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

A Tossed Salad of Small Poems

1.

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

2.

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

3.

lost words

karaoke without music

conversation on the run

4.

be so wrapped

in today’s work

that yesterday’s

failures

are forgotten

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.

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.

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.

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

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