Monday, February 18, 2013

i'm in pieces--bits and pieces...d. clark

losing the real man
is never as upsetting
as losing the dream

So much pain in the world
But I feel no passion
Save for the personal
Which is out of fashion

alone together
is what many of us choose
from desperation

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Sonnet 86 -- Valentine Leftovers

Sonnet 86 -- Valentine Leftovers

leftover Valentine’s candy half price
inspirational and humorous memes
most women are left to our own device
men masturbate to picture magazines
the married awake and cook up the eggs
raise their children and redesign the world
no longer worried about chests and legs
or makeup or how their damned hair is curled
we are superficial failures my love
hooked on pornography and dull daydreams
posing as artists guided from above
moaning about how we aren’t parts of teams
so bend your head and show humility
love the souls who dwell in reality

Thursday, February 14, 2013

The Story of Tommy and Sadie

The Story of Tommy and Sadie

My Dad, having been laid off by the Johnstown, Pennsylvania Steel mill, moved us to Cleveland, Ohio in 1957. Unwittingly, we moved into an apartment building right next to a Stockyard. Must have been really cheap. We settled in and started school and then one night, we went out on the back porch of our apartment and sitting there was the biggest gray striped cat we had ever seen. His nose was all chopped up and scarred and he was missing half an ear. Obviously, he worked in the stockyards. We went inside and got a slice of bologna and he happily ate it up, and then, surprisingly, hopped up on the porch swing and sat between us, purring and appreciating little girl cuddles.

My father always said a house wasn’t a home without a gray striped cat and promptly gave him the name “Tommy”, which he named ALL of our cats because he thought there was no other appropriate name. Now, Tommy, being at least 15 pounds, was the king of the stockyards. In those days, cats went out at night and we would hear huge, yawling, hissing battles and the other cats would come running out of the dark at high speed with Tommy walking behind them with a slow, quiet John Wayne strut. And let’s just say, all the kittens born in the neighborhood were gray striped. But he adored we two little girls enough to let us put the baby doll dresses on him and roll him around in a tiny baby buggy if that’s what we wanted. He was the coolest cat alive.

In 1958, we moved to a small, one story tract house on 122nd Street. Tommy still went out at night…always returning in the morning to come inside the house and sleep: leaving huge piles of dead rats and birds on the back porch, to thank us for the bologna and Purina. We would wait for him to fall asleep and then Dad would bury our gifts. Dad and Tommy did fight a lot as Dad didn’t like him getting into the unfinished crawl space and inviting friends in for a little moaning cat fight club. Dad would scoot into the crawl space on his stomach and two minutes later, cats would come flying out the window, hurled by Dad.

Once, Tommy got an infected leg and Dad lanced it himself with a razor blade and it actually did cure him. But Tommy remembered the pain and made sure he peed on Dad’s leg whenever he walked by. Still, he was our kitty and we would not let Dad get rid of the big boy.

He was getting to be around 12 or 13 years old and slowing down. He still went out at night but needed more sleep. But one day, he came out of the woods with another cat at his side. A small, adoring long-haired kitty with gray fur who was a female of about only one or two years old. My Dad named her “Sadie” after Sadie Thompson as she seemed to be Tommy’s hot young thing. Tommy must have saved her from some peril because she refused to leave his side.

However, Sadie was terrified of people and wouldn’t let us near her to touch her and she would not come indoors. So, Tommy took to sleeping on the back porch and she would happily start licking him clean from head to toe every night. Needless to say, he loved this and we’d look outside and she would be sleeping against his stomach with those huge paws around her, keeping her safe. When winter came, they went into the relative warmth of the unfinished crawl space and now, Tommy brought the tastiest birds and mice to Sadie to keep her fed.

Sadie must have been infertile, because in the two years she was with him, she never had kittens and I don’t think she minded. She just adored Tommy, who was getting very, very old. A true outdoor cat did not want to die at the home of the people who fed him and will go off to die. Tommy went off to die and Sadie went with him.

We never saw them again and don’t know what happened, but I like to think it was like “The Hunchback of Notre Dame”, with the large and delicate skeletons side-by-side in death. That Sadie might have pined away without her big old man would not have surprised me at all. Of all the love stories I’ve read or wrote, this was probably the greatest.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

finished valentine's poem, deal with it

finished valentine's poem, deal with it

my love and I were bisected
no longer were we connected
none of our faults were corrected
so thus I became dejected
no hope for us was detected
though he was always erected
and not with disease infected
hate in his words was inflected
our speeches were interjected
and we were finally intersected
enough of being neglected
my desires were perfected
other males i then prospected
but none made me feel protected
if i honestly reflected
by most men i was rejected
and by none was i respected
and i was never selected
just for money i suspected

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

The Bones of a Valentine's Poem

The Bones of a Valentine's Poem



Monday, February 11, 2013

Sonnet 85 -- So You Want to Be a Playwright?

Thought about a script brings me to action
Not lines, damn it, but the sounds of language
Even the rhymes in poems need traction
To somehow be an emotional bridge
The play is written within the pauses
To give audiences a chance to think
About emotional verbs and clauses
Also of  gestures and costumes of pink
Chekov one oh one for writing your graphs
Bring a gun on stage, it must be fired
Though a fake dead seagull makes many laughs
Anton’s scripts made me most inspired
His best advice will bring you to glory:
Every line must advance the story

Sunday, February 3, 2013

Sonnet 84 -- Our Secret

Sonnet 84 -- Our Secret

as he sat on the ground next to a lake
full of snow white geese with ebony crowned
the teal ducks and dogs did a double take
and all came running to circle him round
as his amazing hands drew upon a pad
they knew yes they knew he was one of them
my forgotten camera made me sad
I couldn’t preserve this delicate gem
he lived for a moment among his peers
safe from the sea of words in the real world
where betrayals caused an ocean of tears
but animals know only noise is hurled
his magic and beauty I was honored to see
where nature and animals set him free