24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
The ivy crawled up the chimney
sneaking into the cracks
where water found a way in, and expanded.
The ivy crawled up the chimney
hiding behind the morning glories
that camouflage the damage
til bricks crumble.
Large chunks fall
bringing the ivy down too
until all that is left
is a pile of broken bricks
held together with ivy.
We shall traveled together
Okay, Uncle…
By motorcycle.
Excuse me.
Her voice was restrained
from saying no more
at her uncle
at his relentless effort
so they docked her luggage
between the space
of their seats.
Thank you…
What for, Uncle?
Without you, no one would bring me to town.
That’s what my license for, Uncle. For the benefit of usage, isn’t it…
He only shop his things once every three day
He only owned a motorcycle license
He would wait for her arrival
Every weekend
Four times a week
She missed him
She longed for him
He remained as her most handsomest story.
Eight minutes left now,
for our planet’s end,
global climate change,
was easy to mend.
But the Sun’s collapse,
will leave us deranged,
if not dead for good,
our people estranged.
Three minutes over,
living in falsehood,
waiting on la fin,
childhood, now sainthood.
Three minutes are left,
hello, friend of mine,
my death’s not far now,
drink some beer and wine.
Death’s an inch nearer,
should have kept my vows,
I should not have lied,
should have kept my house.
Should have said goodbye,
thirty seconds left,
panic in my heart,
first and last goodbye.
Russ
Frannie Z
To my everlasting fear
and delight,
Russ barreled his old Chevrolet
out of the parking lot
af 100 miles an hour.
He and I sang songs
from the 1950’s and early 1960’s
on dates and over the phone.
It broke my heart in two
when he went with Linda.
For days
I cried scrummy tears
right in class
and even worse, in gym.
But a few months later
he sat next to me in Sex Ed.
We put the bed against the door
in my room
and explored the possibilities.
Twenty years later
he asked me out again.
I said no, but that night
on the way back
we sang.
He’s a DJ now
near LA
with wife number 3
behind the golden California door
of a big classic pink Cadillac.
Cactii flower near his garage,
And he wears suits
Instead of black jeans.
His wife blonds her hair
And goes running
After she shops.
Who knows who they’re voting for?
But every time I sing with the radio,
We still blend.
Pardon me may I bother you for some answers please,
Pardon me I never meant to let go of that sneeze,
Pardon me, excuse me may I get through,
Pardon me, just wondering, how are you?
Pardon me, Excuse me, what did you say?
Parden me, I really wanted to tell you to have a nice day,
Pardon me , excuse me may I please get through?
Pardon me one last time, I just want to say Thank you.
Well, “Have a Nice Day”
Means “Fuck You” when it comes out
The cashier’s mouth, Hun.
Like “Thank You” became
Yours towards the kids when they
Shove their dirty hands
To you as they burp
An unapologetic,
Impish “Excuse Me”
And “Pardon Me” has
Become the only one that
Retains its meaning
Because “Welcome Home”
Means you’re upset when it’s all
You say when I come
Home to you but how
Can “How Are You?” do what I
Need; you’ll say you’re fine.
A month of Sundays
Must have gone by
Do you still sit and wonder
At the reason why
Are you missing me now
More that ever before
Has the echo lost sound
From the slamming front door
Have you figured out yet
That I ain’t coming back
I see no sense
When there’s nothing left
A month of Sundays
And I still wonder why
It lasted this long
What did we hope to find
A month of Sundays
Must be a sign
That all this took up
Too much of our time
“How are you?”
Broken and shattered with no direction
stung with rejection
but my smiles still lying to perfection
“How are you?”
lost, unsure, drenched in desolation
doubting my very creation
but my decisions still faking a healthy foundation
“How are you?”
alone, angry and mostly grieving
all solace constantly leaving
but my life trusts me, always deceiving
How are you
going to keep this up?
Your planets are drifting
away from the sun, and this
is more than a cold.
Honestly, when is the answer ever
fine, thank you.
Never forget your mother’s love
She struggles and strives for you alone
Clothes on your back. Shoes on your feet
Do you not remember how you have grown?
She struggles and strives for you alone
Whipping up chicken curry to fill your tummy
Do you not remember how you have grown?
She even clapped at your terrible acting, saying, “it was funny!”
Whipping up chicken curry to fill your tummy
Never complaining, always on her feet
Pausing to clap with you saying, “your funny!”
How her back must have ached, her body bone-tired
And yet every morning she wakes up just to hear “mummy”.
-dedicated to my mother