Posts tagged ‘grandma’

October 22, 2014

flit.

We leave this life as flit of butterfly
When we endure beyond our purpose;
Aloof words come by which materialize,
We are left stoical, still, and wordless.

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September 10, 2014

Restless Weather

Dark clouds formed the sky as wind touched my face
My dead and gone ancestors have done this to me
Taking it in together, we stand tall hands linked
Expressionless, our emotion takes hold, carried-
Art appeared on the flesh; red lines raised
Trusting paths we’ve taken, as the towers climb
Reflecting the river waters as the seasons change
Showers reigned in testing the land, the crop, the life
High up a bulb flashes near birds so lofty fly
Inclement weather of remembrance, the rain
Drenched thru flesh, soulfully feeling inward pain
Eyes scan and absorb, what now, what more, what remains
Strength enough not to collapse, feels appropriate,
Apropos no more, prompt forecast coming belated,
Arousal of the air currents, moved, we were but shaken.

July 11, 2014

Storied Weather (South Ridge)

Familiar clouds
tell of South Ridge
and distant relatives;
revelations such as this
come hard to miss,
a loss of words.

These were once
interactions,
turned keys,
and crossed-out lists.

Rain drops tapping my head soaking my shoulders.

We drove there in the morning
to leave by afternoon.

Now, I stand here under
dark spinning skies
watching
waiting
and hoping for you.

January 14, 2014

Well…

Well,

 

As a shut-in I have found:

I love to read books.

I miss the warm weather.

And I am fond of being around those I am fond of.

 

Well,

 

As a shut-in I have found:

Snow bound text, warm weather nostalgia surpasses the wind-chilled breeze and frozen feet.

All parts of my body feel the weight of the weather in this climate, although it could be changing, one feels the immediate effects of the now.

 

A barometer can be used to check the air pressure.

But a tool for measure is useless when one can just walk outside to prove this.

 

Well,

 

As a shut-in I have found:

I wear no smile, no frown, I have few thoughts; those, I think, you are here somehow, you move forward somehow-I wonder what it’s like to be on the brink, somehow…

 

Well,

 

As a shut-in I have found:

This will be yesterday and you will be tomorrow.

 

This seems to happen a lot.

But never when it’s hot.

 

These are ideas.

And as my grandmother says, “A well is just a hole in the ground.”

Kind of like this weather.

 

Well…

December 2, 2013

The Sum of Small Parts

I am the makeup of freshly dead heritage,

This only proves my merit-age.

 

Bikes for carriages; we ride through lonely skyscrapers.

 

Sitting amongst crumpled papers and beer chasers,

Getting wasted is the only word-spoken disclaimer.

 

I’ll take your money; I’m a card-player, shark, dangerous-major, and one of the remainders.

Ask about my hand at 39’ sometime.

 

Language proclaimed loud and proud, with or without, making joyous sound resound between eyes of doubt.

 

Wanting to go home, 26 year-old- little kid, on my own in the big unknown:

-Advantage of Id.

-Afraid so I hid.

-We did what we did, called the bids and pulled the lids.

 

But, that was years ago,

Found time to watch blood and flesh grow.

 

Adult now, it’s my fault now.

 

I control me, watch and see.

What I am is all I can be.

I know I can pick friends but not family…

 

I am proud of who I am,

But I can’t speak for some of (and) them.

 

Then I think, like my Ma says, “you can’t win em’ all,”

And, “it’s thirty-six on Tuesday.”

 

What did I say anyway?

May 18, 2013

To Be Old

Grasshopper.

Love.

Splat.

 

Rewind that back, intent on good imagery.

 

She is bed-ridden.

Spiders hang from a light-fixture in the ceiling.

 

Thoughts never left.

She calls for help in a vacant house.

 

Stuck in my head.

 

Cat vomit encrusted on the heels of my shoes.

Figuring out what choices to choose.

Clean up dog shit or fall for the ruse.

 

By the way it was by the way.

Way back in the day it wouldn’t have been this way.

 

Wondering how she passes the minutes and what goes on in her mind.

Wondering all the time.

 

I dropped the ball when I didn’t drop her a line.

Thoughts of the last time we said goodbye.

(Dial-tone.)

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.

July 19, 2012

Innate Love

Lifestyles of the like are seldom centerpieces.

Mother still has hope.

Even though we reside so far from home.

 

We sit, we eat, we work, we cope.

We walk the black streets alone, insane.

She missed the prom as well.

 

Poorly lit lights and the physical descriptors never tell.

Gun shots in the distance moving near until we exit to a clear.

 

Where we exist, where we survive.

Closer to a described hell but far off from where we started.

Nightly news won’t tell the truth.

 

Lost facts of the bruised fruit.

They try to sell more as they gather a new and plentiful supply.

 

On my own.

On the phone.

 

These calls make me smile.

Father still has hope, but he doesn’t dial.

 

Seize the day.

 

Family a solid rock; not forgot.

Forget everyone else and remember self.

To wisdom and to health.

 

Such a child, all smiles.

 

No small town small time blues in these shoes.

 

All there is in the end.

All there is in the end.

 

A couple screws loose.

Just a drop in the bucket.

Tears to dust with no witness.

 

Subtly secluded.

Still rooted, a fixture, this mission.

A gifted life, but so ruthless.

 

Some walk toothless and stupid.

 

To keep real friends and real situations.

Understanding the pupils and process of dilation.

Palpable investigation to find, feel, and move.

 

A momentary aphasia.

Too nice to be rude.

 

Too ubiquitous to be stewed.

We can’t quite place it.

 

Our grandparents won’t speak.

Interrogating haunts for tangible clues.

 

We then get enthusiastic.

Remembering the details of the deceased.

 

Coming unglued.

 

With good intentions love, lovely familiarity.

Constantly with us (thankfully) until the end.

***

Too gifted with relative relations not to care, so there.