Author Archives: writ1277
Pictures in my head
running like home movies
reverberate color slide shows
the associated event memory may be vacant
but the feelings remain analogous
I see:
a bewildered old man in a web lawn chair sitting on steaming sand where his beach house used to be a yellow formica table with beveled bright chrome around the edges i'm kicking the table from a wooden high chair - trying to touch the Wheaties box myself crumbling as I pull my small daughter from the back seat of a car to carry her into a funeral home but she changes her mind and i put her back into the car. my 5 year old niece building a goopy sandcastle on foggy Crystal Beach, New Year's Day Wayne and I swinging on the new red swing set at sunrise drive surrounded by vibrant purple irises, a fire barrel with stars and moons cut into the sides and the red rock gravel in the drive. myself running down the boardwalk in Virginia Beach wearing a green and blue itsy bitsy bikini, to chase down the canvas cover that had blown off of my father's metal sculptures. the grocery list written for Thanksgiving dinner last year - french bread, onions, celery, mushrooms, scallions, flowers, asparagus, turkey, butter, pecans, etc.... Dave holding my hand on top of his as we turned the key in the lock of our new home for the first time - before he gallantly picks me up into his proud arms and carries me over the threshold. the bottom of every trash can in the Louvre museum as my bronchial pneumonia hacking cough echoes through each surreal gallery i drag my sick ass through each of the hallowed halls the ginormous neighbor girl, Cindy Lou, throwing my skinny self down the rock path from school because i tell her Santa is real - she doesn't believe me a black Studebaker with red plaid seats, covered in thick clear plastic. My face sticks to it as i sleep in the back seat. airports across the US - dirty old carpet in Newark, a glass box smoke filled room in Chicago, La Guardia's modern new view, soft snowflakes falling outside the floor to ceiling windows at Reagan, crying in the parking lot at Daytona Beach International, holding on to my Sailor son at HOU, broken hearts left at PIT, holding precious grandson Andrew at Honolulu International, Lexi relaxing in the vibrating lounge chair in Nashville Airport, and glad the jet didn't land in the water in San Francisco. seven of us on a six man toboggan - flying down Sunny Slopes all night long beautiful red headed Moira, arms out stretched, scampering down the sidewalk to me Friday dance nights in the living room - two-step and d i s c o myself walking our cocker spaniel into the Vet office for the last time each of my children as I left them in those little wooden school chairs for the first time my proud grandparents sitting in the bleachers in the sweltering auditorium for my high school graduation. Wish I knew then, what i know now a hermetically sealed house and melting ice-cream as my lanky frame fits through the little second floor bathroom window to unlock the front door the long frigid walk up Mt Washington after abandoning the car at the bottom due to a blustery blizzard Nancy, Diane, Kathy and I carrying on at South Park pool trying to get the lifeguard's attention the fire raging on top of my first Thanksgiving turkey and the smoke detector sirens blaring Happy Hour at John Q's - and finding out what I thought was a french fry was a fried smelt. glass enclosed candle lanterns swaying and fireworks blaring from the top deck of the beach house firing a shotgun at the deer lease in Ridge Texas you talking to me in the car - in The Rose parking lot the mother's day card with the upside down flower stem my aunt, my mother and grandmother all screaming at each other in the Arbor Lane kitchen the horse stepping backwards onto my foot at the country house - I, also see the reprimand the rapids cascading over and over at the Ohiopyle cabin - the water is crystal clear - dancing and cold the students, hippies and old people sharing reefer on a smoke filled Greyhound bus cruising through to State College, PA the last run at Seven Springs ending up at the bottom of the slope, on my stomach with my skis over top of my head - in front of classmates my kids holding onto my knees as I skate them around the north and south ice-skating rinks sitting at the glass top table in the screened-in back porch on a hot January night. receiving the phone call i had dreaded my whole life... us walking all of the beaches words of wisdom, philosophy, god and care on a Christmas post as rain falls silently in the woods and drips from the moss you walking in my dreams
plangent thunder
an inescapable plangent thunder Calling My Name O N E m o r e time two (2) phones ringing revere ware off the slick granite onto the sticky tile floor - as another IPhone fatality – a $700.00 symphony bounces the bank account into a defeated deficit. a pager vibrating my last jagged nerve as it flails and bounces into the commode from a couture black satin back- ass pocket simply monogramming a designer dollar – a blaring billboard at my expense. honk a shrieking text brake a profane IM into Siri’s impervious ear as she directs me to Pittsburgh through Mijas Spain listen intently for the most missed maternal control faintly from the Bravado’s radio speakers. Mute is stuck “off” the cacophony blare of public address panic waking me up and putting me to bed WriteInSpace.com 2016© – all rights reserved.
be the difference
Aside
I remember being held by the sweet lullaby of a loving mother’s whisper on the top of my wispy head. now I stare at life’s finite hope on the juvenescence playground- jumping rope riding the swings round and round and round the May Day pole. I’m holding my head high I’m soldier brave I’m teflon tough and rawhide strong but Hold my hand - guide me through this mercurial journey. use your words to emery the edges permitting me the positive self composure i deserve Witness my life. infix laudable value into who I will be - be the difference WriteInSpace© worldwide rights reserved 2016
I am a child of the world
Listen to my fears
Listen to my heart
Listen to ME
Let me know I’m important
to someone
If I can’t say it
Say it for me
Let me know I’m
not alone in the world
Give my life meaning
Give me an opportunity
to be heard.
Give me a voice.
WriteInSpace© All worldwide rights reserved.
For further information on becoming a CASA volunteer or to make a donation: http://casagalveston.org/
kites prominently up-swept
you think of me when clocks are near your morning fingertips and sheets are tangled in between your legs shanghaied firmly on the other side of the bed you think of me when the keyboard is clicking your dives and highs in rapid fire promises of infamy. you think of me decorating your tree with brilliant adjectives and hyperboles star struck on powdery gauge strings harbored with silvery emotional anchors I think of you in the caliginous corners of my reposing eyes at dawn’s commencement- waiting for the email ping on my phone I think of you creating rules abeyant to your whim and heart as you telepathically and mechanically direct me to call you I think of you when I’m in need of your wisdom - modernism – literary philosophy to finely dress my infatuation in steadfast haute couture until the next heady investment I love the mystery and wonder why your actions speak differently than your unspoken fears? your honesty, while admirable, is a consternation to my knowing better the introspection keeps all of the kites prominently up-swept
WriteInSpace.com 2016© – all rights reserved. may not be reprinted without permission.
03122016
just before
dawn broke
your invisible
face
appeared in my
head while I was
sleeping.
the venue was blue
with the quiet complacency
of your demure voice
peacefully conveying –
prepossessing verses
to hold in my hand
but they float into
esoteric circles-
into the locked clubhouse
secured
for select members
only
WriteInSpace.com 2016© – all rights reserved. may not be reprinted without permission.
I watch the
locomotion of oranges and limes
bobbing around a sunken
ladle
in a sea of grain alcohol-
realizing the more I refresh
the more intriguing the scene-
party fare disguised in a sticky garbage can
on the lawn crowned with red solos
each adorned with confident claws
lounging and laid on the
spring grass.
All the while:
consummate amateurs prey
upon the L’air du temps lambs
incessant with giggles
and Ultra Bright smiles
glow in the dark.
UnderclassMEN cannot resist
unfledged, fresh meat delivered at
their Levi draped feet.
Frat sweethearts dressed older
bolder a n d endowed
Frat brothers COCKsure,
rocked a n d cocked
BFF’s lust to view
Gamma Phi
the third brightest star
in the constellation
which takes me –
Not them
by the hand
leading
to a capricious ingénue envisage
I have to unlock a door…..
acute bibliography for a prospective future
I wasn’t aware the capacious blinds overhanging the front windowpanes are slanted just enough to allow the neighbors an explicit view inside my house. the hail of heartbeats banging against the hurricane #5 glass must’ve stopped the rein of ricochets no longer taking credit for “yard of the month”. Questions asked a n d ignored. Gossip and wonder penetrate the radiant barrier roof. whispers hanging from the blooming magnolia tree – whispers on the winding walkways They witnessed the tawny bricks stacked ever so politely in the front driveway before being bundled, projected– propagated into a perfect subway pattern meeting and greeting right angles into shelter walls but hand prints were mirrored historically into the concrete foundation – mapping an acute bibliography for a prospective future. If the window treatments were other than fingerprinted ivory white - would the pathetic shouts of mercy transcend into lyrical verses or uttered contractual versions of an expired lease with notice of eviction? When I peer through the glass front to back –the express tunnel would polarize any promise of “good” feng shui. the raging fires were too close to the waves washing the tears over the slippery floors? I didn’t want the sympathetic visitors with lustrous apple pies and prostrate sheriffs dictating arrogant orders of intimidation because “vacancy” hung on the freshly enameled red front door – implementing the exorcism for my future, my plans, my dreams, myself The concerns were unwarranted. No one asked for the unanswered prayers or faint echoes turning deadbolts or disarming security alarm sirens Hollow houses do not require supported occupancy permits on every killum beige wall - in every room. Just because I bought it doesn’t mean I have to live in it WriteInSpace.com 2016© - all rights reserved. may not be reprinted without permission.