all poems are copyright by me
Still Life with Colored Acrylics
Twisting
through synaptic noise
memory
humid summer morning
thick air catches in his
throat
ice
condensation on the mirror
crawling down the silvery
slick
surface
pooling in the center of
his chest
like blood from a wound
Gasp a long, drawn breath
languishing
air swirls through lungs
and is forced back out
again
into a room full of
paradoxical images
adjectives paired with
nouns
and sleeping metaphors
all clash in his brain
going in different
directions
a violet flame
like magenta ice
dissolving in the
blanketing heat
mere trickles of red and
blue
etching delicate paths on
his skin
roads, rivers, and borders
each tributary returning to
the source
without losing any of the
cool
dry
life-essence
running from his eyes
soaked up through his skin
pooling at the nape of his
neck
like blood from a wound.
I never
really knew you as a person
Most of the time you were
"mom"
sometimes
"daughter" or "sister"
but those sides weren't
very visible to me.
Four years have passed
and with every day comes
more questions.
Every child reaches an age
a maturity
when they want to
"know" their parents.
That time, for me, has come
too late
I can't ask the questions
of anyone now
but I have the mental
souveniers
most of the photographs I
have now are in my head
but the memories are good
ones...
You were a good parent
and I try to lead by your
example
It was hard at first to let
you go
but time has begun to heal
the wounds
and still I try to remind
you that
I love you...
Happy Mother's
Day, Mom.
The 10 Things I Hate About You
You bug me
when you gulp your drink
I want to shove your head
in the sink
And turn on the cold water
until your whole head is wet.
It bothers me when I hear
your nails go "tap tap"
And I sit there holding my
tongue, like a sap,
Instead of getting my net
and kicking you out of the house like a pet.
The way you sneeze really
pisses me off,
Which is nothing compared
to that annoying cough,
I wonder if anyone would
notice if I plugged up your head?
Then you wouldn't torture
me
With your jokes, they are
such a bore to me,
Especially when you repeat,
for the 400th time, something you've already said.
"We've all heard this
story before!"
We shout,
"And don't let the
door
Hit you in the ass on the
way out!"
And you put that playful
pout on your face
Which I hate so much I'd
like to blast you off into space
Just to see that stupid
mock-pout turn to a gasp
(because there's no air
out there)
The way you complain about
the heat
While I'm shivering in my
seat,
Then you turn around and
bitch about the cold?
Here, you hold
On to one end of this rope,
while I tie the other end to my car
And drive us both off a
cliff, which is par
For the course.
Seems I'm always killing
myself to avoid all these little quirks
But I think if I say
anything, that would make _me_ the jerk,
And maybe I should just
tolerate it, after all,
You call yourself a friend
who'd never let me fall,
But then I realize the
hidden truth,
That you're boring and
rude,
Your snoring is crude,
You're ignorant to boot,
And I just don't like you.
This list was only supposed
to go to ten things, not past,
But I got carried away,
Trying to list a few of
your annoying habits,
And the lines in this poem
multiplied like rabbits,
And I find myself more
verbose than Shakespeare himself,
Which reminds me...
I hate all those magazines
you read, too.
(but that must be item
number 12th)
You take
they take
I've given what's not in me
and there is
nothing from nothing
now all I hear is hollow
laughter
with nothing inside
or behind.
Anger and frustration
both need a source of power
but you can only drain
nothing
when there's only nothing
left.
Even lazy sorrow
needs the red coal of
something
and I can't give any more
of
my nothing
before I start taking
all the nothing
I see around me
until nothing is the only
thing left
for no one.
My home
away from home for almost eight years
Lots of laughter and plenty
of tears
I miss those customers so
much
I know I should see a
shrink
But I just can't help this
sickness
My brain has a few kinks...
Mr. Lublin,
where have you gone
with your fear-inspiring
cane?
Your distinctive waddle was
every video clerk's bane.
My favorite greeting was
"Hiya, Red!"
Then when he turned around
I'd be "crushing his
head".
Just one of the millions to
pass through our lives
We spent more time with
them than with some of our wives
Immature bosses, throwing
tantrums like kids,
Do-nothing clerks who'd
sleep on the skids.
I miss all the hip lingo,
like "end-cap" and "pallet",
Quick, someone strike me
harshly with a mallet!
I want to go back, for the
price changes and stocking
and mile after mile of
pointless walking.
I'm wearing a lab coat, of
COURSE I work in Hardware!
"I can help" with
anything you dare!
Meijer is in my blood now,
like Hank and Fred,
I want to have my ashes
scattered in the Purple Cow when I'm dead.
Or maybe in the
printer-processor,
dissolved in the
super-rinse,
Then I could STILL ruin
everyone's prints!
Kevin would laugh at voices
no one else heard,
from another clerk, you
couldn't believe a single word,
Ray took some really sleazy
pics,
and Rich wanted everyone to
think he worked in flicks,
I had my theories of hidden
conspiracies,
and Deana, Pam, and Pam all
quit after one date with me.
Like an extended family, my home without fences,
Please send me back before
I come to my senses!