Posts tagged ‘gifted’

August 7, 2012

Grandma Knew Better

My life as a poet as I know it, is over for the moment.

 

You don’t bend things, they break.

You don’t date things, unless you want them to stay.

Otherwise you might have to say go away.

 

A spent condom fashioned precariously in a trash bin is becoming rancid.

It sits in the corner, HELLO!

 

I wonder what it would all look like in a mansion.

All these actions

-Reminds me of how I get around.

 

I wonder why they wonder how I do it?

Its very hard to explain, we have different brains.

We drive in different lanes.

Easy.

 

I ask them how they are poor, broken, and asking questions.

No one answers, they all walk away.

 

Little Me(s) evaporate and die as I sigh.

Only a sheet of highly efficient latex’s placement saves my existence on this pavement.

I think of the house and the large ivory pillars.

 

I stand slouched-thinking, moderately strung out from blinking.

Can they write like this(?) -right(,) like this:    <—–Here.

 

You don’t mind things that don’t matter, after it all, after the laughter.

Sadness plastered on faces, and then a clown walks in to throw them off.

Doesn’t it make you gladder?

 

Effectively the Sun reigns, so we bring sunscreen to protect from the sun-rays.

Eventually the Son reigns, so…

 

About the snow; we wear extra clothes to cover our noses from being frozen.

 

Ask the Floridian, he doesn’t have the slightest.

Of the former they may feel closer to closure.

Of the farmer on the border of cash crop or flip flop, off to the city.

 

Quickly-

 

Big fucking lights.

Big fucking deal.

 

Then its over.

 

 

 

Laughing to a spilt bladder, found a place.

Southside, well Whittier, I am not writing it on a slate, either way it translates.

 

Sick of the television bickering, and myself not picking through pages; my books are left with dog ears and wanting to play, getting through it in many different stages, on different days.

Not sick any more though, there is a remedy for me, for us, for all.

 

Like a grenade to my face, like a beer, like a bee, like a sting.

Not misplaced.

Mickey’s, got to love the taste, and its CHEAP!

 

Ready to fight?

Goodnight.

 

Sitting in the grass with the community.  Watching a movie and relating truly-

Out of smokes, living longer.

Out of beer, better mornings.

Out of food, I go to church on Monday nights.

 

Out of money, nothing to complain about.

 

They have too much and they worry too little.

(about the trivial)

Fretting on the couch, in a nice house.

 

In response to the poor they are whores of vanity.

In response to power they are a sad sight to see.

In response to friends they have none, no response.

In response to a gun, they surrender, later they run.

 

They take all but they have lost nothing.

Maybe even gained something in the process.

An understanding, a piece of mind.

 

 

We sit, we think, we drink, we think, water from the kitchen sink, we think, we contemplate again.

I don’t know, but it flows down the drain like thoughts in the brain, yet we can’t write it down…

Oh, whatever.

 

Not wearing a frown because I can’t think of a negative.

This isn’t math class, you dunce.

And in any case there really are only positives.

 

 

When we are on the brink and we head back.

Going backwards-Needed and not needed.

Taking it all in right after.

Forgotten later, the latter.

Everything that matters: everything.  

 

We want it to stay and it goes away.

We say go away and there is delay.

Do we ever get what we want?  And if we do is it what we want?

 

Good riddance.

What’s the difference?

We are all gifted, its what we live with.

Nothing around you is dead yet.

 

I am wrong…

 

About my Grandma:

 

I still see the sky lit up on the horizon at dusk.  I still think of her touch, and it still does matter.  She would say:  TERRY SCOTT!  I would chase after.  She would smoke and drink coffee and play cards.  She never brought anyone down, if I remember correct she was happy, always.  She was the best person in my life and she left in 2008.  All the same, she is here today.  She has white-blond hair, baby blue eyes (like me), and an infectious smile.  She is remembered, as the good things are.  We forget all of the things we malign and dislike for a banal existence.  They have placement in our lives, but they don’t mean all that much.  Things like this matter.

Everything happens for a reason, and its all the same in the rain.

No disdain, not insane, slightly like self we remain.

Yet mostly changed.

Dark clouds atop the hill make me smile.  Strong winds bring back memories as they touch me with slight pressure and fly away.  I imagine her soul does the same.

I will always be in the country and feel her presence.  Like the city hides that, it brings her back even more.

Where is Chicago?

Even when I am alone I am not alone.

There is no saddest when we think of the ones we once had, and always will have.  Who come back in small instances of everyday life, in astonishment.  We recollect.

 

She was never down, coffee and cigarettes remind me of her.

She was the best card player I ever knew.

She loved snoopy and bingo and her family.

 

And I was this close to playing one last card game with her…

Then the phone call.

I ate mediocre potato salad for a week in the cold of my apartment, which had no heat.

 

She always beat me in war.

And it was snowing in early October.

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