24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
On the counter
Perched and staring
Filled with wonder
Fixated on the dark pools
Eyes wide
A reflection gazing back
Admiring
An endless mirer
Falling into itself
Into that inner world
A Fibonacci Sequence composed of self
Spiraling fractals of existence
Constellations of being
My son-in-law died of Covid.
I wrote his obituary.
I sent flowers.
I didn’t go to his funeral.
I knew it wasn’t normal.
The governor was at Jerad’s funeral,
without a mask.
He shook hands with my grandsons
who had tested positive for the virus.
Not to worry!
He was the first US governor to get the virus.
He refused to mandate masks in Oklahoma.
After all, he survived.
This brand of governor
has become too normal.
My son came from Virginia
to help his sister navigate
the roiling waters of widowhood.
He brought his laptops and his work.
Working from anywhere has become normal.
We visited, son, daughter, grandsons
on one side of the dining room window,
parents on the other side,
talking on our phones.
Not normal, but we were where we needed to be.
The first thing I did two weeks after my second vaccine dose
was hug my daughter and my grandsons.
My son will be here next month for a family memorial.
I’ll hug him, too.
The governor won’t be there.
My friend died two weeks ago,
the latest in a string of relatives and friends.
She didn’t believe in vaccines.
Her family says, We think
she died of a cardiac event.
I worry for the undertakers,
for family members,
and for the churchgoing faithful
who never miss a funeral.
Worry is normal.
As has become custom,
I sent flowers
and didn’t go to the funeral.
Normal is a fluid state.
POEM 07
We all are hoping with eyes closed and whispered prayers, to get back to Normal.
This strange, misshapen existence doesn’t fit. It pinches like new shoes and kills us.
It takes away our breath and nobody knows from where it sprang.
We refuse to get complaisant with wearing face coverings in everyday life.
It’s not Normal to wear rubber gloves to the grocery store. Plowing
through bottles of hand sanitizer and bleach is just not Normal.
The funny thing about Normal is…this has always been Normal for me.
Germs and crowds terrify me, the unseen ones more than the visible ones of course.
I always had a face mask at the ready and I’ve carried hand sanitizer like celebrities used to
carry bottles of water, for as long as I can remember there being ‘hand sanitizer.’
Minus the vaccine and people’s lives being snatched away, this is my Normal.
If someone coughed behind me, or in front of me, in a dark theater, it was tantamount to a shout of “Fire”.
I’d want to pop up and sprint for the exit, but that wouldn’t be normal and people would be uncomfortable.
So I am flexible and pull myself into the confines of Normalcy, for my fellow man.
I’d crouch in my place and breath as shallowly as I could without collapsing in the aisle.
That hated pandemic uncovered a comfort zone for me and we all had a new Normal. But the old Normal is out there, we think,
And we are willing to die trying to get it back.
We all need things to get back to Normal, the Normal that is minus losing loved ones and giving up hugs. Okay we like the typical, usual expected as the dictionary defines.
Her whole life,
Every breath she takes,
She wants to change what’s normal,
She wants to change what’s accepted.
She wants people to feel like home,
No matter who they love,
No matter who they want to be,
No matter who they are.
She wants a world where she can be herself,
And have no one question her twice,
She wants a world where she can be herself,
Out in glory and in pride.
She wants a world where is love is wild,
Hate not quite so normal,
She wants a world where the ‘most superior species’,
Accept nature for who she is.
She wants people to be themselves,
She wants happiness in the air,
She wants the world to love her,
As much as she loves the world back
~thryaksha
House of Nerds
Normal is a house of nerds
a book character best friend
latest novel as conversation starter
a ten-year old recognizes the tropes
Normal is a house where music
is poetry, reciting lines of Shakespeare entertainment
Normal is house of contemplation
where we welcome questions and doubts
about a higher power, consider the meaning of our existence
Do we ascend to a heavenly plain or return to the universe?
Where does our energy, our life force go?
Normal is often anxiety and stress
These questions perplex and confound
perfection is elusive, so why do we do obsess?
Normal is introversion but not misanthropy
We don’t dislike people,
We’re just uncomfortable in crowds
Our normal is a house of nerds
I once believed I was timeless-
That I would last forever in people’s memories
Simply because they claimed to find me memorable.
I am no longer sure if that’s true.
If I were to kill myself,
I think the rage might consume my loved ones.
I think my mother might shred my corpse to ashes.
I think my father might spread my ashes in different toilets;
Flush me into the sewers.
I think my sister might refuse to speak.
I think the friend who called my therapist when I told her I was suicidal might only shower in my blood.
I think the friend who never knew how serious it was might never jaywalk again;
She would always look both ways, even on one-way streets.
I think the friend who attempted suicide a week before I did might start screaming in empty parks again.
I think the friend who is no longer my friend and refuses to reconnect might regret it.
I think people’s lives might be changed if I’m gone,
But I don’t think they’d remember me the way I’d want them to.
Garden of Long Island
“Flowers take many forms. Each takes a story,
each entirely precious and unique. Each is the best,
each will teach us to love, nurture, and let go.
Not every garden blooms. Tears take place of rain.
They surface on the air.” Call the Midwife
Long Island expansive, dense populated, and unique.
From Roses of Roosevelt to the Marigolds of Massapequa
Long Beach Lillies to the Daffodils of the East Hills
Hempstead Holly hangs towards Oceanside Orchids
Bellmore bushes of Jasmine to the Hyacinth of Hicksville
Amityville Azaleas to the Plainview Primrose
Quogue’s Dahlias to the Irises of Islandia
Violets of Valley Stream to the Lavender of Locust Valley
Peonies of Patchogue to the Camellias of Carle Place
Zinnias bloom on the way to Floral Park as Lloyd Harbor holds Aster.
Long Island life like the flowers and towns names,
each with history and a story to open.
who sets the standard for normal
as a child your parents
it is not normal:
to hate peas
to wear your hair like that
to like be alone
to like girls instead of boys
in college your peers determine
it is normal to
be not normal
In marriage your spouse determines
its normal to be
my idea of a wife
And on and on
I am still working on defining my normal but
I hope my daughters have decided
for themselves what is theirs perhaps
to live to please yourself first and then others
to be true to yourself
to be confident
to go to the beat of your own drummer
Or is that my normal?
What is normal?
Sharing a pillow with your cat.
Walking barefoot to school.
Eating hamsters roasted on a stick.
Buying jewelry for your guest.
Eating peanuts in a restaurant and throwing the shells on the floor.
Watching a movie at a drive-in theater.
Kissing on the first date.
Square dancing on Saturday night.
Eating a turkey dinner for Christmas.
Having a picnic at a cemetary.
Being taken to school on the back of a horse.
Giving someone a standing ovation.
What is normal for you?
drops of juicy fruit
run
unchecked down fingers to
drip
from chins and
land
sticky, sweet on sun-warmed
skin