Sonnet 76 -- New Year's Already????

Another New Year…this one is quiet

People drink and laugh and blast a cheap horn

We pledge to write and get on that diet

We’ll forget we said it tomorrow morn

I leave Times Square to the young and the strong

No more adventures, I plan to survive

Sickness makes my aging life seem too long

I guess we had good years to be alive

We had the sex, the booze and rock and roll

I want to rest now and fuck the worry

Too much of failure has taken its toll

No fame or profit, just tell a story

And just try to enjoy my twenty thirteen

Happy for life, if you know what I mean

Sonnet 75 The Golden One

american memes and philosophies

tell us that we should dream and not accept

the time comes you know you won’t find the keys

and it’s thirty years since you should have leapt

even the young ones are finding doors closed

hungry people now are standing in line

and we all are feeling that we’ve been hosed

i can’t risk losing what little is mine

so accept the truth, you silly old crone

you won’t be discovered at sixty three

and that man won’t change and pick up the phone

thank the Gods for being well fed and free

we made our art and bedded some beauties

let’s laugh and forget ambition’s duties

Sonnet 74 -- A Christmas Pudding

Not having children or starting careers

We had our chances and we walked away

Happiness will come if we face our fears

Beginnings are done and won’t start today

We finish the race and are summing up

There is wisdom in our stark survival

We no longer need to drink from the cup

I know I’m not the young woman’s rival

But we are experts in life’s challenges

And I, at least, have the time to reflect

We can teach them tactics and revenges

And end our lives with a touch of respect

Too late for fame or children or houses

We can still roar like lions not mouses

Sonnet 73 quack said the fish

a pause to clean the glass, like it matters

there is nothing in life that will succeed

watching the world collapse as it shatters

no wealth or fame I didn’t even breed

get sick have tests cut you open survive

and why am I chosen to have enough

while better folks die I can stay alive

have a roof and a meal and too much stuff

but there will be no lover or award

can no longer swim as the waters rise

there is no relief miss boring is bored

the strength is leaving my sagging old thighs

my art was always close but no cigar

let those more talented stock the bazaar

Small Steps in the Return to Words

you really have to touch the ones you love

telephones and web cams are not enough

you know that you have moved on from a love

when angered at the woman who hurt him

this sudden, burning pain in my stomach

has made me into a better woman

The Self-Destruct Button

Can We Every Destroy the Self-Destruct Button?

Tall and Skinny

And Artistic

Poet, Actor, Painter

I’ve done it over and over

With the same result

The self-destruct button

Always wins

And I always lose

To the girl who

Wants to push

The button

With him

Sonnet 72 -- Bad Sonnet on the Hurrican

I took a drive to see what I could see

And yes, we are indeed in luck today

Branches, trash cans, and leaves were broken free

Some errant Angel must have come my way

Three big trees down on Watchung Avenue

I have no taste for revelry tonight

Halloween, we will not be having you

We have Mother Nature to give us fright

But still, I am pleased with my Governor

And am moved by American courage

Undefeated by the bitch Sandy’s roar

We clean ourselves up and turn the damned page

And pray that we can heed the warning

And stop the madness of global warming

Sonnet 72 --Hurricanes, Weird Macs and Bitchy Moods

This Lady doth be like unto a bitch

How dare they call a hurricane “Sandy”?

The name should be that of an evil witch

Not some stupid female cotton candy!

Look at your life? Just look at mine! A waste!

No husband, children or play productions

Of success Reinhard’s never had one taste

No love has touched her thousand seductions

All she’s achieved is to somehow survive

And finally grown a crippled backbone

Sitting here waiting for the storm to arrive

Once more happier to be home alone

But even burdened with this stupid ass MS

I want to think I might still have success

Sonnet 71--On Posterity

Shakespeare did not know that he was Shakespeare

But I know I have no posterity

Paper lacks the strength of canvas, I fear

My age and illness demands reality

Butt-kissing trips to NYC are done

Can’t subsidize their rent with workshop fees

Besides, rehearsals are no longer fun

I say the wrong thing and no longer please

But on the television screen last week

In the closing credits, I saw your name

Your art is purchased by the ones who seek

A timeless master who lives in the frame

You’ve earned a rest and an easier life

We’ll see to the fame, you go find a wife

Sonnet for a friend on his Fifty-Fifth Birthday

Sonnet for a friend on his Fifty-Fifth Birthday

Life is a series of crises solved

And decisions that seemed wise at the time

Too fast to understand what had devolved

We thought it right but the line doesn’t rhyme

The clothes of a young man no longer fit

But the boy is still there behind the eyes

Some of life is perfect and some is shit

So hard to sort out the truth from the lies

But here we are, still alive and kicking

Learning and building and loved by our God

Friends and Art and Joy to keep us ticking

Glory in being beautifully odd

And I hope you have a lovely autumn

And find your perfect lace-covered bottom

First Stab at writing a new ending for Amour Americain

Don’t comfort me! Stop trying to help! I’m just a crippled warrior who has no foe except  for my disease and age and uselessness. Who can’t even save the life of the man she loves! Chrissie! My Cadette…help me stand! The Devil is in the air tonight and I do not want him catching me sitting  in a chair.

(Siriana moves to the stair, holding on to the rail, looking where Roxy disappeared.)

All my books and education are lies

Youth, health and beauty remain our masters

Oh, I know what my Epitaph will be

They will call me Teacher and Poetess

Survivor of Multiple Sclerosis

Whom no successful man could ever love.

And they’re right.

Despite fame and fortune and all my art

I know there lives the foolish girl in me

Without house or child…without a husband

Writing a hundred times in my notebook:

Mrs. Robert Xavier Yeager.

Who is, in reality, his widow.

Dressed in black.

The Press hovers over my dying light

Like a careless Goddess, rubbing her hands

Waiting for my voice to finally cease

Oh, I know what my Epitaph will be

She was a strong poster child for MS

Who helped the poor and voiceless of the world.

Fought greed and hatred and cowardice

Sirianna Diane Bergmann

Who thought she was a big hot deal

But the Media, that giant asshole

With Facebook and Twitter analysis

Will bring her reputation back to Earth.

Will call her blank verse rhymeless gibberish

Just another voice screaming in the dark.

(Chrissie brings Sirianna her cane.)

But my Cadettes! My Sisterhood! My friends! It’s not what we said but that we were heard! Keep fighting! Keep marching! And keep loving. Love with all your heart and soul…with style and panache!

And always remember.

Siriana D. Bergmann was not crippled!

SHE WAS ARMED!

 (Siriana thrusts her cane to the sky. Lights down. End of play.)