Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Sonnet XXXII -- It Took Me Long Enough

thirty-seven years old and newly free
no longer servant to parent or man
up the American financial tree
and chained to a job, doing what I can
should have gone on alone at twenty-three
not slave to any man who looked my way
lacking the courage and the means to flee
my looks and i.q. couldn’t carry the day
caught between suburbanite and hippie
trapped by my husbands’ sad hermitic lives
schizophrenia outsiders couldn’t see
turning to hell for unfortunate wives
prosperous alone for twenty-five years
at last free at last from insults and tears

Sunday, January 29, 2012

A Tossed Salad of Small Poems

i can’t give myself what you need
wouldn’t even know where to start
damned stigmata refuse to bleed
can’t find the poison in my heart
an aging useless shikse girl
who doesn’t want to play no more
can’t have sex on a tilt-a-whirl
doesn’t care if you slam the door

January air is still and stealthy
People would say that it isn’t healthy
It teases chilled humans with thoughts of snow
Before the winds have decided to blow
Nothing good is started in winter time
Not even a smallish and piquent rhyme

lost words
karaoke without music
conversation on the run

be so wrapped
in today’s work
that yesterday’s
are forgotten

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Sonnet XXXI – Do I Smell a Draft of Amour?

Deep in the nuts and bolts of creation,
I run the spell check and contact actors.
Somehow clinging to my inspiration,
Trying to organize all the factors,
Which twist a mass of words into a play,
A script, an event, a night of drama
That gets a paying audience to stay
And listen to pentameter Mama
Let’s pretend that we’re young and beautiful,
With all the riches that fantasy brings.
Respected, sought after and dutiful,
All of the typical successful things.
Dance and dally with scenes of comedy
End with inevitable tragedy.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Sonnet XXX -- Frankly, my Dear, You're Boring

At some point you must log off of Facebook,
Make chat rooms and telephones go silent.
Just sit and force yourself to take a hard look
At your life, though it may make you violent.
Our parents didn’t train us to survive.
Made us into Princes or Princesses,
Or a shy Cinderella, half alive.
Guaranteed we wouldn’t be successes.
We cannot soothe ourselves with fantasy,
Dreaming success only in our minds,
Where we are rich and sexy and sassy,
Beloved of all desirable kinds.
Sixty two years is long enough for lies
I want to see myself with open eyes.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Sonnet XXIX -- Enough Already, Let It Go!

Why is the only inspiration Love?
The world is full of horror and beauty,
That should make us cry to the Gods above,
And fulfill artistic holy duty.
For all my plays and your masterful art,
How did we end up in hate and alone?
You look for a girl to enact a part,
And I for a male to throw me a bone.
We both could make a shrink really wealthy,
Trying to find happiness at our age.
We’ve never had a romance that’s healthy,
And didn’t die in disappointed rage.
I hope these are the last lines you inspire,
And we find new Muses to light our fire.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Pornographic Addiction -- Adults Only

Do you want white lace or black lace
Wedding gown or bustier
Do you want a sweet virgin’s face,
Or “Hey, Big Boy whaddayasay”

Reduce love to lubrication
And banging all the hot night long
Aiming for ejaculation
The G spot’s overwhelming song

When does it become addiction
Overwhelming all of your sense
When does it become affliction
Leaving you trapped inside a fence

So many websites on the Net
Full of faceless women and men
Masturbation all warm and wet
Over and over and again

There is no career or marriage
More important than the sickness
Of living on an unknown edge
Bragging of your length or thickness

Without the burden of the truth
A costumed teenage fantasy
No demands for us, forsooth
No nasty responsibility

Call the phone women feminists
By a very male definition
Pretend you’re not recidivists
Free from any dull thought of sin

Something happened to cause this mess
That excited and disturbed you
Repeat it with numbing sameness
Try to find a way to get through

Your talent and your brain are starved
This artificial Web of sex
Your children unborn, your Love carved
Into pieces of arms and legs and pecs

It’s impossible to cure, I fear
Once hooked by the Dominatrix
It continues year after year
The only way to get your kicks

I know the sweet release you seek
When the leather bond chokes your breath
To stop the mem’ry of being weak
With the blessed kisses of death

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Sonnet XXVIII -- Santa Baby

I say “enough!” to pointless dreams of Love
The vaunted possibilities of Sex
The Gods won’t pour happiness from above
At our age a harness could break our necks
Our health and money must take precedence
I leave younger folks to pay for dinner
And do romantic things that make no sense
And pretend that they are a careless sinner
You can’t return to being a young swain
I will no more be a choice piece of ass
You’re going to have to earn it for your brain
Accept that rich men will buy the hot lass
As for me, covered with sags and wrinkles
Accept the men who look like Kris Kringles

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Sonnet XXVII - One is the Cheapest Number

Sometimes I wish the fairy tales were true
Where I’d be tatting a bit of lace
And watching as my perfect children grew
And gazing at my perfect husband’s face
He would be in charge of silly finance
While I would arrange dinner with the staff
Amuse him with a pretty little dance
Greet his pronouncements with a girlish laugh
Not one of my men could balance checkbooks
I had to earn the rent and clean the house
And they all told me they hated my looks
Skulked off with other women like a louse
Thank God I’ve been alone for thirty years
And freed myself of all their sorry rears

Monday, January 16, 2012

The Moving Finger Moves On, Flipping Us Off

we’re not what we thought we would be
are we, kiddo?
i’ll bet a lot of people thought
we’d end up here.

alone and childless, living on the web,
family far,
wonderful friends but too busy
to be around.

this is the life we have in age
time to see it,
i never got into battle.
you ran away.

maybe since I’m older and lame
it’s easy now
to learn to live simply retired
and stop fighting

could have done it differently
but it’s too late
and there’s no point in worrying
about the past

the moving finger having writ
moves on blindly
what’s done is done and set in stone
our history

so i do bad poems and plays
and try to laugh
and sing in church in the wrong key
try to protest

there will be no love to rescue
either of us
unless we stop daydreaming the plot
and take what comes

alas i’m in a better place
not addicted
to yesterday’s wild adventures
with teenaged boys

i want to be mature enough
for good old men
who’ve loved and lost and lived to tell
me their story

maybe help to push the country
back to goodness
and help the next lost generation
to have a life

better than ours

Saturday, January 14, 2012

Sonnett XXVI My Lady Doth Have An Crappy Mood

I’m bored and tired of mere survival.
There is little more than social chatter,
And waiting for the mail’s dull arrival.
I even question the things that matter.
What value is Art if it’s all just lost?
Politics is a futile petition,
To politicians who don’t know the cost,
Of leaving us in a prone position.
I must remember the ride is too short,
And not one of us knows all the answers.
We are expected to hold down the fort,
Till we end in accidents or cancers.
Sick of listening to my whining voice,
But, sigh, I guess that I got no damned choice.

Friday, January 13, 2012

Sonnet XXV -- A Little Less Conversation A Little More Action

In the underwear of faceless women
Lays a secret passage to paradise
A whirligig dream of bliss and semen
Where copulation is never a vice
If you play your lust in daydream theater
Without the mess of a breathing woman
You won’t be called a bastard or cheater
Or a rat or skunk or other vermin
But is sex by telephone worth the dime
Or doesn’t that matter after a while
Is it hotter if it feels like a crime
You get no closer than the keypad dial
I prefer the memory of naked love
The feel of skin as he crouches above

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Aging with a Final Laugh

Aging with a Final Laugh
By Susan B. Reinhard, Copyright 2012

A man and a woman can make a child
By dropping into bed
Remembering how humans once were wild
Sans the use of the head

I’ve reached the age where I am free of sex
A woman has no choice
Lucky I had one spectacular ex
No, I won’t hush my voice

To any of my wants and lusts and needs
Even a Facebook poke
Is wrong because my garden has no seeds
A Playboy Grandma joke

But thank you for showing me sex’s slaves
Who think of little more
Than turning their beds into joyless graves
Where it all seems a bore

I know that wounds caused this situation
And they are not to blame
But let me find other inspiration
And Arts to fire my flame

Think first of the Earth and starving children
Put my life in order
Think hard on this pivotal election
Don’t be such a hoarder

Refuse to waste money on makeup and dye
Don’t waste money on rags
Don’t attempt to catch a man with a lie
Laugh at the lines and sags

Fat old redheads without money or height
Can somehow be a Queen
And thrive alone with just one simple rule:
“Replace man with machine”

Monday, January 9, 2012

Getting My Ducks in A Row (Stop Quacking!)

Blueberries, strawberries,
Bananas, raspberries
And pineapple
Blend it with bran
And fruit juice
And freeze in half cups

Take the grass fed beef
And free range chicken
And divide it up
4 ounces per day

Make three different soups
Of beans and vegetables.
My freezer is full now
I have all that I need

The blizzard chest
Is full of canned food
And boxed soy
And rice milk

I have dish soap
And laundry soap
And shampoo
And batteries
And toothpaste

All of it low fat
And low salt
And without wheat.
My life is

And perfectly boring

Even with the theater
Even with the gym
Even with church
Even with my friends
Even with the politics

I would rather
Be young
And dance
And make love
And drink
Diet Coke

I will finally
Clean the apartment
And watch the news

Read these
Bloody books

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Sonnet XXIV – That’s Me On The YouTube

Sonnet XXIV – That’s Me On The YouTube

Haven’t yet made it to The Spotlight News.
Despite raw and shameless solipcism.
I’m pleased to see that I am getting views
Though I haven’t quite lost my religion.
Do you consider this face as subtext?
And would you if I were a male poet?
I pray my white head doesn’t leave you vexed
And the sag of my chin doesn’t blow it.
Yes, I said “Blow it”, you now may chuckle.
Like the Zen masters Butthead and Beavis.
Shakespeare would say til thine knees doth buckle.
I should end this before senses leave us.
I have joined the age of the video
One more clown in digital rodeo.

Friday, January 6, 2012

Late Night Videos

A black and white
On color stock.
Shades of gray ripple
Your ashen face
Deep worry lines over
Dark darting eyes
You want me to see it
You make sure
I do.
That if I touch
The screen
We are
Not female
We are
Not male
All I ask is
You survive.
On opposite sides
Of the World
You talking and talking
About the past
About yesterday
Me silent
Placing my fingers
On your lips
Stroking your
Snowy Hair
Saying “Hush,
My Darling,
Let the past go
Think of today
Free yourself
Let it go
Take the burden
Off your back
Before it
Kills you.
Before you
And leave
No image
All I ask is
You survive.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Too Late for You, But Not for Me

Living without fantasies
Is like living on thin air
Fainting from the lack of breath

The chocolate of the mind
Has kept us from seeking truth
And made our lives a slow death

I awake my throat is dry
At least I am all alone
Without the extra onus

Of dead and dying lovers
From whom smart women have run
But I regard as bonus

The world lives on fumes and lies
And might not make tomorrow
Madness lives in the water

Children and the elderly
Slated for destruction as
Politicians’ fodder

Old and fat with silver hair
There is no time for dreaming
But only desperate actions

The bigots want to kill a race
Leave the rest to slavery
Divided into factions

I am useful on the ground
There is no retirement
Seven miles from Newark

Sanity is demanded
In the here and now today
Everyone must do work

So save yourself, aging boy
Stop whining about the past
You screwed the pooch, my Dear

Get off your damned pedestal
Join the masses in reality
And redeem your skinny rear