Saturday, April 11, 2015

Coffeeshop Writers' Group - Full House - Welcome back, Keith and Kym Cohen - Poem: MacKenzie's Fine Day

 Kym had been in the hospital receiving chemo and believes she is doing quite well! We applauded. Her poem "Slayed by the Tongue" - great title - talked about verbal abuse, and ended, "Slayed by the tongue no more."

Au contraire, Allan,"slayed" is a past tense for "slay." See website.

Of course, we're familiar with

St George Slaying the Dragon by Raphael.

 What's wrong with being bald? Allan quipped. He and his Russian-born wife Tatiana will celebrate Russian Orthodox Easter this evening at 11 pm.


He wrote a wonderful murder-mystery short story, "The Horse Trader." It took place in 1921 in the old Soviet Union.

Image result for flag of soviet union

Image result for flag of russia
The flag then.... and now... read the interesting history here.

He wrote a wonderful poem as a tribute to a suicide victim who died in the laundry room of The Moreland House in Hatboro. The janitor found him.

His poem began with a quote from a James Agee poem "Lullabye"

"And everywhere good men contrive..."

"Soon the gossip will subside," he wrote about Richard Dealagol, 1959-2015.
 Who's this handsome hippie, I thought, upon viewing Keith Cohen.

Keith wrote some haikus about his soul mate he met in Humboldt County, California. Good learning experience as they worked together cleaning up the land, Keith and his once-upon-a-time Soul Mate.

His poem "Blocked" was about the dreaded "writer's block."  
Some of Kym's nails glow in the dark. She'll swing them around and watch the patterns they make in the dark room.

Her poem again was Slayed by the Tongue. She said our love and support definitely helps her heal.

Help! Help! Scott, save me!
Mirror on the wall, who has the most beautiful nails of all?

The photo I took of Donna Krause was as blurry as driving through a snow storm.

Her poem "Love in my Pocket" was a gem.
 Carly wrote an insightful poem about my Poetry YouTube video. 

It now has 76 views. Some - excuse me, I'm gonna curse - friggin a-hole -  had the nerve to give it a thumbs down. 

Show yourself, you frigging coward!!!

Carly will figure out how to post her poem as a comment. 

She and husband Charlie are moving April 18-19 to become night managers of Gloria Dei off Davisville Road. 

Image result for gloria dei assisted living  Before they move, they have to paint the walls white, the original color. "Boring!" pronounced Carly about painting.

Martha Hunter shocked us with a true story, names changed.

In "The Night Visitor,"  "Mary" and her husband "Dennis" forgot to lock their door.

Sure enough an intruder entered.

Mary grabbed her billy club at the side of the bed and threatened him with it.

Smelling of alcohol, he apologized and left their house.

Mary ran down and locked the door!

Later on, she called the police. They knew of the man. He was looking for Ashley, he had told Mary and Dennis.

Linda's story "The Last Car Trip" was from the point of view of her late dog "Queenie." He knew exactly where they were going.... to the SPCA.... to be....

He cocked his head and looked up at her.

Keith offered a prayer for all of us.... a healing prayer, as well as saluting our amazing creativity.

Beatriz, shown in a previous photo, braved the rigors of her chemo that make her exhausted. Keith kindly escorted her out to her car.

Floyd wrote his very first poem! Everyone loved it. It had many wonderful lines and the rhythm was like "rap."

Titled "Delivered Comfort Without the Tip - an Altered Double Sonnet" some lines included
- Citus squeeze breezes, seeds,kernels, and glue cucumbers
polished enamel panels, bannisters, and wedged corner numbers

- four fifths ifs - 80% inverse, upside down

Go, Floyd, go!!!

On FB, I learned that MacKenzie, the dog I write about below, had actually died 6 months ago.

MacKenzie’s Fine Day

They’re feting Luke on his
ninth birthday, shiny
cars accumulate on the
street, big brother holds
my leash. I bark!
Woof! Woof! He drops
leash and I dash down
the street.

MacKenzie! he shouts
in his panicky voice. 
MacKenzie, come
home, my dad will ground
me and I won’t get to
eat any cake.

I am free!
Free as the hawks
who soar above
catching blue jays
in a single swoop.
I watched many a
time from our
back yard patio
smelling the

Where am I going?
I don’t quite know.
My leash drags
behind me, like
the small red wagon
the kids ride in. 
I stayed home, 
tail wagging,

A free man, I pee
wherever I please.
Loud rock music
assaults my ears
as a blue Honda
drives by

What’s that heavenly
smell? My leash
goes faster across
the sidewalk as I
race toward the smell.
She’s peeking out
behind a yellow forsythia bush,
a small black dog,
tiny as I, with
smiling lips and
big black eyes.

My mouth begins
to drool and I
jump like a bareback rider
across her fuzzy black back
our howls of joy can be
heard all across Cowbell
Road. Sure enough,
here he comes, yelling
and screaming,
Bad Dog! Bad Dog!

My lady and I rub
foreheads as I’m
led away
a slave bound
in chains.

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