Thursday, June 28, 2012

Sonnet 61 – On The Road Again

Sonnet 61 – On The Road Again

Finally doing that Seattle trip
That I had to postpone two years ago
But allowed me to give life one last sip
And of this that is all you need to know
Once more I see my madman: Pacific
Strange name for such amazing wild water
Makes our Atlantic less than terrific
We lack sea lion and friendly otter
Too many people my age are dying
And I won’t be that far behind, I fear
To say I have no regrets is lying
I know not to waste my days with a tear
Alas, the funds for trips will cease to be
I must let reality manage me

Monday, June 25, 2012

Sonnet 60 – We Commence a Hearty Babble

Sonnet 60 – We Commence a Hearty Babble

Wandering weirdly through the world, I stop
And damned if all my ducks ain’t in a row
I never wanted to be Mom and Pop
And I’ve never worn my hair in a bow
Sweetheart, you think you’re sick of some people
I just tossed my three best friends in the trash
(And left myself with the one rhyme: steeple)
So now I prepare the trip to Seattle
Hoping that I have the strength to do this
Letting an airline treat me like cattle
The poster child for this fucking MS
Bid me adieu till the 9th of July
I’m sure that you’ll find a way to get by

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Sonnet 59 – Prithee, My Love--You’re Nuts

Sonnet 59 – Prithee, My Love--You’re Nuts
Love means never having to say “You’re nuts”
And that is where I ended ev’ry time
I’d like to meet a man who had some guts
(At last, I have a word that rhymes with rhyme)
But those men who can make relationships
Have successfully committed for life
Alas, the rest are egocentric drips
Who want a brainless body for a wife
I think I took too long to get this straight
And wasted precious time on hopeless cases
I believe it’s better never than late
These legs are only good for watching races
I only have the time to be a friend
And share a few wry laughs before the end

Friday, June 22, 2012

Brief Encounters

Men use love to get sex
And women sex to love
But all are short changed

So you think that having a dick
Is something rare and wonderful
And you have made a woman come
Oh, good for you, my Sweetie Pie
I invented the vagina
And I gave out the first blow job
So, if all that matters is sex
One question nibbles at my mind

Why are we still alone?

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Sonnet 58 – No One Here Gets Out Alive

Sonnet 58 – No One Here Gets Out Alive

I feel the cold breath of Death on my neck
Sped along by the Multiple Sclerosis
I’m no longer playing with a full deck
And everyone who knows me knows this
Time to stop dreaming of new adventure
To mop the kitchen floor and scrub the can
If only I could act firmly when sure
And control the bull of needing a man
But I do take a joy in finding rhymes
With more challenging words than in Will’s day
And rebelling in Occupying times
Old age is fun if the bills you can pay
Thought of line one while driving up the hill
The rest of this sonnet I soon did fill

Monday, June 18, 2012

Sonnet 57 – Curling Up With My Portfolio

Sonnet 57 – Curling Up With My Portfolio
Oh, Baby, Baby, oh Baby, Baby
Of all the gin damn joints in all the world
There isn’t even a chance of maybe
All of my fast balls and sliders were hurled
I got nothing left in my bag of tricks
Which was almost empty to begin with
I’ve never been one of the first draft picks
And loving a broad for her mind is myth
I don’t believe the inspiring memes
Most of my sisters are better than me
And rule in spike heels and nylons with seams
And are younger and prettier to see
I failed as a playwright and as a wife
But at least I have a Bozo-free life

Saturday, June 16, 2012

A Little Free Verse To Prove I'm Alive

Dollars and scents
I want the real
To hear live voices
A hand in mine
The taste of food
Living choices
Pretty pictures
And rhyming words
Are not enough
Make reality
Define your day
Let it be tough
The shining sun
And breathe real air
Now pardon me
While I escape
From out this chair

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Sonnet 56 – Fly Away

Sonnet 56 – Fly Away
The morass of fantasies and daydreams
Holds the souls of our living, breathing friends
Whom we fain try to squeeze into our schemes
To feed our own selfish and silly ends.
Too much was lost in bad translation
And noisy fights and false accusation
Almost destroyed our communication
Being separated by a nation.
But now, I pray to share your joy and trust
Reminded I am both friend and sister
How good to watch you grow and shake the rust
Few are as strong and good as you, Mister.
Now must I let my Eagle fly away
And find a mate to soar with him...HOORAY!

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Sonnet 55 – Death and Taxes

Sonnet 55 – Death and Taxes

What more can I say? There’s nothing I can do.
Is Love enough to rescue fading souls?
No one in the right mind would desire you,
It’s getting late; too late for reaching goals.
Eat a meal and sing a song or three,
And take five days and fly to Seattle.
No one to give a shit if I am free,
All these sad words are just a Death’s rattle.
Oh, yes! Of course! I know it could be worse.
I’m safe in the suburbs with food and friends.
I know that there’s nothing that I should curse,
It’s time to wrap it up and plan our ends.
Our time upon the stage nearing curtain,
Just death and taxes are safely certain.

Friday, June 8, 2012

Sonnet 54 – Inspire Me Again, Big Guy

Sonnet 54 – Inspire Me Again, Big Guy
Facing problems on my own, I panic,
But do I dare to show my trembling heart?
They wait for us to embrace the manic
And sweep our crumbs up when we fall apart.
I want to jump in my car and just drive.
Leave this old and crippled body behind.
I’m sick of just trying to stay alive.
My body is failing, and soon the mind.
And yet, you give to me inspiration,
Becoming wiser and so very brave
That you make me think we all can win.
I nominate you for Jesus to save.
Take it from a doomed Unitarian,
You are God’s beloved contrarian.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

The Steady Drip, Drip, Drip of Reinhard, June 6, 2012

The Steady Drip, Drip, Drip of Reinhard, June 6, 2012

The most depressing place to get gray hair is not on your head. We’ll leave it at that.

you and me
i do
i think about us
day and night
so happy together
my friends
and my shrink
want me to stop
but what fun
is that?

This is a particularly nasty era to be growing old: caught between the good old free spending, high debt days where we would charge a liposuction or facelift on the Mastercard and not worry if it were ever paid off; and the new Happy Fascism, which has decided that if you’re not rich, you should be die.  

I’m getting bored with me.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Sonnet 53 -- Masses of Asses Ruin the Classes

Sonnet 53 -- Masses of Asses Ruin the Classes
A nonsense sonnet for a nonsense world
Where the usual is skewed and rotten
The poetry is not sung but is hurled
And probably should be best forgotten
The game is almost over and I choked
The audience went home without applause
Too old and grey and crippled to be poked
All opportunity did slip my paws
Comfort no longer comforts this artist
Security becomes a limp penis
Less than poet, I am just a fartist
And do I honestly really mean this?
Forcing my rhymes with a hammer of sledge
I think that I’m firmly over the edge

Saturday, June 2, 2012

The Steady Drip, Drip of Reinhard June 2, 2012

The Steady Drip, Drip of Reinhard  June 2, 2012
I was a little out of character today and complained about a meme. It was yet another glorification of the strong, defiant, opinionated woman whom men should appreciate and listen to…plastered on top of a picture of a buxom and skinny young half naked woman. With this kind of illustration, you are saying, “Follow these rules and you will have sex with women like this,” and that’s not the point. I don’t care if sex is the only way to reach certain men, if you illustrate a plea for respect with a pinup, you are once more reducing us to fun vaginas. Men have fun penises and we don’t mix that up with respect and appreciation because, as usual, men are esteemed for their minds and accomplishments. And yes, there’s a touch of bitterness here because I have lost my looks and will never get them back. With my medicines for MS puffing up my body and covering my skin with brown spots; and my hair greying and the skin wrinkling and sagging, I don’t have to be told again “Game over.” I got it. And I am still be friends with the last man to tell me this because he was so honest with me. But it’s a bit disingenuous to tell us that someone can still desire us for our wits and intellect. Bullshit! There are 2 million more women then man in the US. If a man has enough money, he can look like a toad with eczema and still get laid. And he can find a hot piece with as much wit and intelligence as Madeleine Albright or Hillary Clinton, neither of whom qualifies for "Hot Piece" anymore. Women are more merciful to men. Maybe it’s because men can father children till they’re ninety and women lack the siren call of fertility after menopause, even if we still enjoy sex. (YES! We do.) I don’t think the answer to this question is arriving soon in this pornographic atmosphere. And simultaneously, the new Right Wing is pushing to disenfranchise and devalue women . This is the time we need to assert that we are more than wives and mothers and sex toys. Yeah, I know, Grandma Reinhard is none of these, but I would like to see one small change in my world…put the inspiration and respect and rebellion on pictures of real women, not Bollywood sex symbols. God bless you if you look like one, but Honey, few of us do.

Friday, June 1, 2012

Something Something Something

Something Something Something

i can’t remember the words any more
am I just old or so overloaded
with similes and metaphors and rhymes
and blue skies and green grass and red sunrise
that I can’t see straight

and the songs, dear god, the thousands of songs
running through my mind and over my tongue
of love and protest and wild party time
and earth and peace and love and love and love
that has turned to hate

didn’t they tell me my work was over
and i’ve earned my rest and still, empty days
but i walk over the bones of children
and hate the ones in charge, who fucked it up
leaving me with guilt

where is the country we thought we had made
with the songs and marches of years gone by
it’s trampled over by money and hate
and turning into a foul, fetid swamp
not the world I built