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Watching Myself Write (Then and Now)


... Time cuts itself
bleeds profusely ...

I've been
watching myself
something or another;

the world
is doing its own thing:
idiots and pink carnations
inside a glass slipper,
threading a needle
chanting curses and lamentations
like a mantra to the dead

we all pray
to the ugly stepsisters of time
and so I write
this poem as if
I had nothing better to do.

I don't.



Buk ties my shoelaces together, and hangs me out to dry. I'm still wet behind the ears.
Too old to remember falling in love. Still waiting for Pablo to awaken me.

Seashell & urchin. Rye bread. Pink flamingos in a tempest sky.
Ave Maria's written by the desert sand.

Oh, Holy Night falling like starlight in what poets can not embrace.
What we can not say but keep where roots have arms.


Last few words: 
Many blessings and much love to one and all @ Neopoet. Happiest of Holidays!
Editing stage: 


I hope you and yours have a great Christmas

Hi Stan, the man. Hope you enjoy this one. Page, ripped from Anna's life.

Blameworthy on Christmas Eve

Yes. I should have known better. I am responsible.
The elder in our human pack. If not for me, there would
be no one to piss off or take offense. No one to twinkle a bell,
or to bellow fire and brimstone. No ex-husband and half-sister
and brother. No daughter and son-in-law. No sons of my son
and daughter. No Barry-come-lately.

And all I ever wanted for Christmas was #27 on a Chinese Menu:

"A Happy Family". Minus the chopsticks and eggroll.


author comment

Does Christmas Ever live up to our hopes?

My heart does little leaps seeing your
name ... thank you for posting with us,
you are missed.

Merry Christmas and an AWESOME New Year. I think 2017 was brutal for so many of us this year.

I don't think I ever had so much fun as in the glory days of Neopoet. Everything was so non-scripted. :-) :-) :-)

The moon was always in June. :-)

author comment
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