Category Archives: rant

Whimsy

Just kind of had some fun with this commentary. Still needs work and I got lazy and didn’t do a fourth verse, but here it is from March/Nov 2014

What if mermaids poured down
from the sky into Baltimore Street?
Fins flapping
Flopping as they land.
And they crawl away in search of water
anything wet…mist, puddles, the ocean…
How long would they survive?
From the middle of the city to wherever
they could drag themselves
breathing heavily, short breaths
the gills in their neck, panicking the scales
leaving shimmering slime behind
as they crawl down Charles St
towards the harbor
ignoring the shouts all around,
“Don’t go there! The water will kill you!”
It’s a risk to try.
Or not to.
What would you do, if you were a mermaid
landing desperate in Baltimore?

A pulp of orange
pumpkins turned jagged-teeth men
or witches, cats, aliens,
an unusual likeness of Elvis
sit wondering on St Paul, waiting for what they’ve heard
will be the night of nights
what they’ve been grown for
will glow for.
What would you do as you sat with a candle in your head
knowing – because you’ve heard –
that tomorrow you’ll still sit here. Your hat burned.
Your hate brimming? because you’ve heard
that soon your mouth withers, wrinkles, wraps around
your teeth and eyes, sinking in to cement steps.
And you’ll still sit here.
And sit here.
And sit here. Still on St Paul.
But on that night, would you refuse to glow as high candied legs
yell “Trick or Treat!”?
Would you straighten up proud of the carves and scars
that will rot tomorrow anyway?
Would you think why not shine?
Do you feel a choice inside?
Until a good child gone costumed stomps down. Hard.

Standing strong against the sun
snowmen, bravely hold out their skinny stick arms,
giving the world a high-five. Or the finger.
Some just want to be left alone –
to freeze (for what they may imagine) forever
What would you do if you knew?
Maybe you would want freedom – to melt
in your own way. Maybe head first
or you’d let the left belly-roll slide off.
It all flows back in to the ground. Or the gutter.
How would you withstand the heat,
knowing – against hope – that spring was inevitable?
Would you slip into oblivion? Silent?
Or protest on the corner of North Avenue, as you stood there
until your mouth melted.

Then there’s Spring.

water-drops

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Consonance in the key of love-minor

I admit, this one is purely my own selfish indulgence in my love for the beauty of words…

In light years ahead, can love be seen,
a traveling gleam from this point of view through hundreds of — fears?
And if so, is it trial or triumph?
or simply a trip:
today’s augmented reality: a Thai-fervor with exotic graphics?

Or is it a lonesome lacking
a balloon looking
(like a vagrant Valentine)
frightened of the inescapable
landscape that looms
largely
replacing the lazy longing for love?

A seeking
or freezing?
Learning love
and hating
stepping on
or via vice versa

(My toes are numb…still…)

So artful glances shoot spitefully like a cat,
hair on ends, tail straight up,
suspicious of simpering selves

Suspicious of savory sweets
Scintillating streams of swiss chocolate
thick, melt in your mouth unmentionables
(It’s impossible to talk, anyway, with your mouth full)

A string-along
a run of words
wondering at what moment it would be wise to win?

Or lose?
(A great loss can more than lengthen the lack of lackadaisical looks)

Defenses appear
Hackles instantly rise

A run-on sentence
becomes a rambling Rover of rumors,
the Pied Piper of the painful poets
Forces the English language
to match that effervescent (and sometimes frenetic) language of love…eons ago
eons and languid eons ago.

Whoever may, will
Find love
A laughable test if anyone really knows it well enough,
swelling up
full of philanthropy
Or for some: philandering
(or phallic fallacy?).
All would like to imagine that
no, it must be more than
Phileo

It’s tough, they know
complicated, we know,
but some just don’t give up trying
even when they beg to
die to
love too

It hurts
but in the end, (forgive the moral
but it must be made, you know.)
In the end,
I (amongst all the vice and voice)

Could only hope
that the words and wanderings were worth it, despite wary and wearing
Lifting
like that balloon
Searching for
(not even demarcation or demonstration)
more than decoration

maybe even for deflation
in some one’s lonesome yard.

And it is enough.
It is enough for me.

The List

Today. Of all Days.
She’ll end her day with a Missed Connection.
Correction: Poor Souls Reaching Out to Rich Souls

To feel better? Or feel
less through this voyeuristic, vicarious life. “Sorry I stared, but…” She can only hope Georgia returns to Cross Street Market or remembers what Dan was wearing.

Where Vacation Rentals promise tempting retreats – rich souls reaching out to lonely souls, as if it was hard enough to find some one to replace those memories in the “Florida Oceanfront Condo” in “Ormond by the Sea”.

I’d rather “Get my dream rental today”.
Be careful of scammers. During vacations.
During moving sales. Taking
advantage of the eager 20-something Mary Tyler Moore coming to the brave new city finding the perfect Beautiful Rental Townhome w/ Renovated High End Kitchen. Must See!

“Me.”

And well, once she’s found the perfect “Maybe Come By and See” sublet, her life has a For Sure Need to be filled with bikes, boats, books, tickets and tools for in the Spendthrift’s Bible, Matthew’s counterpart (“for sale by dealer”) will somehow make it necessary for a Stand-Up Freezer, but she’ll buy a Bread Maker instead for the sake of the memories kneaded.

The smell that suddenly permeates her senses through the glow of the Apple computer.

Who would not need a Sunbeam Bread-maker that makes a 2 pound loaf? This For Sale by Owner because he or she (probably them?) are Selling Due To Move Overseas. Was that over-share really necessary?

And a great sigh cycles and bakes deep in her stomach, releases the discontent, slowly.

Back to Clicking and Browsing.

If she were an artist, perhaps her space may have room for Figure and Fine Art Nude Model For Hire. Does Wanderlust count?

Or just lust.

So much loss and loneliness all over the world. Capitalized on. For hire? Seeking and Selling. Weighs down heavy like the long numbered e-mail addresses made for not-remembering.

Reminders to Remember that Communism In Full Strength Capitalism on Brink of Collapse.
Perhaps.
She’ll keep her Rant to herself.
So many people afraid and only brave enough to throw opinions over the other side of the wall without seeing if they catch or cure.
Obama to Sign Small Arms Treaty.

“Not mine.” This aloud and disappointed.

If the artist thing won’t work, she’ll collect herself through the fog of Fahrenheit Four-Fifty-One Furniture.
Books and Antiques for Sale, ingenuity disguised in delicate scruffs, scuffs – perhaps that Antique Stoneware Butter Churn for two-hundred and fifty dollars will make a decoration next to the IKEA bookshelf
(in the discontinued – but rather snazzy – dark gray color)
which will hold the third-to-new Brides Book: ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT GETTING MARRIED. Great Condition.

Ex-fiancee. Not so much.

In the end, can she solemnly swear that she is at least 18 years old and will flag as “prohibited” anything illegal or in violation.
She can.
And only flags her tired skepticism. Making a note of it. Price-tagging it. Buoyed slightly (though suddenly) by the fact that Katey found Gregory Hayden’s wallet.

Could she be the violation? Peering through the tiny 3-sentence windows into worries, needs, positions, Chances in a Lifetime, quavering moments when so many believe this is IT: “To the woman at the Alliance Mailing House, I wish I had the courage to ask you too dinner”.

Odds are a million to one…That she’ll see it. That you will. That she will say ‘yes’.

It’s tempting to flag him. Just out of spite at the one odd. But instead, one more entry: For Sale: One Computer. One bitten Apple. Still Good. Just Need to Get Away.

WOULD YOU LOVE TO DRIVE TO CALIFORNIA BUT HAVE NO VEHICLE?

Would she…?

Suppose she shuts the lid? Snaps it shut. Would they all still exist? The Gorgeous Tame Female Ball Python, Improv Troupe, The Music Ensembles for Events-Parties-Weddings, the Cartoonist.

Suppose the line draws? The lid shuts? The strings clamp? The Molecular Monitoring pauses, erasing the Words in 1998 font, frozen in time.

Erasing her.

Suppose she lays down and folds her arms and closes the lid?

Released

Just fresh off the brainstorming page…coffee is for conversation, not “to go”.

I sat still today
a dangerous split
from all things unhealthy
Wondering what I would think about
Without
instantaneouseyecatchingmobile

updates.

My tongue tasted the emptiness
My eyes – at first skittish –
averting
began to rest
stare even – to the discomfort of those around me

like a gasping fish
long dry
soaking up an unrecognizable world
somehow familiar
painted in fuchsia.

And apart from the instant filters that flicker
in and through and over
conversations,
What do I?
What do I
actually think?
The lack of voice inside my head is loud
acronyms expand
conversations wait for words
un-pre-meditated
un-deleted and unannounced

A whole spontaneous world available
to make beautiful mistakes.