Dysfunctional Poetry 101 for Bedtime Reading
Page 4
but rather, to awaken me—
that it is I who have encroached
where I should not be in self-pity.
And thus, the sun consumed the mist
to unmask a shimmering lake
no longer of doom and gloom;
but bright and sparkling—for my own sake.
The Meadow
In spring it awakens with colors galore.
In summer it abounds with life in full score.
In fall it bows down as though defrocked.
In winter it rests to rehearse its acts,
so to perform them as ever before.
The Mother Tree
It was the smallest of all,
that tree;
in statue, girth, and spread,
that tree.
Bark, insect pierced and scarred,
that tree;
distorted and disfigured,
that tree.
Yet I knew it to be,
the tree;
from which all of the others,
had come to be.
The Plight of the Terrapin
Must get to the high ground—
to lay its eggs—
where it was born.
But now, a divided highway bars the way,
serving trucks, buses, and autos.
But it must get across—
as a matter of life or death.
Miraculously it makes it across two lanes;
to the barrier in the center.
Searchingly along—just maybe, just maybe—
but no place under—no place around.
Go back, and try again later?
Yes, that’s what to do—
one lane, now the other.
Screeching: blasting around and overhead!
Then——oblivion!
A crushed carcass and scrambled terrapin eggs!
Now a matter of death—not life—except,
for crows and vultures to feast.
The Right One
Being at ease and feeling at home . . .
that's what it’s all about.
It’s called companionship.
When you are with the right one
and can not imagine living without them,
it’s called love.
Some deceive themselves . . .
and try it on the run.
Others never try it at all . . .
deluding themselves to be
the one-and-only,
number one.
The Start of a School Day
It’s off to school I go;
but not like my grandma would know.
I must get on a bus to take me there—
not to walk in the open air.
Girls in front, boys in back;
each a member of a pack,
pulling hair and talking dirty.
If my grandma only knew.
Then to go through inspection under scrutiny,
emptying pockets, feeling for bulges,
looking in book bags to see what’s there,
on the lookout for hardware.
Then to start our learning day—but not with prayer—
so not to risk being led astray.
Here comes teacher in bullet proof vest,
looking battle weary—in need of a rest.
The Uttermost Say
You wonder why my lawn sprinklers come into play
even when umbrellas might be the order of the day?
It is because, Mother Nature, in her cantankerous way
does not always rain enough to even grow hay.
But rather to spit and sneeze—
just to tantalize and tease.
She is too often like a wife who is prone
to wear a poor husband to the bone
who has no sprinklers to bring into play—
so as to have the uttermost say.
The Winds of Your Mind
It comes or goes;
from there to here, or
from here to there.
What has it seen?
Where has it been?
As though with purpose
in gusts and swirls,
it dips and dives,
it screams and swishes,
it connives and contrives.
It picks up debris along the way
to be deposited no matter
on whom or what, where or when—
lashing and slashing determinately.
It drives through or around,
bearing moisture or simply nothingness,
to rot or refresh, or suck dry and desiccate—
with any and every where as its stamping ground.
It pushes the clouds as though playthings,
to keep them aloft, to make them flee—
changing their shapes into sky-bourne creatures,
or flattening them out as like the sea.
It seethes with molecules both pure and polluted
as if religious or political in affiliation—
from above or below—
irrespective of creation.
But when not about, where has it gone?
Off to elsewhere, or dying in place?
No matter which, it will be back with flair
as like the emotions of our mind;
with mood swings, passion,
and rumpled hair.
To Be on Holiday
You ask,
Why do I clean houses?
It seems so servile,
and low in pay.
But I say,
It’s not for money per se,
but to be on holiday—
to play at living there as they—
as though I could afford—
to live as though I were a lord.
Oh, how each becomes a great day
for me to set my mind astray.
To leave each house in a way
such as I would have it every day.
Then you say,
I never thought of it in that way.
I suppose you would like to do it every day.
But I say,
Oh no, because then the place where I stay
would always be in disarray.
To Get a Better View
If you could climb to the tip top of the tallest tree
from where you could see far and away,
perhaps you could see what tomorrow might be,
and also look back on yesterday.
But if you are not disposed to attempt the ascent,
fearful of what tomorrow might reveal,
while regretting how yesterdays have been misspent,
and knowing there is no court of appeal,
you are best advised to not attempt the ascent.
To Inspire You Along Your Way
Dancing fires—
seemingly emitted—
but only transmitted—
off the waves into your eyes—
so to be seen by you.
Perceived and received at a moment in sight—
each with a life of its own for your delight.
How fortunate you are, by night or day,
to see those flickers and flashes
kindled spontaneously by moon or sun
as if on a frolicking strafing run.
But then; are the moon and sun doing this all in fun?
Or instead; as a heaven sent revelation
intended to put you on the lookout for flickers and flashes
throughout your day—meant just for you—
to help to inspire you along your way?
To Make Amends
I passed the time of each day in haste,
not appreciating others along the way.
They came and went with little regard.
But now they return—in disarray.
My flesh has since waned and leaves me strained
with memory as a door bell ringing—
to call forth ima
ges of what I have done and not:
causing regrets to be paramount.
Perchance I may meet—
wherever it is destined I set down my feet—
those whom have I wounded in some way—
to make amends for what seems like yesterday.
Truth and Consequences
To tell the truth is no simple matter
when punishment is due.
Perhaps a fib might be the ticket;
but that would be sinful too.
So why not at first avoid the deed,
so that there is no need—to lie or fib?
But then, life would be so boringly numb,
that one might just as well, be deaf and dumb.
View From the World Trade Center Observation Platform
Come see, come see,
come see where we used to be.
But why? But why?
when we no longer be.
Use your imagination
of how it came to be.
But no, you needn’t, you see,
because it was in reality.
So what do you see?
Nothing at all, where we used to be.
Just empty space, as it should be.
Where we used to be.
When Saturday Night Was the Place to Be
When radio was in vogue,
and Saturday nights were family affairs,
with the living room the place to be—
best sprawled on the floor, or in a settee.
Words and sounds borne loud and clear
like wisps of smoke into every ear,
leaving it to imagination to visualize,
rather than for TV to lobotomize.
Where Has My Father Gone
My father has gone away.
Whether to sea or to foreign land
my mother will not say,
but appears not to miss him—
seemingly relieved he is away.
But how can that be,
when he is my father,
and I need him at home with me.
Where We Once Lived
We all left that house
many years ago—
after we had grown up.
The living room,
where we gathered
together as a family.
In our bedrooms,
safe and sound
off in slumber land.
The backyard
where we played
to be within reach.
On the front porch,
laughing, talking
all side-by-side.
Who lives there now
I wonder.
Who Made Me
If only I had been made to be
something other than what is me.
Whoever my architect was,
must have been on drugs
when they fashioned me.
If only I could find them out
so to take revenge –
to put them in me.
But, what if,
to my dread,
I find out
they are really me.
Yesteryear
I miss those white sheets that once flapped in the wind.
Those undergarments, socks, and pajamas too.
Intimates on display, to spice up the scene
along with those who wore and hung them too.
But now with clothes driers having become commonplace,
clothes lines and close pins have become obsolete,
bringing to an end those backyard neighborhoods
where everyone seemed to be family.
Zigging and Zagging
Those who go and go,
traveling to and fro,
zigging and zagging from day to day,
with mood swings up and down,
are likely to have nothing to show
but exhaustion,
capping a life time full of woe.
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