memememe

Sonnet 83 -- The Winter of Life

sinking underneath the gray of winter

dead grass and brown leaves blooming in my yard

i’ll never be a shakespeare or a pinter

to listen to my feeble voice is hard

without a house or child i cannot speak

to those who lived a life within the norm

i am not a hippie, baby, i’m a freak

remembering my life within the dorm

my breasts are not an aerial display

i joke they are a navel maneuver

but everything i need comes my way

no longer a shaker or a mover

calling us “old” is not pejorative

we joke “consider the alternative”

Yesterday, 88 High Street in East Rutherford, one person dead, 2 injured firemen. I lived there from 1983-1986 and left when my husband stopped throwing things out. Much of this fire is my papers that I had to leave behind. He had started to save every bottle can box and newspaper that came into the house and I knew I had to leave. His father passed away and he went to live in the Philadelphia house but paid the rent here. I feel very upset and slightly responsible but at least the papers are gone now and I'm sure the Hoarder will just cling closer to his empty boxes in his new home.

Sonnet 82 - Act Our Age

All those things, all of those life or death things

That were going to make or break our lives

More than fifty years of up and down swings

No more important than a case of hives

Life will not be a million dollars

Or the great orgasmic love of our life

We’re cooks and cleaners and garbage haulers

Who pray that the bills don’t cause us more strife

But why not enjoy the end of the race

And leave the madness to younger hotties

Accept the sags and wrinkles of our face

And don’t spend money on botox bodies

If we don’t enjoy what we still can do

We will be failures when the ride is through

Bits and Pieces

1.

All those things, all of those life or death things
That were going to make or break our lives
More than fifty years of up and down swings
No more important than a case of hives

2.

He doesn’t shock me

any more

I guess

I understand

3.

Bad decisions made

Somehow I survived alive

My own enemy

4.

Blam! Flat on my back in reality

There is nothing left of Dorothy’s farm

Sonnet 81-- A Hopeless and Silent Jail

we are addicted to daydreams, i fear

seeking the breathless thrill of forbidden

yet no living being must come too near

invade the spot where our hearts are hidden

all of our lives pale without fantasy

no voice in reality can compare

warm flesh no longer provides ecstasy

imperfect humanness causes despair

it is now too late to begin again

fantasy lovers are only for sale

our days are ended as women and men

accept real humans or surely fail
the same for both the woman and the male

alone in a hopeless and silent jail

Three Haiku is Better than Two

linkedin goes the way

of my space and pinterest

is not far behind

philosophers know

how to 

but we must do it

waiting game all day

meds and nurse later

trapped by facebook and tv

Getting Hooked on Free Verse

four years old, my first crush on Roy Rogers

zoned out of my mother’s world of spankings

screams and Marlboros…dreaming ever since

first experience in love was a rape

married twice, fantasizing ideal men

paid their bills as they strayed to “better” chicks

left them both, turning daydreams into scripts

but again, my mind was thinking of men

the brave cowboy knight in shining armor

but now, i am not the girl they dream of

fed by the internet pornography

they can have all the high maintenance

obedient youngsters they desire

sans spending a cent or feeling a thing

i try not to feel abandoned alone

at least all of my scant money is mine

and my wit and friendships are still intact

reality sometimes seems a bit dull

and Trigger is stuffed in a museum

Random Bits

1. Free Verse

our pasts are riddled with painful mistakes

driven by anger and raging hormones

we cannonballed into love with a whoop

then slithered away in the dead of night

wounded children thrown into Woodstock’s fires

raised via improvisation by folks

who were not quite sure where babies came from

but if at least we can look back in shock

and trace the scars of brutal lessons learned

and no longer have anger at ourselves

2. Random Haiku

I have a million words

And not one of them

Will comfort your mind

Sonnet 80 -- Been There, Done That

Sonnet 80 -- Been There, Done That

Don’t doubt I know of all my great sweet luck

Income and insurance make El Dorado

About survival I don’t give a fuck

I know that Granny won’t win the Lotto

Looking back, I see a path full of mud

My slogging footsteps lead up to this point

Measured in tears and lost menstrual blood

Oh, forgive me for TMI, my Dear

But now my mantra is: Avoid Pitfalls

Old Women need not be sad and lonely

To concentrate on daily shit balls

And cling to life as we get more homely

This is the way life is supposed to be

Not trying to be young at sixty-three

A Short Burst

Menopause is the Fates'
Way of Telling You
To Rethink Your Desires

Sonnet 79 -- If Truth Be Told

Sonnet 79 -- If Truth Be Told

Sickly and weak right now, yes, even old

The recovery proceeds too slowly

I lack the vigor to be strong or bold

Start to think about Death and the Holy

Can an ugly woman create beauty

Never a decorative sex doll

I was always forced to do my duty

Obedient when loser men would call

Forgive me for resisting Facebook memes

But I’ve lost the fight for love or success

No more energy for aborted dreams

My boobs have dropped and my skin is a mess

I don’t know if to live or embrace death

Just hope I’m smiling to take my last breath

Sonnet 78--A Bad Week to be Growing Old

Sonnet 78--A Bad Week to be Growing Old

I want what I want right now, but I can’t

Step into old age, and do it alone

But I’ve learned that there’s no point in a rant

Even bad health doesn’t merit a moan

I’m trying to be the strongest and best

My sags and my wrinkles make me less dear

Of the standards of life, I failed the test

No mortgage or kids to keep a man near

And yet I have had the greatest of luck

An income and meds to keep me alive

Why still pursue love and the magic fuck

There comes a time to stop buying that jive

So put up with me in these weakest weeks

Give thanks I don’t speak of bowels and leaks

Sonnett 77 -- 2013 Grinds to a Start

The emptiness you feel when it’s over

Is why you let it fester far too long

In daydreams you rolled around in clover

You adored her like a lovesick King Kong

Wet dreams don’t allow for sags and wrinkles

The other doesn’t mind our hair is white

Sounds of Mozart music when she tinkles

And I imagined he would be my Knight

None of it grounded in reality

Menopause and illness curses me

Methinks My Lord is losing sanity

We fold the tent and into darkness flee

All that matters now is bare survival

Too late for Art or Love’s sweet revival