Wednesday, June 10, 2015

June 10 -- Social Morning

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    We never remember to lower our eyes
    Keep our hands by our sides
    Or to stand at removes
    It’s the passing delusion of still being human

    In the morning by the moorings
    Where the fishmongers gather

    We forget that we threaten
    Those innocent women and uppercrust children
    By speaking and laughing
    With breath so decrepit

    In the morning by the moorings
    Where the fishmongers gather

    We remember once walking
    At dawn along boardwalks
    Buying fruit fresh from vendors
    Looking down with displeasure

    In the morning by the moorings
    Where the fishmongers gather

    So we huddle in shadow
    Where the fishmongers gather
    Like the specters of men

    1. Nice. I love the repeated lines. "In the morning by the moorings
      Where the fishmongers gather". great music in the lines.

    2. Mr. Brantingham, I got it! You're brother here, shouldnt just be a street rapper, he should do Gregorian chants too.

  2. That's great Mark! I love the repetition.

    1. Ya, look at the comment i left him. Lol

  3. Breakfast in Bed

    The clock is glaring at me. I close my eyes, open again, I see large red blurs. I roll over, close my eyes. I hear the door open. I look. I see her blurry shape, admire her blurry shape, squint, and try to see her more clearly. She is smiling, “Good morning, breakfast.” I try to imagine how those words can somehow work together. She leans over. I’m still watching her. Her breasts move in her nightgown. A plate blocks my view. In my face an eye, unblinking, stares at me. An eye surrounded by scales. “It’s a trout,” she says. I like trout, but there’s an eye. I look up at her breasts, shifting in her nightgown, then down at the unblinking fish. I take the plate and put it on the stand, pull her towards me.

    1. That's fantastic man! I love that!

    2. I love how you use the repetition.

    3. The trout thing really happened. I'm not a morning person, and I'm not interested in food until late morning. Pretty sure the rest happened also - maybe not at the same time.

    4. Used a lot of I & eye, hoping that would satisfy. Just got your The Gift of Form. Looking forward to using it.

  4. My friend the Pen

    Green awning
    with a sea monster
    around the hot surface
    In the corner of the coffee shop
    all alone
    When really I am not
    It is a paradox
    Where nobody bothers me
    Studying and writing
    Sipping their cup
    Unless to ask for an empty chair
    As they ask me,
    "Are you using this?"
    I calmly look aware
    And look up
    To say,
    "no, not at all"
    Not catching their eye
    Not missing a beat
    To what I was writing down
    in my journal
    listening to the pop music
    Being piped in and going with
    the flow as the pen knows
    What to say
    as if I am having a conversation
    with it
    Then I look up
    A glance to a lifting of a cup
    to sip and then back down
    not to awake the surface
    Of social invitation
    Not interested
    I figured
    Being busy
    with her computer
    working on homework
    taking a call on her cell
    He sat down next to me
    as I look up to sip my own cup
    The beat of the music continuing
    Nobody interested in conversation
    Apparently, busy, in their own lives
    I do not come to socialize
    But, there is potential
    A place of simple motives
    to congregate and order the
    daily coffee
    As I sit in my corner
    Writing it all down
    as a person would do on a morning
    with nothing to do, other than come
    to terms with writing and wondering
    where the conversation has gone
    With my friend the pen
    And then, she happened to catch my
    the Barista
    doing her work
    or the girl at the computer
    or the one on the phone
    Still in a conversation
    Nobody interested
    in anything
    Everybody looking at the man
    In the corner writing feverishly
    Not of any concern
    only lonely for conversation
    As I sit and wait
    in a conversation with myself
    There are rock and roll concerts
    where thousands go, and still we
    are all alone
    There are coffee shops
    where the throngs go
    when we are gracious and proper
    with formal conversation
    in public
    But still, we are alone
    without a friend
    There is the music in the
    background stopping as the coffee
    cup needs to have a refill
    To try again and create a conversation
    without a friend
    Venti, Grande, Tall
    any size will do
    she visits in the way she sits
    across from me crossing her
    legs toward me instead of away

  5. This is great man. You really have an imagistic poem here. Great job!!


    The group
    on the lawn
    the smell of cut
    grass and dead
    one by each
    they showed
    in the cold
    morning mourning
    cold knowing
    side by each
    knowing loss
    without the sun
    before the rain
    after the words
    side by side
    silently gripping
    a small toss of earth

  7. big latte small latte
    scones with butter, jam
    lemon curd whatever that is i'll take it
    and a sandwich but i'm in a hurry
    because she might be in a hurry
    and I'll be in a hurry eventually
    so that adds up to being in a hurry
    if you quotientize the mights-
    and the grilled cheese if that's fastest
    but isn't chicken salad faster? No?
    that seems counter-intuitive, but ok ok
    excuse me excuse me this is for
    my daughter and she's in a hurry
    and i'm in a hurry or might be
    at some point in the future
    so, i'm sorry but i have to take
    these scones and this sandwich
    and race up the street but still stop
    to talk with this lady who is WITH her
    daughter, and the lady laughing when I explain what
    I'm doing. "They don't got no patience," she says to me
    and her daughter smiles wide with eyes that say
    oh yes we do.

  8. The frenetic pace of this is marvelous! Love the poem.

  9. Being at a Program in the Mornin'

    I think I've cheated everyone today
    I'm up before the crowd but traffic hits
    Hard, crushing me, each body like a mack truck.
    Boom, pound, ouch, yikes, ouch
    Worse than traffic, more like really being
    Crushed, hit, crashed into, cut, sliced, severed...
    To be stitched is the goal because at least you survived
    The impact.
    I miss happy, joyous mornings where greetings and salutations were pleasant. But now,
    Its aim to kill like cheap video games sold at bunk ass yard sales.

    1. That's great. I love that ending especially!

    2. you're keeping the reader at a distance by not revealing the emotional core of this story. you've established that there's more to tell and have done that very effectively, but you don't give enough to make a connection with the reader. stop hiding.

    3. This comment has been removed by the author.

    4. Thanks Mr Brantingham. To Mr. Brantingham's brother Mark. I appreciate the pointer. I'll definitely think on and reflect on that. I wanted to make clear that waking up at a state funded place is not pleasant but the opposite, where people have so many emotional problems, they cant help but hurt eachother even at the breaking of day by the things they say and their attitudes. I dont expect the reader to know exactly what it feels like, the reader can only understand so much.

  10. Sweet Sixteen

    It's two weeks past June
    Happy Birthday to you
    get up, get dressed
    no time to clean your room
    the car's already running
    room-a-zoom zoom
    fall out little soldier
    it's job hunting for you
    no time for cake
    adulthood doth loom
    Got a pen?
    Got your ID?
    if not, it'll be your doom
    jobs don't find themselves
    put on a smile
    make those employers swoon
    wipe off that lipstick
    you look like a loon
    say please and thank you
    Don't roll those eyes!
    and give a firm handshake
    they'll be pleasantly surprised
    now stop that pouting
    we'll have your Birthday when we get home.

  11. I said hello
    To the folks who know me
    Morning time in their desert home
    Spoke real slow
    And loud to the old one
    Spoke real low
    To the one by the door.

    She hurt her shoulder
    Said my sister
    It's how she sits
    That lets me know
    She will need a dr visit
    Hope it's not hurt in the bone.

    X-Rays, medics, pens and clipboards,
    Medicare and meds and records
    Pharmacies and pills and ointments
    Copays, forms, and history
    Has she had a surgery?
    Cancer? Heart attack? Ennui?
    Are her parents still alive?
    Of course they're not, she's eighty-five!

    Maybe sometime they will tell us
    What she had wrong with her shoulder
    If they can put down her folder
    Long enough to read the x-ray
    Forget her height and weight and pressure
    Forget her age, pick up the phone
    And say what's wrong before she gets
    Better all on her own.

    1. I love the rhyme that comes in especially at the end and the near rhyme too. It really gets into the feeling of this poem.