We Know Her
They bought her bullshit
As if it were for sale,
Long drawn out stories
Usually of lovers long past
And multiples, at that.
It only took one real, hard look
Plus a bullshitter's ear
To ferret out the lies she spun
Quite well, to the untrained ear.
But my Dear, as I chuckled inside,
My ears were highly trained
My eyes shone as bright as
Any polished mirror shone at night
Who was I to curtail your tales of
Love, attained, orgasmic and lost?
Just another sightseer in the crowd...
No, not tonight, you are alone with
your tales of love. I have Many too
I'll save them for another time,
For when your eyes finally see
The mirror in my eyes that hides
The bullshit poet in me.
Far and Near
Where did you go?
Somewhere not far.
Why did you go?
For reasons my own.
Something I did?
Not at all, you were most kind.
Something I said?
Don't be silly, my dear.
Are you here to stay?
Only time will tell.
Are you too proud?
Were you not listening?
Do you hear the music?
Yes, I hear it again.
Let the dance start anew.
Pot and Kettle
Sick of bullshitters
who spend their days
talking or writing about shit
they neither understand
or, and personally, I think this is worse, they know absolutely nothing about.
But by Christ, they have something to say about it.
Oh, the waste of breath, or again, worse, reading time, these idiots take out of our lives.
Seriously it drives me batshit.
I mean, how can someone sit down and decide to write about nothing, or God forbid,
say a few lines, ha! If only that was the truth, about some subject thats a hot topic in the news. Like Brexit
for instance, don't understand it, but they know it's in the news and and they know it's to do with Britain leaving the EU, now I seriously doubt they knew the EU existed until five minutes before they decided to mouth off about Brexit, you think that stopped them? Hell, no! I cry from the roof tops.
Like the election going on in the States, they know Trump and Hillary and it's off to the writing or/and bullshit races we go.
You know, come to think about it, I blame "Google" for a good chunk of both the written and verbal bullshit throwers. Give them five minutes and a iPhone and faster than you can write some wonderful verse, they've either started spouting sheer rubbish or writing about their newly found, ill advised, so called knowledge.
On and on they go, never really saying anything at all but taking one hell of a long time to say it. But say it they do, like some long shaggy dog story, but it's not funny. Also, I just can't stand people who write chapters on rubbish and there is me, unawares of what it is I'm about to read, falls into the trap, losing minutes of my life on nothing. Both, totally wasting my time and pissing me off. And, leaving me feeling an IQ point lower.
Tell you, drives me, batshit.
Don't people who do that piss you off?
I know they piss me off.
For Dorreen
She didn't walk so much as glide. It was a thing to behold. You don't see such elegance anymore.
I adored her. A simple love like I have never had before or since. She moved me, to quote some singer named Paul.
God, how I wanted to be like her.
She was sheer magic.
Who else do you know gives a stranger $100 just because he claimed he'd been robbed? Yes, of course he had been robbed. Yet, 6 weeks later, she received an envelope with $120 and a note thanking her for her kindness? My God, who else but her? Sheer magic.
Who else could speak to me without saying a word? She did. Magic.
Even at the inevitable end.
When things were on a downwards spiral, she still spoke to me.
Without words.
She begged me to just "let her go." "Everything will be alright," she said, if I just "let her go."
Oh, how I sobbed.
How could I let go of the woman who taught me magic?
Who taught me empathy, sympathy for the human race?
That every animal was to be loved, regardless.
That to hurt another would come back on me three fold.
Who taught me how to be a woman.
I think of her when I see a stranger in need.
As I love my "un-lovable" animals.
Especially when I speak, without words, to my own daughter.
How could I just "let her go?"
But let her go I did.
Let her go I had to.
"Let me go" I will someday ask my own daughter.
Isn't that what we all have to do?
Just let go.
She will remember me,
she will remember her,
she will remember us.
And so on, and so on, and so on.
Sheer magic.
Goodbye
She walked through the empty house.
Her bare feet,silent on the floor,
she savored each step.
Memories coursing through her head,
She swore. Even her blood was sorrowful.
How the past haunted her.
But was she ever really present?
Are any of us?
Every moment,even now,is but a memory.
Yes. Her memories of love happiness and joy.
Gone now. Like the sound of her feet.
Something fleeting. Just out of reach.
Could she say goodbye? Or should she just leave?
The house would tell her. She became certain.
So this is it. We say our farewells.
Gone was the laughter. The joy. Gone.
Which is why she must leave. For to stay would be living in old memories.
She must go. Move on and make new ones.
Wasn't that what she was doing now?
Life is Funny Like That
She was amazed at the view up here. It literally took her breath away. Although the wind could be responsible for that. It was stronger than she had expected, and getting more so the higher she climbed,but it was worth it, for that view.
She stopped and tried to tie her hair back. It was hard to handle on the most normal of days, so today was nothing special. She fiddled with the rubber band (she could hear her Mothers voice, "you'll ruin your hair with those things") well ruin she will, as she pulled her hair into a rough ponytail. "There, now I can see" she said it out loud, she snapped her head back and forth, to see if anyone had heard her. But no, thank God, no one had.
She continued with her climb, thighs straining now, she pushed on. Only a few more feet to go, until she reached the top. The apex, she giggled at that. This time not caring if anyone heard her.
As she walked, she imagined herself a climber, of somewhere special, Everest she decided, with a heroic sherpa at her side.
Finally she reached the top. Time to think. Christ, the wind was loud, but that was the price for peace, she decided.
She pulled out her mobile, "was there a signal up here?" "Yep" this did not surprise her, mobile service was everywhere. "Ok, time to see how high I actually am" suddenly she realized how silly that was. Did it matter? "No" said her imaginary Sherpa. Good enough and high enough for her.
Suddenly everything became clear. It was beautiful, so lovely. So she put down her backpack, opened up her notebook. Stood back up, took a running start and jumped.
Oh my fucking God, this was fantastic, she thought. I will never.....
Fact or Fantasy
Hope: one of the most dangerous emotions we have.
It tricks us into believing what
is fiction, is now fact.
What is fantasy is in fact reality.
The impossible will undoubtably come true.
And the intractable is something we can change.
Hope,
a word the desperate hold near.
Hope,
an emotion the chronically ill cling to, in their dis-eased minds.
Hope,
a tricky little word, as dangerous as they come.
Hope,
Yes, I have hope.
Don't you?