these obstacles are relegated to the various insults hurled at them by old age and all its complications.

not to be continued...unless you subscribe to quantom physics....

if you dont get a slap

you will make the last lap

 

 

she struggled as the little girl inside her wriggled

she was never carefree, never giggled

a childhood filled with isolation

followed by adolescent dissipation

wanting to be her as she never was

more than what she did not, or what she now does

staring at the hour glass and the sand

cannot turn it over  with her own hand

the little girl was lost at sea

caught up in "what will become of me"

the time just passed, she unaware

lost in her sadness. empty stare

now every second, hour, minute

she wants her life, wants to be in it

no longer a watcher at the side

wary of  incoming tide

afraid she can no longer run her battery

as she realized there is more to life than flattery

she does want to end before her life begin

tired of losing, it is time to win

i watched the man who loves me sleep

he is so still, with dreams so deep

his plans in life most tossed and broken

such hurt so real yet never spoken

i want to bring him only good

to take away all pain withstood

 

my mind is adrift

in need of anchor

fears i cannot sift

but without rancor

they lay intertwined, wrapped tightly around each other.  the night was cool, a soft breeze caressing them. 

they breathed  in sync,  trying to be one.  as near as their bodies were, they felt it was not close enough. a soft light touched them. they kissed gently.

their passion quenched, they luxuriated in their love

i try not to think of the time i have wasted

all the joys in life i have never tasted

 

i have decided to drop doom and gloom from my personal attitude arsenal.  it is no good for the people around me, and is not exactly beneficial for me either.

the waiting period is very difficult, the mind wanders through  dark, twisted, forests.

what this turns out to be, time will surely reveal...i have no control over that   i  can only hope for the best with an eye on the worst, just in case....

 life  throws cannonballs in our path. the trick is in the navigation.

full speed ahead.

 

 

i would like to write a little poem

about my life about my home

but i am so afraid to lose it

having waited all my life to choose it

a love i thought i would never find

by looking forward not behind

imploring not now dont take it away

so much right here i want to stay

i waited wallowed suffered and cried

at times gave up, never tried

but now his love gives me the strength

it is up to g_d to give me the length

 

street fare

it was almost the official first day of autumn, festooned in summer like warmth.  people walked by, speaking in soft voices to each other.  it seems that weather like this elicits its own kind of warmth from those out enjoying its glory.

there were sounds of musical cacaphony, as different bands played simultaneously, oblivious to each other, playing as loud as they could. 

vendors did what vendors do...some soft sell, some hard, hoping to catch more than the eye of the strolling passersby.  dogs everywhere, in every permutation.

in this happy chaos, she slowly went, stopping occasionally to look at little animal statues.  unable to focus, aimlessly drifting.

 

blues are so blue reds are so red

why did i get  lost

inside my own head

roses are everywhere, shouting "smell me."

the trees are so green the sky so bright

she would never take for granted the day or night

her vision had altered

but her life had not faltered

she would keep going while hopefully growing

the roses lined up for her to smell

rocks in her way...no trees to fell

another day dealing with how "this thing" will change her life forever.  her eyes greedily took in everything.  she  thirsted to see more, dreading the dark that could overcome her, take life away from her, which she so valued.

she wanted to keep a positive attitude, but did not want to be jolted if the outcome of her testing was dire. each day would now have its own defintion. no longer blending aimlessly into another.

her approach...as much laughter as possible, infusing both of them with hope.

 

the turn worms

a bump, or more accurately, a suspicious cyst in the road...she struggled to gulp down all the projectionesque bleak scenarios.

for her, but most of all, for him

he listened to her as she enumerated the too many missteps and wrong turns in her life. her voice was at times soft and wavering, at other times harshly agitated.  she detailed a life of dreams not chased, questions not answered or not even asked, disappointment in others and disappointment in herself. 

it was this self- attack that seemed to upset her the most.  he told her not to be so hard on herself, as everyone misjudges, including him.  he held her hand firmly.

she nestled into his shoulder as he embraced her.

the night was warm and comforting for them both

the next day she decided would not be more of the same.  she felt the need to alter a part of her etched in routine.  doing so gave her the illusion of reaching out of the small, tight box that she used to contain herself.  but was it only an illusion?

maybe it was the spector of illness that  pushed her, or the relentless forward moving clock. whatever it was, she knew she had to expand the area she moved in, in order to move at all.

she was enveloped in fear of a most generalized nature.  however encroaching in this broad based anxiety was an image of herself, very old and incapacitated, looking back at an inert life and railing at her inertia. lost and broken.

she sat, bundled within herself, in a pile of nervous apprehension.  she had started to experience a type of physical discomfort she thought she had escaped years before...she contained herself while ruminating over the possible sinister diagnoses.

fear tried to throttle her, but she managed to escape from its grip, at least for now.  she had to stop her mind from generating the projected scenarios...she reminded herself of that proven all purpose one day at a time mantra as the persistent discomfort hammered at her.

she read up on the most dire of possiblities and the various treatments.  knowledge is not always a good thing...especially when one does not really have it. so she closed the website to write, consolidate the experience and read it back.

in this time of fiscal unrest

how can someone do their best

wanting to publish this poetry/prose

will someone want it

heaven knows

 

she sat, not quietly, on the computer.  staring at the screen, waiting for words to come.  her physical discomfort seemed to take over the usual mental unrest.  she continued typing whatever words reached her fingertips.  she reminded herself that her particular brand of creativity was best fueled by unhappiness, be it in the present or from the unresolved past. this was something she probably shared with many other people. the thought that she shared something with other people pleased her.  but why this?

 

do you want to be loved like a love story

words of passion in all their glory

adored, represented

never resented

worshipped respected

never disected

believed in not doubted

your talents not crowded

for your merits rejoiced

revelling in ideas you have voiced

this is  voyage to the surreal

because we all know this is not the deal

i feel like he does not trust me'

like he is always trying to bust me

he hangs on every word i say

afraid that i will go away

 

 

 

she found herself in remembrance...of wounds inflicted but not healed

of issues, conflicted yet not congealed

looking backward to look ahead

wishing to put the pain to bed

he cheated

she stood in front of the mirror, naked in its full context.  the reflection was of a young, lithe yet curvy woman...a shapely body most women would envy.

yet he cheated. she stood and stared at her bareness. what am i missing? what is it that he does not want nor see? why?

many years later, she understood.

the little girl

the little girl went into the bathroom.  she tried to be as quiet as possible, not wanting this moment to be discovered.  she turned on the light and stood in front of the mirror.

she saw a face, a pretty face...but it seemed noone else saw this.  she looked again.  the reflection was still pleasing to her eye.

she thought of her mother, forever, it seemed, talking about all the pretty girls in the neighborhood, never including her on this list.

she heard her mother's shrill voice, summoning the family to breakfast. the pretty girl was gone. she turned off the light, then slumped slowly down the stairs.

sometimes i look at the choices i make

avoided decisions

trips i did not take

again i wrestle and rail at  the years

wasted in sadness, gripped in great fears

do i choose to sit on this rock

my excuse to curse at the clock?

perhaps my fear is of success

and how to wear this new, untorn dress

perhaps i look at myself too much

has this become a new sort of crutch?

life at times an indecipherable dream

afraid to wake up unable to scream

 

 

 

 

the little girl and the kitten

she herself felt lost and small

as if noone saw her at all

she found a kitten alone outside

then brought it home so they could hide

to her room she snuck it in

and tucked it softly under her chin

so warm and cozy against her face

for once she felt she had a place

the next morning brought her mother's roar

she could not keep the kitten anymore

railed her mother throw it out

didnt not care how it was tossed about

so the little girl teary, no shoes on feet

carried the baby across the street

left it at her neighbors door

rang the bell

then was no more

 

 

as i strive to get used to the skin i am in

i wonder why it is still so thin

a furtive glance even the slightest slight

will make me toss and turn all night

at my age you think i would be used

to being hurt or perceived misused

instead of getting acclimated

i just feel so alienated

sometimes at the verge of tears

keeping heartbreak in arrears

cannot let my own humanity

end up detrimental to my sanity

it was another glorious sunday at the beach. the breeze was quite accomodating, making their boardwalk stroll seem shorter.  they held hands, their bodies touching at the arms and shoulders, feet in unison. people walked by, most either smiling or laughing.  children ran ahead of their adults stopping to look back from time to time. feeling reassured, they darted ahead again

the seagulls flew lower than usual, taking full advantage of the breeze, hovering happily, while occasionally dropping a gift onto an unsuspecting beachcomber. geese and gulls mingled peacefully on the sand.

they approached the railing to look at the ocean. the wave surges were fierce, white caps breaking forcefully along the shoreline. their hands remained interlocked, their bodies brushing against each other.

they walked down to the water. people everywhere revelled in this late summer bounty.. children, teenagers, adults...in all shapes and permutations, united in appreciation of nature's untameable beauty.

the day before was stormy, very stormy, this day was calm with a kinder wind. the ocean still raged, only hinting at the potential of its full fury.\

they stood at the water's edge, breathing in this luxury, luxuriating in each other

 

here i sit in bravado bluster

so in need of courage to muster

always ran and did not try

afraid to fall afraid to cry

did not reach out as feared rejection

too involved in self inspection

did not feel i was advantageous

lack of self esteem might be contagious

all this time i hid my humor

feeling like some unwanted tumor

now i must try to move by an inch

keep on going even  if i flinch

'

 

  

she closed the door and walked into her parents apartment.  standing in the foyer, she watched them in the kitchen.  these two small, feeble people bustled about, clinging to every movement they were still able to do. they worked together, clad in their color compatible aprons, immaculately dressed underneath.

she watched them as they are, remembering them as they were, strong, tough, able to generate great fear in her and her brother, which lingered  to this day.

their stature was greatly reduced.but not their posture nor their posturing.

she felt them fading. their ability to take care of themselves would probably be coming to an end sometime in the near future. they, who had exercised such control over everyone in their perceived domain, were slowly losing control over their bodies, and would be dependent on others, surrendering even more of that precious control. a frightening scenario for her as well.

her long simmering anger dissipated into a gentle empathy for the fragile humanity before her.

she entered the kitchen, kissing each one softly, then sat down for dinner

for her, the night turned out to be another tossing and turning experience.  her mind raced in all directions, never staying in one place long enough to resolve anything. the crickets outside serenaded her.

the clock inched forward,darkness gradually became light. it was time to get out of bed to start another mindless day. she stumbled into the bathroom. she stood in front of the mirror, splashing cold water on her face. the one looking back at her was fatigued and puffy. she reached for the bevy of undereye concealers and camoflauge she would apply later.

every morning she rose to this routine she counted down the "wake ups" until the weekend. this was the last for this week. she would share her countdown with the bus driver, who appeared to have the same approach to rutville as she

the rutting reason

a rut is condition that could be defined

as doing something that drives you out of your mind

over and over like a good dog rover

feeling fit so you heel and sit

stuck in a place you dont want to be

 because you need to do so financially

bored and distracted the day seem so protracted

wishing you were that man in the cape

so you could affect a speedy escape

what would you do, make pottery

if you won the lottery?

her eyes are open but her lids are shut

whatever put her in this rut

as she sits at her desk pounding on the puter

wishing she could do what would really suit her

fatiguee

another night she sits at home

she found the time to write this poem

the day was hectic uninspired

she is so worn she is feeling wired

head is aching eyes are burning

no deeper thoughts, nor secret yearning

exhaustion has her overwhelmed

this tired soul sitting at her helm

not wanting to genuflect

so she creates this poem

to reconnect

with what are her inner workings

and the questions ever lurkiing

the sky was a little darker than it was the last week, she noted as she left her apartment building. this was another reminder of the unremitting dark and cold that would take seige for months.

she walked hurriedly toward her breakfast spot, as she had done countless times. she felt frozen, yet saw life rushing past her.  other early risers bustled by on foot, some in cars,  just going, no peripheral vision, just focused on their destination. no stopping to smell the roses, but perhaps trampling any that might get in their way.

her path crossed two acquaintances, all nodded then kept on going.

so this was that life of quiet desparation that her father told her most people lived. he conveyed that acceptance of this was the only way to be comfortable on this earth.  part of her felt that accepting this slow, dull rush to the grave was a form of defeat. a square peg on a round planet indeed i am, she thought.

that night she enjoyed a rich, dream filled sleep. as she slowly got out of bed, she tried to remember the dreams that were so vivid as they occured.  she could not.

she looked around the dark room, lit only by the time on the cable box and the soon to detonate alarm clock. she rushed to turn it off, as she did not want to disturb the man sleeping next to her.

her feet hit the ground barely walking. she made her way to the kitchen to perform the automatic pilot routine she knew too well.    she thought of the man still at rest in bed, and yearned to join him, to cuddle in his arms.

another day began...she reminded herself that this was a blessing indeed, then returned to her usual early am grousing.

 

 

the person on the other end of the line gibbered on and on about the usual complaints that went along with her job. she felt irritated and had to hold back, as she almost answered him in a cross manner. she reminded herself that her life, her feelings, were not his fault.  she resolved his problem and went  onto  the next scenario, always trying to extinguish the spark before it burst full flame.

there were times she wanted nothing more than to shout at the whining person on the other end of the line...listen buddy this is not life and death, the only thing that is life and death  IS life and death, however she held her tongue. after all she needed this job a lot more than this job needed her...ever aware of the noone is indispensable syndrome.

the next few phone calls were minor skirmishes, no collateral damage, no working lives lost. 

the day dragged on. she found herself again looking out the window, reflecting on the myriad of wrong turns that landed her in this predicament. no life skills/decision making gps was available and never would be.

she picked up the small, slightly scratched mirror in her desk drawer, gazing at the face gazing back at her, looking for a trace of hope and optimism in the.glimmer of her eyes. or maybe that just was her lens implant. 

she knew that in there, somewhere, the little girl who almost ceased dreaming, still had a voice that needed to be heard. 

she sat, staring out the window, not at anything in particular, just staring...the blue sky was illuminated by the beckoning sunshine.  there were trees, still green but touched with shades of yellow. change was in the air. she breathed it in as she walked to the bus stop early in the morning.

she watched the people milling about outside, thinking they were so lucky not to be trapped indoors, as she was, doing something that her circumstances deemed necessary but was so not in her heart to do.

many autumns had passed through her life. she was still wallowing in her predicament.

there were times when she merrily skipped through her days, deep feelings staying deep, where they could not do her any harm.

and there were times, like these, when they surfaced, along with the requisite hand in hand self pity and anger.  time was snarling at her. it could bite at any moment. she wanted to do something before it was too late, but what, was she too old?

the phone at her desk rang shrilly. she turned her head away from what lay outside the window. back to dealing with what was enclosed behind it.

some days are long some days are short

time is too hard to define

some days i wish i could abort

while wishing others would stay online

over this i have zero control which vexes and disturbs

filling my inner soul and life with echoes and reverbs

 

i try to write most every night

but sometimes ideas elude

at times my minds not feeling right

and it will not collude

as she sat on the beach, she turned her head, taking in all that was around her. her brother and his wife lay close by, wrapped up in each other and the beauty of this day. a little further down, a small dog flirted with the sea, running up to it, then running backwards as the water  approached  him.

a father and son fished together, reeling in one small silver fish after another, childlike glee on both their faces.

lying besides her, the man she loved placed his hand on hers. she turned towards him, their eyes locked in their smiles