Good morning! I’m hitting the road this morning, so the prompt is super early.
For today’s prompt, I want you to write a warning poem. Offer some kind of caution or warning related to your theme. Like, maybe, watch out for bad traffic. (Did I mention my trip starts off with driving through Atlanta? O, geez!)
Here is my attempt for the day:
“Monster Alert System”
Warning! There is a giant gorilla
beating its chest and terrorizing
the southside of Manhattan.
Please use extreme caution when
in the vicinity of this giant beast.
Do not stand in its path or try
to distract its attention. It is
believed the monster will just
seek out the blond who traveled
over with the beast, and that
once she is found, the gorilla
will head for a skyscraper, where
we will have people in airplanes
shoot him down. In the process,
the blond will fall for her captor.
Destiny Disturbed
Danger danger the lily trumpets
alarm for those in harm’s way
the dandelion, the ladybug, the
honeybee. Too late, the deed is
done. I wonder if citizens of
the world will hear and heed
the distress signal in time.
XIV. You Make the Call
Afterward, I questioned the decision.
“If I ever have a heart attack,
Just let me sit there and die.
There’s no way I’m relinquishing
Control to medical science.”
“Dial 911.”
It was his choice, not mine,
And that’s when I became
Him, not me.
Be careful who you call for.
Once EMS picks up,
There’s no taking back the touch tones.
They emerge the guardians
Of your mortal destiny.
Scientists estimate that even a genius
Uses only one tenth of one percent
Of his potential brain ability.
They also speculate that we are 95 percent blind to
Color scheme patterns of nature
And 98 percent deaf to sound patterns found there.
Perhaps that’s why we treat the 70 percent of the earth surface
Covered by its 5 oceans with such disregard as to purity.
Since the oceans supply 97 percent of our water supply,
We need to nurture and protect them,
Quit using them as garbage dumps and renewable playgrounds
Warning
Cool
on his
new rip stick
he tries to jump
off the steps, ‘take care’
I say, ‘I don’t want a
trip to hospital,’
meanwhile, little
brother falls
a bone
snaps.
Warning
I let people’s moods affect mine.
Good or Bad
They way they treat me, can make me sad, mad, or smile
from ear to ear.
What does it matter, what people think or say or do.
Don’t let moods of some affect you day to day.
I do. I wish I didn’t, I would be a lot happier.
"Don’t talk to that couple:
They voted Republican.
Watch out for them:
They support gay marriage.
The owner of that shop
Is a disgraced veteran.
You know what? It’s
best just to stay
on the other side
of town."
up
the whirring
of red
and blue: lights,
the flag and that
bruise
of storm
clouds clustering
above
your head
get your chin
off the concrete;
when you drag
your weight
of worry, the scuff
is like the stubble
you can’t seem
to grow
Day 14:
Digitalis sly as the foxglove
of its common name
Modern medicine’s marvel
It keeps the heart beating
Giving life to those whose
hearts have failed
Touch it in the garden
with unprotected hands
and as the hot day persists and
you wipe the sweat from your lip
the fox
stops your heart
Juanita, your poems are beautiful and speak to my heart!
Tyger
Shadows rest so easy in the heated afternoon
linger long in the shelter of what’s over and beyond
cool freshness falling into to lush of lawn
Eyes habitually seek releif
from the harshness of the sun
and if you rest too long
in the pleasant block of glare
you may never share again
the bright lit energy of the day
(on a roll this evening – here’s my 2nd attempt as I’m yet undecided which one I like better. -spidey)
Lilith
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
I live next door to a modern day Lilith,
first wife of Adam (before the rib of Eve).
Some say the Mother of Feminism was
birthed alongside Adam from dust, but her
refusal to wear his collar as less than his equal,
led to her embittered fall from grace.
She is a redhead beauty of volcanic spirit
who kidnaps children then devours innocent
flesh, trapping souls between feedings.
Cunning and defiant, a Succubus
skilled at stealing a man’s seed
for her own private soldiering.
She-Devil and huntress of men, Lilith
draws & seduces both King and pauper
circling the drain with cold calculation.
Temptress of the Vampire arts,
unafraid to pay the price of such learning
with her own sacrificial spawn.
Friend to Revenge, Lover of many -
the Queen of Spades in a deck of cards,
beware this Goddess of Storm & Chaos
who walks without fear or avatar,
across discord posing as glass splinters,
the taste of blood sharp upon her lips.
© 2008 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder (aka Spidey)
(always the last to come to the table, but at least I’m here! –spidey)
ugly child
by juanita lewison-snyder
beautiful girl
in your pink cashmere sweater
and brown suede boots,
eyes so busy mesmerizing others
that you miss the paper shackles
slipping quietly
around your ankles
as I write this…
those pouty chocolate-scented lips
dipping words & libidos
like cheddar in fondue
at some greasy all night
testosterone buffet,
hoping it’ll somehow mask
the ugliness of
pushers & pimps
roaming the back streets
of your wounded heart,
shoving and hustling
yet another Seattle night
for the lost child
within.
Heed
Can you heed that
What you sow
You soon shall reap?
And what goes around
Surely comes back?
Or the law
Of interaction –
Where every action
Has within it
It’s equal and
Opposite reaction?
For these things
Will come to pass
Whether you believe
In them or no.
How do you suppose
You should proceed
When interacting
With your fellow man
If this is so?
Vanessa O’Dwyer
PSC, thanks. The final lines of my poem were ironic. I don’t really believe smart people shouldn’t have children, but that people who think they are smart enough to know what they’re in for should think twice. Being chicken is an excellent reason for not having children. However I have never for a second regretted having mine. I am grateful for the adventure, and I am grateful to them.
Had time to read again to day, and just wanted to comment on some of my favorites (so far):
Bruce – very cute! (I’ve experienced those symptoms!)
Karen P – also very cute! (I can see the artist dashing for cover.)
Peggy G – how very true! (Change required — and I’m ready!)
Van – very interesting. (I have no children, but I don’t think it was from smart — more from chicken!
)
Heather – nice job! (We should all know women like her!)
Judy R- so true. Even when the friends stay & the best of intentions are evident, you are still "on your own" when it comes to dealing with grief and the healing process.
Kate – I’ve had those! (Even input a poem on the topic — over on the Writers Digest Poetry forum just recently.)
Shann – very perceptive.
Paul – so very sad.
Thanks to you all for keeping this challenge interesting & exciting!
The Future Is Young
Don’t go to sleep now
and think all the work is done
with one inkspot on a ballot
Do you think Barack is on vacation?
Now you and I shall show him
what we’re made of
Can we keep the spirit alive?
Can we give him the congress he needs?
Support him in all the ugly actions
he will have to take
to unravel us from
Bush disaster?
Don’t go to sleep now
The future is still young.
Thanks Bruce. I love your poem as much as I detest those drug ads on TV. You really touch a nerve. And I’m so glad to have found this group. I look forward to every day’s new prompt like my first cup of coffee in the morning.
Thank you for the compliment Meesh, I think it is one of my better ones in this daily challenge.
Everyone has been doing some great writing and I am enjoying my read through them all!
Ronda
Don’t Wait!
Life is short and time does fly.
You’ve heard those words before.
And yet, it’s human nature to believe
There’s always more.
More life, more time, more talent,
More goals we can pursue.
We never really think about
When payments will come due.
If there are dreams you need to chase –
Begin!
If you have battles to be fought, then
Win!
All our days are numbered
And for some,
The number’s smaller than you think.
Don’t blink!
If there are songs you need to sing,
Or words you need to say –
Today!
Don’t wait until the perfect time.
To lose your chance would be a crime.
Before you even know it –
It’s too late.
So, don’t – no matter what! –
Procrastinate.
Everything in life comes with an expiration date,
And you are no exception.
Don’t wait!
Warning
If you do not take the time to do
what you want today there may be
no opportunity tomorrow. If you live
in the past, you won’t appreciate
the present or you will not see
the opportunities before your eyes.
If you live in the future, you will be
old before you know it and you
will have accomplished nothing.
If you lack time consider your
priorities and readjust them. Know
that you cannot escape the ravages
of time, so be sure that you use time
in a way that is valuable to you so when
you reach old age you can look back
with pleasure and satisfaction and know
your life was well lived. Time the most
valuable gift you can give yourself
or someone else. Time is limited.
There is no fountain of youth. You
will not escape death. Meanwhile
heed these words and live.
Gaia’s Warning
She trembles
And opens apart
Swallowing her children
Her tears dry up
And nurture no more
Her skin crumbles
And gives no more food
She produces no more.
She swirls her water
And turns the tide
On her killers
Drops shards of ice
And rips roofs off houses
And burns what they have left.
Why haven’t they stopped?
Heed Gaia’s warning.
Don’t
Don’t slam the door.
Don’t let it hang ajar.
Come in. Stay out.
Keep me out. Let me in.
Trick is how. Trick is when.
Keep him out. Let her in.
Stay in. Keep out.
Don’t leave the door ajar.
Don’t slam the door.
Well I’m catching up here…three days late. Sorry about that, but I marvel that I can catch up from Paris
DAY 12 BUT FOR One Missing Thing
For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail. –
Children’s nursery rhyme
Poor Richard’s Almanac
ONE MISSING THING
1.
But for a coil wire removed
(by the repo man)
A connector for the battery
The debtor drove away in
the (bank’s) Cadillac
2.
But for a cotter-pin
A small U-shaped device
Stuck into an axle
The baby carriage toppled over
Now three-wheeled
3.
But for closer examination
Of heat-resistant tiles
Adhered securely to skin
The rocket in space blew up
And came down
4.
But for one small sheep
A metaphor for soul
Completing the Master’s flock
The ninety-nine were lost
And incomplete
5.
But for a pen
A writing implement
In hand, instead of sword
The treaty came to naught
And war ensued
DAY 13 Numbers poem
WHO’S AFRAID OF THE BIG BAD NUMBER?
My number phobia
often extended
To being unable to
get up in the morning,
because the face of the clock
gave me a dirty look
with all its numbers.
I railed against time
Which everyone knows is a stupid exercise
I thought fractions were about the most
confusing notion I’d ever crossed
But
Negative numbers provided me with
endless frustration
We actually keep track of
numbers that are not there? Whoa!
And even now I can’t possibly be
Six from sixty
That’s too scary
I might still have time to
Grow up
But I probably won’t
DAY 14 Warning Poem
WATCH OUT!
To prevent bad luck –
Don’t put shoes on the table
Or
Open umbrellas in the house
Make sure to throw the salt over your shoulder
If you spill it
And don’t mess with Mr. In-Between
A house that doesn’t go to church
Never has any luck
and
Bury St. Joseph in the garden if you want
To sell the house
Lie the baby
On its stomach
On its back
On its side
Don’t let it sleep with you
Don’t let it sleep alone
Let it get used to crying
Look both ways when you cross the street
Mind the gap
Pull to open
Push to open
Slide to open
Tear here
Good till use-by date on lid
Do not eat
Do not use near water
Danger Third rail
Keep away from children
KEEP OUT!
wow, ronda eller, i loved your poem. you captured an experience i did not think capture-able (except in a talking heads song).
Thank you, thank you, thank you Connie!!
Good work everyone.
Laurie K.
The Message
They come
with a warning:
the common
and uncommon side effects,
listed on a folded pamphlet,
tucked inside a pharmacy sack.
They come
with a warning:
printed in small, small letters
on color coded stickers
placed haphazardly upon
the golden bottles.
But it came
without a warning:
the message
we found, three days later,
was not in the bottle
washed upon the shore,
for the bottle stood neatly, a whitecap
sentry on the bedside table,
it labels worn upon its front
like citations.
The message instead,
folded neatly,
in between the seats
of her car she would never drive again,
one of the warnings
she did heed
in the end.
We read her words –
all of her sadness –
bottled up,
and poured out,
the side effects –
common
and not so common –
of undiagnosed grief.
The Misanthrope’s Invisible* Rotating Wardrobe of Warning Signs
parental advisory: adult language
do not mix with alcohol
volatile when discussing politics
wake at your own risk
unlikely to overlook grammar errors
demands strict adherence to towel-folding protocol
does not want to talk about it
not in a particularly good mood
forcibly socializing
overcaffeinated
schadenfreude addict
PMS
paper cut
under influence of protest songs
* to the naked eye
Change
Shopping without money
she feigns interest in the shoes
the same way she used to smile
when he walked into the room.
The very air was different then,
slightly off, the way some people
scramble eggs, make their beds.
To pretend takes a toll, leaves her
aching alone in her car, fearful
some disease thrives in despair,
fills the hole his absence left.
Her purchases a small reward
for sorrow, an overdraft fee
she applies over and over again.
Red Alert
Warning, flashing lights on the runway, panic attack coming in for a landing.
You wake at 3 am-already on guard, pulse pounding, throat tight, breath short,
eyes straining in the dark. Is it genetics, bad blood, one faulty ancestor?
It’s a bad combination all around, take a good dose of writer’s
imagination, add a few drops of catastrophic
thinker, add water and stir (use extreme
caution- it’s volatile) and voila! You
ARE the early alert system!
Kate Berne Miller
Warning:
Not everyone will stick with you when times are tough
Not everyone will be willing to weather the storm with you.
Nobody wants to deal with your loss or sadness for long.
Just when the shock wears off and you can really feel the pain
don’t be surprised if there is no one there. Your friends are
surrounding themselves with positive people, people who will
lift them up, if they are smart and take care of themselves.
No, this is all on you. You have to pick yourself up and find
your own way through the abyss. The most likely help will
simply be time, being open to the help available, and your
willingness to keep going. Graces are there to get us through
but we have to do the work to find them.
Loss and grief are ultimately private journeys
even if everyone around you is on that same journey
their road will never be the same, grief is never the same.
Ultimately you are on your own to stumble as you will
enter a new plateau or find a new mantra that gets you through.
This is just a warning. You are on your own.
——————————————————————————–
Get the
Bruce, Iain, Patti Williams, Lori, Laurie K, Nancy Posey–my favorite poems today. All of them were enjoyable.
Don’t fence me in
It’s dawn
Little droplets
Coat the lawn
Stepping
Over that little fence
With a big bowl of food
In your arms
You may end up
In harm’s
Way
Not much to say about this one, so I’ll get out of the way and let it speak for itself.
Do not eat the moldy bread
I really advise against this,
It will make you sick,
It won’t even taste good.
You are going to do it anyway,
Aren’t you? Of course you are.
There is not a slice of ham
In the world that could make
This look appetizing.
No cheese will make
This sit in your stomach for long.
I know you don’t read poetry
For culinary advice,
But I am telling you,
Do not eat the moldy bread.
But if you absolutely have to,
Realize I will not call an ambulance
For you, I won’t even get frantic,
Won’t freak out, or worry if you
Are going to die.
So be prepared to dial 911 yourself,
And then have your life flash before your
Very eyes, and hey, maybe that will
Make you realize what little life you
Have actually had.
Lesson #14: Warning
The husbands don’t want
Their wives to spend too much
Time at her place
She’s dangerous,
Free thinking,
Honest,
Real
She encourages
Their women to be
Themselves
Without critique
Or negativity
She allows them the freedom
To feel
They will warn you
That she’s a bad influence
She leads their women
To drink,
Speak,
Become completely out
Of their control
She’s facilitating
The very things they are
Trying to avoid;
Growth,
Understanding,
Compassion
She’s been under the bus,
At the stake,
Stoned by the best
God fearing
Men you could imagine
She’s a threat
Consider yourself
Warned
Lesson #14: People Fear What They Don’t Understand
Proceed With Caution
Beware of yellow in
all its guises, from
flashing signals to
dull surprises. If crime
scene tape surrounds your
house, blocking entrance to
even your spouse, beware!
And never turn down a
dare or your so-called friends
will call you yellow, like
the cowardly lion who
proved himself a courageous
fellow. Beware of becoming
too mellow yellow or the
next thing you know, you’ll
be stepping on the dreaded
yellow snow.
Hurry Now, Don’t Be Late
The gale reared back in her tight red lips
And she slapped him so hard
the small kitchen window waffled in the sill.
The hazards that followed the slap:
the overturned kitchen table, the broken chair,
the jagged holes in the drywall,
all their friends say they saw it coming.
“Oh yeah, they were just simmering,
Like a summer thunderstorm.”
Sometimes ozone burned about their words,
Hovering over burnt eggs, the greasy skillet,
how they didn’t see it coming no one knows.
“I always got the feeling they knew change
Was coming and they couldn’t deal,”
Said one friend, to the cop who looked past her
Into the sun splashed dining room. He nodded,
Said nothing, but in the retelling of the story
Became a nodding accomplice, because of course
He sees this all time, and recognizes the signs.
Caution
Neal left home with his heart filled
with caution like a whale swimming
with dolphins following alongside a boat.
He took the precautionary arrangements
of grocery lists and plastic bags,
of one mug and a flask hopeful and heavy.
He would call Henry. Until he arrived Neal
will silence cicadas with weighted thoughts
of well being and dementia. He turned off
lamps. He turned them on. He looked out
a window, first to see others, then for others
to see him. He half-believed he would see her
under the streetlamp, in the snow, baby
in the stroller like a bad movie. He lived
the good life. There wasn’t a fight; he is
a sneak. He tiptoed out at lunch with a tuna
sandwich and sundry accouterments. Let her
write a note. Let her right Dear Neal.
He wasn’t wrong, though, and that is where
she will be mistaken. He is one, solo, sitting
and still. He may just remember his poses
the following morning before coffee.
When the board’s been wiped clean there’s no
time to regret the cost of living, only count
the virtues of sacrifice. He began
to build a wooden sanctuary. He began to
read cuneiform in the oak. Perhaps this would pass
on to his daughter, her heavy body growing
in a time and place he cannot visit. He warns
himself against sentimentality. He convinces
himself of his happiness with whiskey.
Don’t go Via Shore Parkway
He sits there just under the bridge
drinking cold coffee
playing with a loose cartridge
Waiting with apathy
Trying to live up to a nickname
Officer Ketchem’
to him, bad drivers are to blame
it’s his job to trap em’
He just sits and waits
if you pass his spot
he never hesitates
warm and fuzzy he’s not
He checks your plates
didn’t break any law
not to worry, he’ll pick it
then write your ticket
So, don’t go via Shore Parkway
Officer Ketchem’ is there today
That is of course
unless, you’d like a ticket
before your on your way…
©Rodney C. Walmer 11/14/08 Warning Poem, Shore Parkway is a real parkway, just off the
Coney Island exit sits a blue and white with an officer who will stop anyone for no reason at all,
and ticket them. This poem is about him.
Depression without Christ
will turn to sin,
the wounded seeking ways
apart from God
to fill the overwhelming
hole:
Shopping
Drinking
Dating
Marriage
Drugs
Writing
The Lord seeks to be
first in your heart.
While some of these
in themselves
are good,
(for who can give up the pen?)
they will turn to idols
of destruction
that lull you into thinking
all is well
when really
all will be hell
forever.
And Christians beware,
for you are not exempt
from the temptation
to construct a wooden doll
upon your mantlepiece.
Remember,
depression is an
opportunity
to hide in God
and experience
His miraculous provision
for those who seek Him.
"Beginners’ manual"
If you can endure confusion,
anxiety, quarrels, darkest grief,
the necessity to justify
every cherished belief
and then rethink it,
in the end humiliation
when your profound inadequacies
become exposed
learning your partner also is a loser
without forsaking your trust
then have children.
You might make a reasonable parent.
If you’re really
awfully smart,
get sterilized now.
I wrote three poems for this prompt and this is the one I like the best so far. My theme is change.
Warning: Change Required
I stand on the walkway
by the bluff-top park
rolling toward the
laughing tongues
of blue Pacific and
dental white foam.
I love this place, to sit
and listen to gulls,
the children, a happy
dog with its ball. I am
struck by a sign near
one of the meters,
Change Required,
and think how true.
Nov. 14, 2008
Personal Ad, or Personal Warning.
This clown is not funny,
at least not to those
who aren’t into: sadomasochism,
torture, gun-play, long walks
down short piers, AIDS,
cats that land on their faces
and not their feet, toast that
falls jam side up but winds up
sticking to your feet, nails
on a chalkboard, LOLCATS (but
not LOLDOGS), flesh suits,
Bats, Batman, Robins, Peek-
tut-tutting til the earl hours,
rubber chickens, acidic solutions,
among others. No DSWM, please,
you’re just simply too hard
to cut into, too callused
and bitter to the taste.
Lines On The Finger Tip
A smart bomb in his pocket
camera lens in the dark
the sky was white or blue
or something or nothing.
A time to fly or not
like a tiny bird in the night
when the sky is black or blue
without warning, it will rain.
Kids with polyps on beds
the ones with lesions on the floor
parents at home not sleeping
all the blankets have been burned.
Tonight, there is nothing but air
steel arms flex in the runoff
outstretched hands cupped in silence
until a knife from the sky, then thunder.
Nancy, love your fairy tale allusions. And Patti, I didn’t imitate you. Had already picked my painting theme before I read your poem!
Gustave Corbet, French (1819-77)
The Wave, 1869
Warned in Vain
The angry dark gray-green water
curls into one powerful wave
that crashes on one side
and threatens to swallow
the milder line of white surf
beneath.
Low clouds warn of a storm,
though they billow below
a mildly clouded
aqua sky.
Corbet must have painted quickly
and scuttled for cover
when the storm broke.
If he’d had the Weather Channel,
like the other artists,
he wouldn’t have paid attention
to a warning.
Painters may be as foolhardy
as tornado-chasers.
No Warning
No warning sounds
when dust rattles against
plasma shields.
Eons ago, waves swept
men overboard, lost at sea.
We lose comrades when
compartments decompress
or drugs fail to wake us
from deep sleep as we traverse
lonely space. We can’t return.
Relativity has lost us families,
friends, the world we knew.
We can only hurtle onward,
to that distant planet,
propelled by mankind’s
quest to conquer the stars.
Public Service Announcement
Vampires and werewolves too
will cease to be if aim is true
Zombies, according to the lore
will lose their heads and be no more
Even ghosts are not immune
to grounding by the coldest iron
Giant spiders, mummies, bats
need somewhere to wear their hats
Every monster will be dead
if separated from their head.
So heed my fears or go bananas
Beware of girls with sharp katanas
Welcome, Taylor Graham! I recognized your name from the small-journal circuit – good poem, as usual!
Cheese Grater
There was no warning,
just a slap across the face,
but I learned to feel it
comin’ the way I knew
a wiseacre was starin’
at me in a public place,
thinkin’ hateful about me.
I just went on cuz I knew
two wrongs didn’t make
no right, so that’s what
I did, hands clenched
in my pockets, mama
in my mind holdin’ my
tears back like bullets
or knives gonna riddle
my body with holes. Across
a cheese grater, knuckles
bloodied, I drug all that
hurt, shreddin’ it til nothin’
was left but a small pulp.
Cautionary Tale
Mama never said goodbye; she said
“Be good.” I never left home without
those words tucked safely out of mind;
“Remember who you are—and whose
you are,” my dad would call, making me
laugh, thinking my chances slim for
amnesia or senility at sixteen. But then
one day, I did forget. I wasn’t good.
Like Red Riding Hood, I slipped and told
the big bad wolf exactly where I headed;
Forgetting my curfew, I dropped my
slipper running from the prince’s ball.
I climbed right in the window of the bears,
eating their breakfast, smoothing my gold
locks with their tortoise shell combs,
smashing their furniture, crashing in
the bunk beds where they found me,
unguarded, unsure of who I was, where I
belonged. Then I woke up, looked around,
and followed their advice: I remembered
whose I was and headed home, which
I could do: Mama never said goodbye.
Nancy Posey
Hiding
They warned her to watch her back
for he could be lurking there.
You never know what someone could do
so she knew she had to beware.
She got her own place in a spot secure,
number unlisted and P.O. Box;
went on with her life as best as she could,
forever watching and checking her locks.
Then one night after dinner with friends,
she spotted him walking there;
alone in the dark, his every move
reminded her of recent despair.
Panic erupted as she began to shake,
not knowing what she should do;
for all the lies and deception had shown her
this man was never true.
No protection or love from her father
could prepare her for what took place;
because now grown-up and all alone,
her only defense was her keys and a can of Mace.
Laurie K.
WARNINGS
Termites under the deck – watch for soft
spots where you walk. All those tiny
live-oak leaves lodge in crevices, collect
rain – dry rot. What else? Beyond the lawn
in those rock-piles the realtor thought so
picturesque, rattlesnakes. Forewarned.
Now, midway through a month, long past
midpoint of the year, you walk out into
low-slant sunlight turning every oak tree,
every frosted grass leaf golden against
the amber of hopseed and firethorn. Was
life ever a sure bet? Could it be lovelier?
xiv. disembodiment
what haunts you
is that visage lacking form
in the mirror— yours—
while your body lays
abed beside you;
a vacant vehicle
daft as cold steel;
its blunt incognizance
not even useful
as a protective blade.
it doesn’t know
that you have become
homeless, a map-less
wanderer pasted in a
collage of unfamiliar
horizons.
What terrifies you
is the malefic clustering
of dark, faceless creatures
that mill and murmur
by the mortised door
nudging toward you
en masse, urging
each other’s advance
as, confused, you freeze
against the notion
of your own disembodiment
and reel to get back…
you have to get back…
back away
back away
back…
Ronda Eller 2008
On the way to the town to the North
To get blood drawn for a silly liver
Test, tired of going back and forth
And no heater in the truck, I shiver
From the cold and sunless day
Though I see the edge of the overcast
East of me. I feel the sway
Of the truck in the wind, a blast
Hitting me as I come from behind
A hill to the West. Snow begins to fly
Past me, not enough to blind,
But enough to see. It’s a wry
Thing to drive through wind and snow
The way we used to. Long ago.
Warning
The national average wait in
an Emergency room is 8 hours
We will not see you on a first come
First serve basis
If you wait a long time
It probably means you are low priority
And can probably wait to
See your doctor in the morning
Oh and that would be a lot less expensive.
But since we aren’t allowed to tell you that
You will continue to come to the ER
And never get a family doctor
And our taxes will continue to go up.
This one, too, is unrelated to my theme …or what now may be my former theme. And, um, yes, I was a big Joan Baez fan …
An Outdoor Concert
I heard some Strauss in New Orleans
beneath a blazing sun.
I got so hot my makeup ran
before the concert was done.
I walked out of the concert
and went to find some shade,
but all around was hot cement.
I felt my energy fade.
I walked along the sidewalk
up to a nice cafe.
I went inside and sat on down,
and then I felt okay.
I drank a glass of water.
I drank a large iced tea.
I ate an apple strudel,
as I was also hungry.
The moral of the story,
don’t sit beneath the sun
for hours without at least a hat
or you’ll see your makeup run.
Its still early (your time!) & I’m already really enjoying the posts… Bruce, made me laugh – nice one! Michelle _ Made me think of next Monday when I will be skiing for the first time this season. Patti – great twist oon your storm theme.
Iain
No stronger reminder than of our mortality. I received two notifications on infant girls today – one died, one was born.
Life
ends, and
life goes on.
We are born to
die.
The sky was clearly dark
And in the distance there was thunder.
She read the writing on the wall
But still thought things would be fine.
The newspaper told her for months and months,
And the Doom and Gloomers screamed
From the broadcasts on Sunday morning TV shows:
“The housing BUBBLE will break! It is just
A matter of time before it all crashes!”
As she listened to the neigh sayers
She was complacent, calm, and unafraid.
But then the numbers fell
Sharply and briskly.
The phone became a silent
Unneeded piece of technology,
Sitting dusty on her unused desk.
Groceries became an investment.
Headlines screamed:
“Never Been This Bad Since 1945!”
She had been warned the Recession was coming
But just like the others, she had not
Taken cover and was left unprotected
When the storm blew in.
After the numbers had finished falling,
The money lost, the future different,
The only thing she could do
Was to rebuild, rethink, get back up again.
She vowed to keep a closer eye on the weather
The next time the paper warned her
The sky was about to fall.
She would heed the warning of the sirens and
Hide with the other seasoned survivors.
Extended Pause
We never sat on the Pacific’s noisy shore
but stood close once in the night
after walking from the rental car
no lights, the clouds
filling in above
layered blackness on the move
we looking west with eyes
that can’t round
the curve, turn back
rumbling wash rushing at our feet
and later
bits of grainy treasure
trapped between our toes
the memory of fingertips
his voice saying
listen to the silence
between
the waves
sensations crystallized
beyond the reach of time
the coming crash
Weird and wonderful stuff, Satia.
Dear Moosehead,
Beware! Beware the wrath of Ringo!
For I am howlin’ mad. I have had it with all
this BS! Crazy, lazy women making my life
a misery, watch out! I am ready for revenge,
I shall rain down upon their heads a terrible
era of male supremacy. Out of town cousins
be warned! There will be no more whistling
Dixie in this household, idle no-good Greek
half-wit! Tourists be warned: I don’t care what
the dispatcher told you, MY route from JFK
into the city NEVER involves taking my Cab
within sight of Shea Stadium (may it burns in
hell’s fires). And as for you! You could for once
get off your ass and pick me up for a change, also
when I say seven, I mean seven, not a quarter after.
Buy a watch why don’tya???
Yours in violent ascendancy
Ringo the Howler
Iain, I had to comment today because we both allude to the wild child. Isn’t it funny how creativity synchronizes? I know I’m not the first to notice these things and there are books and articles, etc. But to see it so clearly evident in these daily poems is exciting.
I don’t know what’s going on with me I hardly ever rhyme but since I strated this theme I can’t stop!!
Cats, Poetry & Death #17
Warning! Cats Crossing!
Beware of Cats that go bump
In the night
They fall off the bed
And give you a fright
Beware of Pussies that
Creep and prowl
Lest you step on their paws
And make them howl
Beware of Moggies that
Hunt and stalk
They need to be sly
When they do the cat walk
Beware of Black Cats
Crossing your path
They may bring bad luck
You might drown in the bath!
Beware of small Kittens
All bouncy and wild
They cause more havoc
Than a wayward child
Beware the Cat-Poet
And his cunning verse
He’ll write nonsense rhyme
And nothing is worse
Beware the Grim Reaper
As he comes with his scythe
You’ll wish you were a Cat
Replete with nine lives
Iain
Warning Label
Her mother, laughing nervously observing her daughter, always said she should come with a warning label, the wild child who fell and rose bleeding but laughing at her own folly. Sick in bed, imagination soared to new heights as the mattress moved with the winds of her breathing and equilibrium days followed her into her maturity. Never one to have too much to drink, she still bumped her way through days where perception didn’t align itself with the more substantial surface of hard edges and narrow doorframes until one day she tried to walk from point A to point B, hit a wall and slid to the floor. Her reckless body now a cage, the child raged inside wanting to dance her way out of nerves that no longer snapped.
Domino Toppling Can Be Addictive
Sure, you start with one box but
you quickly become good at toppling
in a straight line and you want to try
your hand at curves and spirals. Soon
you’re up to one box a day and you
no longer have room on your dining-
room table and look at all of the colors
they come in. You have to get a box of
each of the twenty-four. So you sell your
dining room table, you need the money,
and besides the hardwood floor is perfect.
But isn’t it fun to see them topple across
the kitchen linoleum. Then you learn that
those little devils can climb steps so there
they go down to the basement. Now you’ve
discovered the thrill of breaking your own
records. Somewhere at 25,000 you clean out
your basement, the first time in forever, and
your friends think you’re mad until they see
the colors, the gizmos, the turns and the climbs,
and then they are there every Friday night with
pop and chips in hands waiting for the first
stone to tip. If you find yourself addicted to
domino toppling, too bad, there is no cure.
Here’s Day 14 for LL&L:
Ignored Warnings
Wars and rumors of wars
Bad called good
Good called bad
My Son’s name reviled
Israel the target of hate
Worldwide rejection
Of Christianity
And acceptance of
Man made religions
My children persecuted
Enslaved
Muzzled
Killed
Throughout the world
And
Even in America
Yet
You ignore
The warnings
Will you miss the rapture
When it happens
Will you recognize
The anti-Christ
When he arrives
Will you miss the boat
And spend eternity
In Hell
Heed the warnings
The end is near
Come to Me
“Blizzard”
The warnings are out
There is no doubt
There will be a Blizzard here
That has been made quite clear
Accumulating snow at least three feet
But first it will start out as sleet
So watch out for those frozen streets
As the sleet changes its beat
The real story will be the wind
That will blow that snow so that you will find
That suddenly you are out of your mind
Because you are quite simply totally blind
So our advice to you
Is to stick to home like glue
Hunker down and enjoy the show
Sip hot chocolate and watch the snow
Sorry, all, that was my Day 14 for SS:
Just a note: Please stop by my blog, walkntalknChristian.blogspot.com, read my newest post, and make a comment. It’s titled "In Grandpa’s Day".
And that’s my shameless plug. Now for Day 14 for LL&L:
I Need You
I’m sure you’ve seen
These big, burly men
And women
Flying down the road
On their hogs
Leather gleaming
Beards flapping
Goggles in place
With rags on their skulls
Defying the odds
They don’t love me
They don’t care
If they meet the pavement
With their noggins
I’m toast
And I’m sure you’ve heard of
Those that fill their nose
Or veins
Or stomachs
With drugs
That change reality
And warp their senses
Well
What do you think those drugs
Do to me
Then comes the boxers
And extreme fighters
That constantly rattle my cage
Just ask Mohammad Ali
What that can do to me
The bottom line is this
I need you
To protect me
From harm
Please
Wow, you’re an early bird today, Robert! Good luck with that commute – I hate city driving!
Here’s my poem for the day – first time I’m the first to post one, I think:
Warning:
This song is not for everyone.
It contains an addictive melody,
a catchy refrain, and strong rhythm.
Please be careful when handling this song
as it contains sharp hooks.
Do not listen to the bridge with the Memphis horn section
if you want to avoid smiling.
Use of this song can result in the playing of air guitar,
and in extreme cases, picking up a real guitar.
Prolonged listening to the lyrics
may result in singing along.
This song may cause a brightening of mood.
Do not listen to this song
if you wish to remain depressed.
Use of this song can cause uncontrollable toe tapping,
surface drumming, or unbridled boogeying.
Do not drive or operate heavy machinery
while listening to this song.
If you experience any of these symptoms
please continue use immediately.
Oh Robert! I live just inside the perimeter of Atlanta and I don’t envy anyone who has to drive through, near, or in our traffic. Good luck on your trip.