Hope. A little something nice

Hope.  A little something nice.

Gold necklaces dangled from her neck, into the extra-large dent of her chest, one that made her B cupped tits look like Ds.  She swayed to the terrible music and stared at the ceiling, trying her best to ignore her ex’s stare from the corner of the bar.  

He had given her nothing over the three years they dated. Nothing but this job, which was only showing off one of her many talents.  She considered this, “Nothing. He gave me zero, but this job and a few black eyes that I’d have to spend extra on for cover-up. Nothing but a life of flashing my ass and tits at truck drivers and the occasional college boy or bachelor party.  My zero would have been so much better than the zero he gave me.”

The beat changed and she slowly shimmied down, putting her hands on the stage and spreading her knees wide enough to tease the men with her tight bedazzled g-string.  Her focus travelled across her customers’ foreheads, mostly bald or hidden behind the bill of a cap.  

“He gave me a book for my birthday.  Smacked me on the ass with it and I thought we were going to get some knowledge, perhaps read something.  It was “the joy of cooking”. He’d stolen from a library.  What he was doing in a library, I’ll never guess.”

Her hands found her knee caps and she shook her hair and swayed some more under the spinning lights.  The diamond shapes of the fishnet stockings always felt good under her fingertips.  She plucked at it on her left knee, stretching it just a bit to let her customers think that these were going to be coming off soon.  Her pointed tongue grazed her top lip and her eyelids sunk to their sleepy, sexy position.  He had given her those stockings. For christmas last year.  They weren’t wrapped except in the brown Walgreen’s bag.  “Happy Christmas, Charla.  I got you something fancy this year.”  

He would always give her hope, that’s the one other thing, just a glimmer of hope, but then pull it away or replace it with something to keep her at her zero. 

Poetry inspired by Emily Dickinson

 For Pat ( looping with worry on death)

In expecting we inspire

A buzz in the mind--

Words like bees who care

To fly from the hive--

In hope is my spark --

Lightning harnessed by many --

Golden, bright, and warm --

A comfort to turn deadly.

In truth it is your way.

I chip, I coax, I try.

The story may not be  a lie

And in your mind you will die.

But in the meantime, breathe.

----

Just Sitting

Creation pushes a whisper

Across my tired brow

Colors the empty paper

Molests my current low

A time a time a time

When clocks meant much more

assaults my settled mind.

Pass by, harmless storms.

Mindful and blessedly stable,

I gaze to the backyard

From the breakfast table.

Creation can’t move this blowhard.

Father's day thought

 Dear Dad:

I now know that bottled feeling

almost volcanic with love and responsibility

but thanks to you I can untangle my son's fishing line.

You may now resume your life of fishing.

Poetry - Favorite things inspired by John Coltrane

Favorite things - definitely inspired by some true life and John Coltrane

Say there, say baby, I

I can sense that thrum

I can feel that drum

And that pluck, can you,

Pluck that low string, too?

And slow whisper some of your favorite things?

Whisper low, ya know

'bout

Kittens and such and this that and such

It don’t matter too much

Say, now, yeah that notes okay

but better yet

Send some of that clarinet my way

Tease me with a bite of that sax

Say baby, say there, I

I can curl my toe to that

Feel that finger roll

Across those keys

Yes… all of those keys

Yes, on all the keys

And, now baby,

Whisper, 

tell me, 

your 

favorite things.

----Don’t Tell My Daddyo—

It’s a Saturday night 

And I’m blessed beyond sight

I see it, it’s golden

And i got jazz blowing

And poetry flowing

You know Daddo's right?

I’ve got that gin

That old man jive

With that tonic 

And that squeea lime

I’ve got that knowing 

That innocence gone

I've got that knowing

It won’t be long

I won’t always be

This alive

---Dropping like kings---

I see that, that’s a tell

I got plenty swingin’ that 

You ain’t playing low

You swinging high

Maybe upper royalty

Ain’t no tens

I got three a them

Ain’t no jacks

house has one

Queen’s been laid low 

She gonna show?

King’s not your game

But

that finger twitch

That tell

Ahh shhhi…  it seems 

I’m out

Poetry - Inspired by Langston Hughes

—Forgettin the days

Such a thing, see, 

As forgettin the day?

My baby, she’s working

So’s it’s no Saturday.

Times ago, way back,

I’d work all M thru F

Back, way back, before I quit

an' my week was never left

Sure, it helped out, 

Sure lectricity stayed lit

Sure SHE was happier 

When SHE would just sit.

But, see, it is such a thing

A broad smile ‘cross my face

A nap at two pee emm

And forgettin all the days.

— Maybe once 💘

Just once. Come on, babe

I’m needing you to help me feel alive.

Just one time! Is all I’m asking.

Can’t you see it in my eyes?

Well, my lips are closed 

And my eyes downcast 

And you’re reading your phone

And I don’t really ask.

But just one time!  Maybe once!

Stop my thoughts, disrupt me,

Break into my world

Ask me to read my poetry.

Joy from the trees - Poetry inspired by Gwendolyn Brooks

Joy from the trees 

When I recall the few seasons of gold

The oaks so tall and gusts of warm and cold

Stealing the sheen of sweat from my skin

Like God whispering You may sit again,

I tell myself, brick by brick, stone by stone

That Summer’s swelter should not stick around.

The gnats and no-see-ums, uncut blades of grass

Lows of depressions brought by fiery endless blasts

The light I love. The AM songs. The shoeless walks

On the green lush thickened lawn. And then it stops

And I feel the heat, the overwork, and hear the AC

Calls like the leaves’ crunch underfoot, remembering me

As if they’ve missed my being, in the heat of the sun

And they insist on my sitting with them for a strum.

The few autumns I’ve had, as they lengthen as one,

Won’t brick over the summer labor and  fun

But with the gold in the leaves and the gray in my hair

I won’t pluck joy from the trees, it will be falling right there.

Poetry - Saturday AM after Friday debauchery

Oars on the waters

Everything that falls

like a beat of a drum

leaves from a tree

- that’s so over done -

oars on the waters

driving 

you in 

or pulling

you out

one after another

closer or further?

you can’t tell 

from where you are.

You can't tell your There.

You can only tell your Here. 

---- 

tossed be the stones

burned be the logs

sticks and leaves 

the newsprint, the impetus

gone be the time 

it arrived like the stars

swooshing in ways that only stars

can swoosh, and tick be gone

so be my thoughts

needling and poking thru

my fabric

then retreat

--- 

If entwined, fingers in mine

we two step to the bridge

For A begets B

and so on we’ll see

skipping and laughing

into this

only pearls gleaming

at the feet of swine?

or diamonds  unearthed 

from a hidden mine?

a nudge now

and in we go

two drips into the waters

below.

 #SlapDashSat

Poetry - inspired by Anne Bradstreet

The Flow

You will not be bothered by the flow

In humility, in nature, in oneness

A step, or breath, a thought, as though

You’re perched to observe the abyss.

Seeing an ocean of progress and growth

Expecting is the downfall of life

To think my control will bring me love

Is to imagine a wave that will not subside

And if in retreat it disappoints my mind

I’ve lost the love that others achieve

A failure to all, an embarrassment in kind

I’ll stand alone with nothing but to breathe. 

He - poetry DEFINITELY inspired by ee cummings

 

He

He stands between 

Then, and now,

A perfect pose

Like a prostrate Man

Memories of Home

And Fantasies of Away

Pass through him,

Set him erect to be

A lazy I AM.

We watch where He lives

He’s house can forgive.

And can predict.

And is the only marriage

With Now.

She 

Being found in the 

The holding of ands.

Ands creating one 

Of distant friends

Blessing them both

Making them whole

And And will never be an end.

A bigger fire - Poetry inspired by ee cummings

 Poetry - inspired by ee cummings and Jim Carrey

A Bigger Fire

Failure can burn you in the moment

Perhaps to highest degrees

If it is witnessed.

But

Witnesses should not make it worse.

For inviting yourself

To be there, watching 

Always,

It can be, that in your distinct  mind,

Being less of a failure

May only mean

Being.

And then it is you who sees

Advises, edits the work

Manifests a bigger fire

There.

In the Pit - Poetry inspired by ee cummings

 In the Pit (i can't tell you)

i could tell you

like a battle

like a gang fight

maybe like an scrum

i could show you

the bruises 

the knots 

the stains, blood and beer

i could let you

smell last night’s 

shirt, shoes, jeans

my hair, my body

i could reel in a vid

posted by the band

by a fan or by

someone too tired out

but you have to know

even standing watching

is no way to know

there is only one way to know

put on your boots

lace them up good

wait for the beat to

whip it into a swirl

take one step closer

follow with a fist

take another step 

pump another fist

push your body

straight into the melee 

rage. stomp. jump.

twist. pump. rage.

there is only one way

you have to get in

you will be bounced

you will sweat

i can't tell you

but look at my face

see it in my heart

it is the best thing in the world

Folds - Poetry

Folds - poetry inspired by a week of Denise Levertov 

——

Folds in my sheets like ocean waves

Everything like ocean waves

Folds in our clothes like dunes

In White Sands, in Sahara

Over taking everything slowly

Stealing the flowers’ blooms.

Folds in our skin, like sounds,

Like universe’s frequencies, on and on,

Like our lives, in and out of existence,

Never disappearing from our face. 

Folds of time that take us down

Paths unknown, always our own,

Through holes in the continuum we rely on.

The clocks, they will tick, sending sound 

Over and through the ocean’s waves,

Moving the dunes, stealing the beauty,

taking birth, giving birth, making love,

Again and again, never the same,

But sleeping in the same sheets.

Buy One Get One - inspired by Denise Levertov

 Something else more meaningful - inspired by Denise Levertov again

Buy one, get one

Two in one

In my days I search usually

For things that can matter twice

If at least twice 

Then

That’s more 

Than

Most things can really matter.

Can I go

To market for bread alone?

Or should I grab a sack of flour too?

Perhaps I can stroll,

Meet 

More customers buying 

Meat

Perhaps the bogo of the day?

If I dream

It should matter in waking hours,

Tell me of my insecurities and pain,

But also entertain,

Mean

Something. At least on

Average.

A secreted message of me to me.

When we touch

It should grab me, bring me home

Light a fire on my skin, in my mind

And yours. Two

Hearts

Can beat as one. Singular.

Heart.

Undivided, if only within me.

Tech - Poetry inspired by Denise Levertov

Tech - poetry inspired by Denise Levertov 

Most days I’m grateful for the tech of the times

Not everyone has it, not everyone knows 

Nor do I always see it provide and destroy

Are tools an inheritance from benevolent giants?

Perhaps only bait to enslave our weak minds?

A wrench for a distinct nut the certified mechanic loosens?

The letters from monks dispensing the word of god,

Then Gutenbergs’ printing press, and now...

 Love or hate propaganda for this barbaric world.

The advent of  the cotton gin harvested like light

Breaking the chains of field laborers 

Stealing the soil’s nutrients, ignoring better crops.

The camera gave future memories to our families.

We didn’t always smile, we didn’t always love.

That man was lynched and that man killed by a mob.

Is it tech’s fault that I know of the atrocities 

Should I be pleased by this? Should I search for more?

To know that my neighbor is not the Senator I thought?

Is it tech’s fault that a man can die in the street 

Under knee of the law? And I too can feel the pain 

He and his family feel? Under knee of the law.

Is it tech? Is it good tech that I wish never came about?

But for my own protection? And for the protection of 

Buildings and businesses and families and passersby?

Of course it is good for the knowledge of good.

But as fires help us in cooking the perfect meal

They too are used in destroying an innocent home.