Alligators break the dark circular water,
later, a guy with a big belly and low belt
will grandstand while throwing half-frozen
chickens at them.
This early I’m still surfacing,
last night my legs got jailed
behind lidless dreams; the back of my neck
tingles now, as old sweat refries itself.
I’m waiting for the ‘man’.
A breeze combs damp hair
while I make-out with a Michelob
inside a soda bottle.
He’ll show-up in sockless Crocs,
baggies bulging
from the pockets of
his camouflage shorts.
I and Frick and Frack over there
fake an interest in the egrets
as the morning sun flickers through
snowy spread out, translucent wings.
The ankle-deep mist rises
revealing clearly
that we are simply here
as another form of park life,
waiting to be fed
one more far-out evening.
Christmas is the time of year that fits the summer's heat
And Christmas cards are warmer by and by
The harvest of the summer is a healthy time to eat
When Christmas makes a stand in late July
The folks are rising early in the Northern Hemisphere
And travel is a cinch to pull you through
The glow of Christmas morning is a joyful atmosphere
And Santa Claus is dressed in baggies too
The message of the Magi is a hopeful one indeed
And love is more than winter’s give or take
The story of a Savior is a happy one to read
And blue skies are more friendly for His sake
The blessed time of Christmas is a reason to expand
And merry congregations stand nearby
To welcome one another with a firm and steady hand
That rocks the baby’s cradle in July.
Written and submitted to the
Christmas in July poetry contest
on July 10, 2022
Multiple readings
They are looking out tiny boxes
traveling toward the city from the suburbs
wearing tennis shoes on their tired feet
Many have left their dress shoes at work
Some stop at a gym on the way,
these are the high brows who do not punch in
It is Chicago, nineteen ninety-six
My husband is in one of these jam trains
looking out his tiny box, as trees and cows fly by
Upon arrival, the gritty of the city meets them
Gray concrete is their first welcome mat
They are careful to not fall into the trenches
Some race by, but most march as robots
staying in order until they reach Union Station
People stop being human here
The stores are expensive, so most cannot shop
Their lunch sandwiches are tucked into hot baggies
inside the briefcase they hold onto as they march
a line of unsmiling creatures
who have left their mommy and daddy cap forty miles out
being an employee or an employer, less than human now
The stench of piss, vomit, and feces
immediately hit my senses
as I step over dirty syringes
and white, powdered filled baggies
the imperfect combination
of junkie and overdose
the drool dripping out of their mouths
and the sight of eyeballs rolling
into the back of heads
I see the hookers who parade around
in their birthday suits
who's bodies resembled that
of a skeletal corpse, and of course
who can forget the music
that shakes the exterior
of a cracking foundation
half-dead bodies moving and grooving
to the sound of a repetitive beat
but the irony out of all this of course
is the transaction.....
the meeting between men
the sell of deadly prescriptions
and the lost of finances
only to repeat its licentious cycle again
but this is nothing.... it's actually quite normal
in the stomping grounds of the ghetto....
I really wish there were somebody
Who could nail the litterati.
Maybe those who access Twitter
Could point out those folks who litter.
Here’s a topic for some Tweets –
Some trash I noticed on the streets:
Paper plates from pizza places;
Wrappers smeared with candy traces.
Skinny covers once from straws,
Nasty notes that gave me pause;
Crumpled packs from cigarettes,
Baggies filled with poop from pets.
Water bottles, now depleted;
Store receipts from sales completed.
Many balled-up, wrinkled tissues
Filled, no doubt, with slimy issues.
Yogurt cups where stuff congeals;
Peach pits and banana peels.
Surely there are things I missed;
This is just a partial list.
In college one of my professors
Used to challenge the transgressors.
Not a great idea today,
Yet somehow litterbugs should pay.
So if you spy one in the act,
Grab your phone and quick, react:
Snap a photo – grant him fame.
Perhaps we can clean up with shame!
At a loss,
The trees seemed to confirm
That I was losing the inspired
fire
That once raged;
Consuming all the insides.
Yes many a night, & early slant of sunlight
I stood unzipped skin
Laying out every organ,artery,blood,
Blood vessels, cells, veins,
All of every inch that rests
beneath this earth
Giving up a complete holocaust
for the ever eventual muse,
Now standing emptied midway between the womb & tomb
I sense the possibility of fading away
into an obscurity fitting for a fool
doused in napalm
mind made of agent orange,
How many roads scorched along the way
left behind empty bottles, sandwich baggies, or pill bottles.
Left behind the memories of purity.
Stepping out these days, the world seems
just a bit more dead to me than a corpse
& I wonder whether or not
any of my words could've saved it
& then i remember how bitter words
are when they're soaked in the venom
of an ageless sybill
snubbed by her son.
---------
Another way of destroying ourselves
Bottles of pills, boxes of beer, and baggies of weed
Underestimating the pain that these things can cause if used unrighteously
Swallowng, snorting, and shooting up these killers can
End the happiness in you life forever
Maybe I wear baggies
and white socks with flip-flops,
maybe I don't like listening to rave
and I'm not on the social mountaintops,
maybe I don't care about the things
that make your worlds twirl,
maybe you look at me and think:
Gee, what a nothing girl.
Maybe I like giving smiles
which seems to be a sin today,
and maybe I allow my imagination
to sometimes run away,
maybe you don't understand this
and that's why you cannot see,
if this make me a nothing girl,
hey, that's ok with me!
The world makes you believe
your personality mustn't be detected,
your face must be picture perfect
and wear cloths just the best, to be accepted.
Maybe I look at you
and feel sorry that you're blind,
robots you have became,
yourself you'll never find.
God made you, as well as me,
this means I am something,
the world is a liar
and if I must be a nothing
for you to see it,
then so be it!
Our mother made lasagna,
And then she went away.
She gave us full instructions.
We're left to find our way.
She wrote her notes on baggies,
Of prefabricated meals.
And put them in the freezer,
Under airlock seals.
We tried to follow closely,
All her helpful notes.
The meal looked very tasty,
Until it reached our throats.
The flour I mixed with water,
And dumped into the stew.
But it made it rather gummy,
And very hard to chew
This is not a great beginning.
The future looks real bleak.
We're growing very hungry.
But we've got another week!
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