NewYearsGoals

NEW YEARS' GOALS

My goal in life has been updated
As rage, sorrow, fear are contemplated.
I've seen the light of God's own fire
And now have only one desire...

To be so secure in Me, My and Thee
that other people's dysfunction causes no dysfunction in me!
So calm, serene, so peacock feathered
that I just smile as others come untethered.

When I can hug while others weep,
When I can sooth while others freak
When I can be in present time
while others are going out of their mind.

When I can nod while others rage
I'll have finished this novel's final page.
And that my friend should only take
a lifetime or two more of colossal mistakes!

That legend that the good times linger,
and in mind's eye some remnant sweet

will torment the irate, departing lover,
and cause folly to e'er and e'er repeat---

Is just a wicked rumor, and I am here to prove it;
though the devil leaves a pox, time and angels will remove it.

But pronounce the fucker's name, I am warm from throat to toes
Stone walls in icy winter do not mind a thorny rose.

She danced like Salome, that red-head in the throng,
I took note of her beauty but didn't listen to her song.

Of keener sight old Gwen asked 'who is that babe with Ed?'
And dummie here responded 'just another guest, I said.

But this black lace apparition, gay and sandal-shoed--
had but to requisition and the maid would bring more food.

Her sister bought a cake; (it took them both to get it lit,)
While dummie here was heard to cheer and ate two chunks of it.

At party's end this serpent slinked to where I held his hand,
and coyly sat beside us, smiling at what she planned,

"We'll have the leftovers for breakfast" the blithe puff adder said.
Smiling beguiling Salome sleeps in his goddamn bed.

"Invite me to your next affair" I tossed, exeunting from that stage,
Drove home and took his portrait down, & with poem stained a page.

Oh, first I had some sleepless nights, days staring at a wall,
Odd, two decades of horror ending with any pain at all!

My dream of growing old with him---

For life lived out on thrilling limb.

My jealousy, pain and low self image--

for career, persona, quite sans limits.

Our trysts in seedy bars and trivial conversation,

for a thousand places gay ---where I spell fascination.

Memories that catch the heart like burning flame or knife--

For career, friends and hobbies---gevalt, a rounded life.

Depressing dark, gray tomb chez Lui

for swaying palms, blue room chez me.

The scale bends so beneath the load,

I wonder what I ever saw in the toad.

EMPTY NEST SYNDROME

Will a tuna fly? Can an elephant get aloft?

Is there a miracle up my sleeve, or hidden in my sock?

I really thought I knew me, my limits and my gifts,

Do my assets outweigh my debits? Can perseverance mask my shifts?

The road in front's not long, my time left here is brief,

Do I stay the same, or turn over some new leaf?

Can I get where I'm going in my newly vacant house?

Extract future from my past, pull a rabbit from my blouse?

Can Mom climb to peak so high ---from this, dry barren valley?

Pay my debts to society yet sum some final tally?

Is there need for trying, or should I simply coast?

Should I plan on dying, and feast on cake and roast?

Kids, you should have raised me, to be a stronger mother,

I'm pushed from the nest at fifty, adrift and aflutter.

Agenda have I none ---fears I have a snout full.

Guess I'll have to improvise but Mom is feeling doubtful!!

WORLD WAR III

The first warm rain of spring falls at five.
Bathed in light, the garden comes alive.
A snail metropolis bent on picnic, game of tag;

I run for rubber gloves and plastic bag.
The denizens of undergrowth by night
boldly skate on leaf tops in plain sight.

I first pluck up the breasty escargot,
but they are grandpas so the smaller breeders go.
A mother clings to her babies, antlers raised.
I drop them into the bag unfazed.

Little nits to lice will grow.
Martin Boorman told us so.
Birds chortle in the treetops' glow
aware of holocaust below.

I stack the culprits who turned my fine vines to lace
to satisfy the itch at belly bottom and front of face.
How to dispose of final tally?

Toss them in the dumpster in the alley
but the odor of my garden sweet
surely wafts across the street.

I lay the bag upon the ground
and stomp upon it, up and down
and leave their flattened corpses lay
to bury on some other day.

My cat follows me along the path,
Sole witness to the bagged blood bath.
Certain impure elements had to be cleansed --
our glorious fallen vines avenged.

Conspirators, we go into the house.
I search for a rag, while he sniffs for a mouse.
I wash my boots, socks, hands inside
but clinging to my fingers, atoms of snail

T'was the night before Christmas, he lived all alone
in a one bedroom apartment littered with beer cans and bones.

I had come from the street with the trays of hot meat,
New to Meals on Wheels, wondering who I'd meet.

I looked all about. A strange sight I did see
No Tinsel. No presents. Not even a tree.

No stocking on mantles, no candles or lights.
but on the back wall, a glimmer so bright.
medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
a marine and a hero, I heard in my mind.

Photos of Lyndon, JFK and the QUEEN
covered the dirtiest walls I'd ever seen.
This house was forlorn, it was dark and dreary,
The home of a sick soul, I could see clearly.

I carried the food in, calling his name
The soldier lay sleeping, knotted in pain,
Curled up on the floor in this one room home.
Face contorted, his breath a slow moan.

Not how I pictured a U.S G.I
Did all those metals belong to this guy?
He was wasted, addicted, balding and poor,
Curled up on a poncho, asleep on the floor.

Holding that famous image from a time so dire
a wailing girl, her nude skin on fire.
I knew why his mouth was contorted with tears,
I knew why his nightmares were filled with fears.

On the back side of China, babes with no legs
would play with live gunpowder kegs
that this man had left to blow them to Hell
No wonder he didn't feel too terribly well.

The very thought brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees and started to cry.
The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,
"Hey Santa don't cry. This life was my choice,

I fought for Arco, Shell and the rest
Of all of the guys, I murdered the best.
My country convinced me I had to bomb little shacks
I killed hundreds of peasants each time they'd ask

My life was my gun, my passion to win!
I deserve what I've got for two years of sin.
He threw off the blanket so I could see good
That one of his legs was made of wood.

The soldier rolled over and drifted off to sleep,
I couldn't control it, I started to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent and still
we both shivered from the cold night's chill.

I didn't want to leave on such a cold night.
This deluded citizen who'd been willing to fight.
Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,
Whispered, "I killed them all colonel, the base is secure."

And in his eye an insane jubilant look
His hand clenched a crack pipe, trigger finger a hook,
in his dreams he killed, he shot showers of flack
I fled the apartment and never went back.

When I see Ashcroft, Cheney and Bush
talking about the Afghani or Iraqi Push,
No matter what flag's waved, boys, don't you do it.
Don't kill poor people. Later you'll rue it.

For Arco, Mobil, Exxon and Shell
Are the Santa Clauses who reign over HELL.
Their urging revenge, their convincing reasons
are not worth the sorrows of all your future Xmas seasons.