"I am asking for prayers. I saw my son today. He was so high. He was so high in the back seat and just started crying. I asked him why and he said because hes a piece of shit. I dont kniw if he was crying cuz my marriage is failing and i was crying because i dont have a pot to piss in and didnt know where i was going to go, or what. When he hugged me i got so scared it might be the last time. I dont know what to do. I keep praying but i feel so broken and afraid."
I took the liberty of borrowing this from a woman who posted it on a heroin addict page.
Brunswick
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Saturday, April 25, 2015
Friday, April 24, 2015
Technical Stuff
Thanks Jerry for posting this year's winner at "Slammin' in the Belfry IV." I added my poem. It would be nice to see the Slam pieces here.
If you copy and paste your text it will print in a white box. To avoid that, you can highlight your whole draft and go to the paintbrush icon in the toolbar for "background color." Make the background the 5th gray sample from the right, RGB 153,153,153. This is the same color as the blog page.
You can add the appropriate labels (original poems, slammin' 2015) or I'll do that for you. The advantage to the labels is that the "index of labels" in the right hand column of the blog can then be used to look at different categories of post.
At the bottom of your finished post, you'll see where to click to comment or edit.
If you copy and paste your text it will print in a white box. To avoid that, you can highlight your whole draft and go to the paintbrush icon in the toolbar for "background color." Make the background the 5th gray sample from the right, RGB 153,153,153. This is the same color as the blog page.
You can add the appropriate labels (original poems, slammin' 2015) or I'll do that for you. The advantage to the labels is that the "index of labels" in the right hand column of the blog can then be used to look at different categories of post.
At the bottom of your finished post, you'll see where to click to comment or edit.
To Wayne
Dear Friend,
I have a favor to ask.
My basement may flood, and since I’m out of town, I hoped you would check on it for me.
The sump pump works, but it sometimes needs jiggling, and with the snow melt you’re having, it might overflow.
Wanda is feeding the cat, so she can let you in.
The main thing is to protect the drywall, so if water pours through the door, close it quick.
First clear the drain hose, which could well be frozen. You may have to dig it out from under the woodpile.
There’s a good flashlight, somewhere in the foyer.
If the sump pump won’t work, check the fuse, check the outlet, check if the ground fault has been interrupted.
There’s a bucket in the garage by the sump, and somewhere nearby is a shop-vac that works.
If all else fails, bail.
I know this is short notice, but I really appreciate it.
Thank you so much.
Yours truly,
Jerry.
Spring is a promise of life just ahead out of sight,
The peeps in the canal sing out their certainty,
Of wonders not yet here but sure to be,
From my house I hear them strong and hope they’re right.
Dear Friend,
I have a favor to ask.
Today I’m supposed to be meeting my wife, and her lawyer, to hash out the terms of divorce.
No need to tell you the history gone by, but the problem is I can’t make it today.
I hoped that you would go, and protect my interests.
The main thing is that I want the house, it’s my solace, my hiding place, my labor of love.
She knows how I feel so she’ll demand a high price, and I suppose I will pay it, but just do your best.
Remember, not all of it was my fault.
I’ll give her the car and give her the dog, and I’ll even promise that I won’t write her parents,
As long as I never again have to hear that New Age-y stuff about “being present.”
I’d tell her myself, if I were there.
I know this is short notice, but I really appreciate it.
Thank you so much.
Yours truly,
Jerry.
Summer has no memory, no future or past,
It is now, just now, it does not hurry, nor wait,
Through my blinds presses its surrounding heat,
Nervous, I look for night that daily comes at last.
Dear Friend,
I have a favor to ask.
My son’s getting married, and yes we’re all thrilled, though both of them are twenty, and young for their age.
I haven’t met the bride, but she sounds like a good egg; the trouble is I can’t get the time off to go.
Would you go for me, and convey my best wishes?
The main thing is that the happy couple should feel supported as they start on their new life.
His mother may expect me to be there, so a little bit of awkwardness could arise on that score.
Nothing you can’t handle; I’m sure you’ll be fine.
I was thinking a poem would suit the occasion, if you had time to write them something.
But they’re on Bed, Bath and Beyond’s bridal registry, and you could just pick out a gift for them there.
That would be nice; use my credit card.
I know this is short notice, but I really appreciate it.
Thank you so much.
Yours truly,
Jerry.
Autumn reflects on what is gone, what remains,
Bright colors go, but leave a crisper beauty,
Careless times give way to earnest duty,
I dig out hats and boots against the autumn rains.
Dear Friend,
I have a favor to ask.
Due to an unfortunate event, I am supposed to meet Saint Peter shortly at the pearly gates.
For reasons obscure, and being realistic about my track record, I’m afraid I won’t make the meeting.
Can you be at the gates, to speak on my behalf?
The main thing is to tell Saint Peter of the good intentions I have always had.
If the question of my good works comes up, argue that good works are theologically immaterial.
That would be easier, than finding some good works.
My history with women is a bit dicey, and children, community, and career not much better.
All things considered, it might just be best if you were to stick to intentions.
The bottom line is, “To err is human…”
I know this is short notice, but I really appreciate it.
Thank you so much.
Yours truly,
Jerry.
Winter passes judgment, lying hard on river and town,
Keep what’s needed, no more, is winter’s good,
It tests my house and collects its toll in firewood,
Weak light surrenders early, as dark comes down.
I find it hard – so, so hard – to stay warm,
I ask what magic shields others from the storm.
I have a favor to ask.
My basement may flood, and since I’m out of town, I hoped you would check on it for me.
The sump pump works, but it sometimes needs jiggling, and with the snow melt you’re having, it might overflow.
Wanda is feeding the cat, so she can let you in.
The main thing is to protect the drywall, so if water pours through the door, close it quick.
First clear the drain hose, which could well be frozen. You may have to dig it out from under the woodpile.
There’s a good flashlight, somewhere in the foyer.
If the sump pump won’t work, check the fuse, check the outlet, check if the ground fault has been interrupted.
There’s a bucket in the garage by the sump, and somewhere nearby is a shop-vac that works.
If all else fails, bail.
I know this is short notice, but I really appreciate it.
Thank you so much.
Yours truly,
Jerry.
Spring is a promise of life just ahead out of sight,
The peeps in the canal sing out their certainty,
Of wonders not yet here but sure to be,
From my house I hear them strong and hope they’re right.
Dear Friend,
I have a favor to ask.
Today I’m supposed to be meeting my wife, and her lawyer, to hash out the terms of divorce.
No need to tell you the history gone by, but the problem is I can’t make it today.
I hoped that you would go, and protect my interests.
The main thing is that I want the house, it’s my solace, my hiding place, my labor of love.
She knows how I feel so she’ll demand a high price, and I suppose I will pay it, but just do your best.
Remember, not all of it was my fault.
I’ll give her the car and give her the dog, and I’ll even promise that I won’t write her parents,
As long as I never again have to hear that New Age-y stuff about “being present.”
I’d tell her myself, if I were there.
I know this is short notice, but I really appreciate it.
Thank you so much.
Yours truly,
Jerry.
Summer has no memory, no future or past,
It is now, just now, it does not hurry, nor wait,
Through my blinds presses its surrounding heat,
Nervous, I look for night that daily comes at last.
Dear Friend,
I have a favor to ask.
My son’s getting married, and yes we’re all thrilled, though both of them are twenty, and young for their age.
I haven’t met the bride, but she sounds like a good egg; the trouble is I can’t get the time off to go.
Would you go for me, and convey my best wishes?
The main thing is that the happy couple should feel supported as they start on their new life.
His mother may expect me to be there, so a little bit of awkwardness could arise on that score.
Nothing you can’t handle; I’m sure you’ll be fine.
I was thinking a poem would suit the occasion, if you had time to write them something.
But they’re on Bed, Bath and Beyond’s bridal registry, and you could just pick out a gift for them there.
That would be nice; use my credit card.
I know this is short notice, but I really appreciate it.
Thank you so much.
Yours truly,
Jerry.
Autumn reflects on what is gone, what remains,
Bright colors go, but leave a crisper beauty,
Careless times give way to earnest duty,
I dig out hats and boots against the autumn rains.
Dear Friend,
I have a favor to ask.
Due to an unfortunate event, I am supposed to meet Saint Peter shortly at the pearly gates.
For reasons obscure, and being realistic about my track record, I’m afraid I won’t make the meeting.
Can you be at the gates, to speak on my behalf?
The main thing is to tell Saint Peter of the good intentions I have always had.
If the question of my good works comes up, argue that good works are theologically immaterial.
That would be easier, than finding some good works.
My history with women is a bit dicey, and children, community, and career not much better.
All things considered, it might just be best if you were to stick to intentions.
The bottom line is, “To err is human…”
I know this is short notice, but I really appreciate it.
Thank you so much.
Yours truly,
Jerry.
Winter passes judgment, lying hard on river and town,
Keep what’s needed, no more, is winter’s good,
It tests my house and collects its toll in firewood,
Weak light surrenders early, as dark comes down.
I find it hard – so, so hard – to stay warm,
I ask what magic shields others from the storm.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Eating Apples
There is a sky, apple crisp -
a mountain, caved and holy -
an orchard, round and woven -
to be seen. You haven't seen everything...
yet. The beaches, the half mornings [drunk on moon
and sun together and at once]. All too much.
But, you haven't seen it all just yet. There
are untold secrets. Even here,
at the stroke of the key, behind the desk, in the empty fluorescent lighting. Even here there is
a mountain, caved and holy -
an orchard, round and woven -
to be seen. You haven't seen everything...
yet. The beaches, the half mornings [drunk on moon
and sun together and at once]. All too much.
But, you haven't seen it all just yet. There
are untold secrets. Even here,
at the stroke of the key, behind the desk, in the empty fluorescent lighting. Even here there is
unknowable works of art. You haven't seen everything
quite yet. Not yet. And tomorrow, and tomorrow -
and all the joy it will bring. You can't know of it,
yet.
Bring your basket so that we may pluck
as we go. Let the juice drip down your face.
Commit to living.
quite yet. Not yet. And tomorrow, and tomorrow -
and all the joy it will bring. You can't know of it,
yet.
Bring your basket so that we may pluck
as we go. Let the juice drip down your face.
Commit to living.
Leather skinned and toothless
Oh. I know what this is.
This is where the writing leaves us.
The rain. The cars. The quiet reflection.
And, I don't feel
anything.
If you asked me,
with smoke uncurling from your whiskered mouth,
eyes wet with vodka:
"Was it worth it?" [Like some old movie]
I won't know. For once.
What is worth? Some people require no questions.
I want an old woman, leather skinned and toothless,
wiry hair braided up.
I want to tuck her into her hospital bed and hold her hand in mine.
I want to read her old war letters from her husband from when they were 19 and he was still alive. The measure of her life and the summer rain filling the room, fighting against the chill of the air conditioner up too high, lacing my voice.
I want lace and sleep.
I want the taste of coffee, stale and cold- the sound of birds awakening, the metal of silence.
I want a sleep so deep that when I wake I am reborn.
Most of all, I want those first few weeks back.
Those weeks when my heart was learning your name. I want them back. I want to stop living in a haunted house.
I want to live in a world where I could love you freely and without bleeding. Or one where I am loved as I should be. Or, sleep. Maybe just sleep.
This is where the writing leaves us.
The rain. The cars. The quiet reflection.
And, I don't feel
anything.
If you asked me,
with smoke uncurling from your whiskered mouth,
eyes wet with vodka:
"Was it worth it?" [Like some old movie]
I won't know. For once.
What is worth? Some people require no questions.
I want an old woman, leather skinned and toothless,
wiry hair braided up.
I want to tuck her into her hospital bed and hold her hand in mine.
I want to read her old war letters from her husband from when they were 19 and he was still alive. The measure of her life and the summer rain filling the room, fighting against the chill of the air conditioner up too high, lacing my voice.
I want lace and sleep.
I want the taste of coffee, stale and cold- the sound of birds awakening, the metal of silence.
I want a sleep so deep that when I wake I am reborn.
Most of all, I want those first few weeks back.
Those weeks when my heart was learning your name. I want them back. I want to stop living in a haunted house.
I want to live in a world where I could love you freely and without bleeding. Or one where I am loved as I should be. Or, sleep. Maybe just sleep.
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