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Showing posts from May, 2012

Quayside (Blogophilia 14.5)

Quayside bar in no man’s land Full moon over the bay Halfway to wormtown I stop. No option No other way Backing away from the precipice As if she doesn’t exist. What I had to do To live with myself Exchange my literal prison To one of my own making. Waiter, Check please.  

Sermon (GBE2 53) (and now, Blogophilia 29.7)

““…Or do you have comfort and the love of comfort?”  What is Gibran saying here?  Isn’t he accusing the people of Orphalese, and in a larger sense, modern society of sloth …” The Rabbi droned on.His eyes heavy, Jerry wasn’t sure why he was here in the first place. The last time he darkened a Temple was for his Bar Mitzvah. His mother forced him to go to class and he would promptly fall asleep. Traditions and rules were a joke on other people and didn’t apply to him. The ruler would tap him on the shoulder and the huge beard with beady eyes would glare down at him. He was shocked that he found his Yarmulke, and it still sort of fit. Hope the congregation is color blind. All he knew was 24 hours ago; he was in the Grady Hospital emergency room watching the docs work on Martha. She had collapsed in his arms while they were walking in park.  In the prime of her life, he thought.  And now she is in ICU with tubes sticking out this way and that. Clots, they said, in her lungs and m

The Date (Blogophilia 13.5)

So, here she was at Manuel’s, her usual fifteen minutes early.   A quick glance to make sure the lipstick line was still straight.   Satisfied, the compact disappeared into the leather purse.   Kari hadn’t been this nervous meeting anyone in quite a long time.   But then, it had been at least 20 years since she had been on a blind date.   What will he look like?   All Mary told her was he was a bachelor with a paying job and no kids.    Nothing about how old, or whether he was a slob or a crackhead.   Not even the guy’s name.   Only that she thought Kari would enjoy his company.     Just be at there at 5:30. Sipping on her gimlet, it seemed like she had never left.   The Musak was mostly Sinatra and the political types still hung to their tables like they were still in high school.   Tony, the manager, gave her a peck when he saw her and said she could come back to work any time.   No.   She’d had enough of slinging swill and dealing with the obnoxious, of stepping over the hoo

Gauche (Blogophilia 12.5)

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It is a French word meaning left.  In some circles, like Paris, it still has a bit of cache.  The Rive Gauche is known for its offbeat life and cafes.  Pretentious people still like to insert foreign phrases into their speech to make people think they are sophisticated.   But Gauche , like its English counterpart, has another meaning.  Since left is opposite of right, it has been used as a placebo   for words like sinister, evil and awkward.  To say something is Gauche is to refer to as ugly and out of fashion.  Or maybe even evil. W hen I was a child, my sisters would always refer to something as gauche, rather than gross or ugly.   When I was in elementary school, I had a subscription to MAD magazine.  Like most kids, I read it cover to cover.  Unlike most kids, I began trying to emulate the writing styles.  I knew each of the “Usual Gang of Idiots” by name and specialty.  Don Martin and his offbeat misshapen people.  Dave Berg’s Lighter Side, which poked fun at the foible

The Girl Not Taken

You said it wouldn't work You said we were too much alike. In our pictures, we look like Brother and sister. Yet, you were the one That opened me up To all the possibilities Of life. I put up with the emotional tides That threatened to wash you away. Finally, we parted. I married. You didn't. I always wondered why?

Mark

Stepping out on the wet sidewalk, Mark straightens the tail on his ragged shirt.  What’s the hustle today?  Asshole pissed all over his sign last night, so sidewalk cruising is out.  No back up.  It’s the story of his life.  Get a scheme set up and some jerk screws it up for you. Of course, his warm bed was gone when he plowed the fat face into the wall.  At least he did snag an extra cup of coffee as he went out the door.  An ambulance screams past, turning in to the hospital across the street.  Anybody he knows?  Who cares?  Most of the idiots he knows would stick you as to look at you.  The clang startles him as the purse misses his head and hits the pole.  He looks up to see a strange woman screaming at him.   She is a molten mass flowing on the sidewalk. A bored cop materializes in front of them, writing notes about some attack she claimed she witnessed.  Nice to know there are crazier people than him.  A bunny haired girl sits quietly on the wall watching the scene play out. 

Sendak (blogophilia 11.5)

Max sleeps now Ashes morphing into starlight Judith watches Transitioning With St Ex’s Prince Dancing amongst the lights Laughing at Roses and thorns Commander K nuzzles Marvin’s knee Welcoming their guests. Asking how they fooled The Space Cop. A picture of Max eaten by the Snake And the Cop running away. Everyone laughs at the ruse. Then turn Smiling at the Earth.