Each month, write a new collection.
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Jungle Gymthere is a bottleof apple juicesitting on the2x4 blockbetween the studsI climbthe wallswood framesskeletons ofnew homesmy jungle gymwalk the joists,walking the wallsalong the top plateslike a tightrope walkerthe carpenters yellat me, I jumpto the floorcrouch like a catthey glare at mepluck the applejuice from the wallsniff, scrunch my noseat the smell of urinethe carpenters laugh
This is a great opening for this collection man. We're really digging intoyour past!
Dear diary,I had to call in sick today. It was one of those "I regret my choices" moments. Remember when I got home last night, I wasn't tired? Well, I decided even though it was after 2am, that I would sit down and watch a movie. After carefully selecting a quality film, I settled into a comfy chair and prepared to be entertained. Little did i realize, that my choice in snacks would come back to haunt me.I grabbed a very large, very heavy bag of cherry flavored prunes from the kitchen. As I sat and enjoyed my movie, I dug into said prune bag with gusto. 2 hours and 40 prunes later, I went to bed, unaware of the turmoil brewing inside my intestines.This morning I was aroused from my slumber by a deep groaning from the bowels of... well, my bowels. I quickly flung off the bed clothes and raced to the bathroom. I've been in here 12 hours now. Finally, I called in sick from the "throne". Management didn't even try to hide their laughter. I fear the jokes I will come into tomorrow... if I can ever get off the toilet.Tell my family I love them. There's no way of knowing if I'll ever escape this bathroom of doom.
Fantastic! I love the structure of this. Bathroom of doom!
CornerstoneBeneath the hidden cornerstone they layThe breath of ages hidesInhaled by ancient walls of clayWooden ladders show the wayThey creep along the sidesOf the walls that keep the sand at bayThe tunnels form with nothing to sayIt is just the wind that chidesInhaled by ancient walls of clayThe stones grow heavier everydayWeary of the coming idesOf the walls that keep the sand at bayMystery cannot stay awayDrawn like the moon and tidesInhaled by ancient walls of clayLowered into its desert bayStories written on all sides Of the walls that keep the sand at bayBeneath the hidden cornerstone they lay(Totally unrelated. .. what do you all think?)
I think it's a good start. It's musical and nice! Keep working!
EmbarrassmentIt’s 7:15, I must beat Nurse arrivalBefore deeds are done for my patientsIndependence means people do things for themselvesInstead of things done for and to them.It’s 7:15, I must beat Nurse arrivalMy patient is surely awakeCus who can sleep in a room full of strangersLights on and IV bells ringing.If I get there first I tell myself it will make sense When I say I am here to help Go to the toilet with a strangerStruggle to wash and dress and eat.I’ve never met this person.behind this thin striped veilI’m about to invade the most private affairsEmbarassment must not get the win. It’s 7:15, I must beat Nurse arrivalWho knows what I’ll find in this bedJust take a deep breath and barge inGood Morning, my name is Jeanne.
Nice. This is going to be a great month with everyone's expertise.
That is nice and I love the repetition!
yes, the repetition works well
And this collection poemTRUMPETER: THE DIETICIANDietitians trumpet Nutritional Signals With No water we don’t last more than three days Salt, Fat, Sugar taunt heart health and diabetesDear patient, how was your meal?With Food history and preference notedMeals rescue monotone daysDid you notice the condiments in fluted cupWas there help as you ate your meal?As Fruit corsage and dessert doily are platedTo compartments of engineered traysMauve meals are kept warm under insulated tops Costing out at $3/day.We note a swallowing problem with cough as you drink waterWe’ll get a fluoroscopy testYour new puree diet will arrive with colorful garnish andWater thickened to refreshing paste. Evidence shows thick liquids cause dehydrationThat patients don’t care for care for pureeBut we can’t be liable for aspirationLets look at a tube feeding plan.Dietiticans trumpet nutritional needs In a risk adverse regulated jungleDoes your granny live in nursing home?Will she enjoy her dinner tonight?
That's really powerful!
One day I hope I'm a famous enough writer to regret sharing this true story:I gave birth and a month later the baby fat still clung to my mid-section, as relentless as the tiny bundle who latched herself like a barracuda onto my sore nipple. She finally fell asleep, and I succumbed to a pitiful reverie of single motherhood and stretched skin in places I never imagined were elastic.I yearned for validation that I was still attractive, and gorged on a poppy-seed muffin to silence the woe-is-me within. Mom offered to watch the baby to cheer me up. With nothing better to do, I drove to the station and put $10 in the tank, when it was still 98 cents a gallon. It took a few minutes to put gas in during those days, and I was glad I wore my cute light blue cotton dress, the only thing that fit.A handsome man on the opposite side of the pump smiled at me, and my desire for amorous attention overtook my need for common sense. I smiled back at him, a big toothy grin. His smile grew larger. I shoved the nozzle into the gas pump, replaced the gas cap, and looked up. Mr. Knight-in-Shining-Armor was gone. I swear he was going to ask for my phone number. I wallowed in my self-pity during the somber drive home and trudged into the bathroom, wondering how bad I looked. A glance in the mirror told me. Dozens of tiny black poppyseeds covered my teeth. But the worst part were the thick circular pads, no longer absorbent. No longer able to contain the milk from my breast, and two dark and perfectly round wet shadows had been stamped on my chest.Thirty-four years later, I still have the baby and the baby fat, three times over. But I no longer eat poppyseed muffins.
That's fantastic! Being human always makes everyone MORE attractive!
Size Matters?I wasn’t always aware of my shortfall. There are worse conditions. I mean, I didn’t think it mattered much, large or small. But that was before ninth grade, and the pause between Hotel California and Crocodile Rock. It was my first dance. An old- fashioned sock hop in the gym, on a Friday afternoon, two days before my fifteenth birthday. I remember placing my Kelso Earth Shoes, against the gymnasium wall beside a huge pair of shiny black platform boots. They were dwarfed by the Stud’s massive disco footwear. I didn’t know his name, but that’s what everyone in school called him. He wore a glimmering polyester shirt, unbuttoned to the navel revealing a thick tangle of chest hair surrounding a huge gold chain, and tight black bell bottom pants exposing a large, obvious bulge. Not surprisingly, HE wore size thirteen’s. He told me, “Hey man, keep your puny hippie shoes away from mine, or else.” And then Maureen, my middle school crush, in a tie-dyed t-shirt and yellow braids crowned by a wreath of purple dried flowers—that were so popular with the natural chicks in those days—looked at me and said those innocent words that have stuck with me all these years. “You have such tiny feet!” I was aware of my condition. I never looked forward to the shoe store. “A size ten?” the clerk would say rolling his eyes. “Yeah,” I’d reply nonchalantly, “I think ten, or maybe ten and a half.” The degradation would continue. “Are you sure? The salesman would press. I was thinking more like a size eight or possibly seven and a half.” And then he’d reach for the dreaded, Brannock Device, a heartless piece of machinery that judges a man’s soul by the length of his feet. Be sure the heel is properly located against the back of the heel cup—by grasping the customer's ankle and device together. They learn this cold blooded technique in shoe salesman re-education camps. “These socks are way too bulky. I’m afraid you’ll have to take them off in order to get an accurate reading,” he’d say, like I was going to be reported to the authorities.I wasn’t trying to stuff my shoes. There are worse things.I learned the meaning of humiliation too that day Maureen playfully giggled in the gym at the sudden discovery of my podiatric inadequacy. In the unbearable silence, between songs, they all laughed long and hard, chiding me viciously in their revelry of my size deficiency. The Stud joined in, pushing out his chest with fertility symbols dangling from his gold chains. He pointed at his toes and shouted at me over the laughter, “You know what they say… ‘Big feet, big meat.’” He reached for his groin, cupped his hand firmly over the exaggerated bulge in his tight pants, and shook it wildly. The Stud let out with a long virile howl and all the girls cooed in awe. Then he turned to walk away.And that might have been it; the beginning of the end. I was destined to cringe each time the oldies station played Crocodile Rock if it had not been for a bit of divine intervention, or righteous act of karma. He strutted across the gym and the laugh grew exponentially louder—to grotesque proportions—as a large, hard ball of tissue unraveled and magically made its way down The Stud’s pant leg and onto the dance floor.
Love this man, and I love that you're back. Revise this and send it to Conceit Magazine!
This is terrific.
Embarrassment my be defined as being embarassed by yourself, by others, or when others are embarassed by you so severly to the point where they feel embarassed by you.I feel embarassed whenever I have a panic attackBecause I cry loudly and yell at spirits to depart from me.I felt I overcame thisMaybe I have not.I hate thinking neighbors can hear.I'm thankful when I control my emotions and appreciate the level scope of human feelingBecause feeling anything else high or low is terrifying.Terrifying enough to make normalcy embarassing too.
Fantastic Corrina! Wonderful. Being embarrassed as a collection would be amazing!
Thanks. But making a collection of poems about embarassment would be embarrassing though right?