Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Good work, the Walmsey Crew - catching up with my poetry - WHO WILL I BE TODAY - PAIN - HAPPY BIRTHDAY IRIS DELIGHT

They're making very good progress AND they took a lunch break.

My lunch break was eating a salad on Scott's park bench on his front porch.

Insteada using Tyvek insulation they use Saint Gobain.

And of course you wanna read my Tyvek poem! Scroll way way down. Or not.

As you know, my bashed-in car is in the driveway. Jeff from State Farm will come out tomorrow.

Am sitting here on my red couch among the racket the Four Muskateers are making as they fix the damaged kitchen.

My mom doesn't know about this or she'll keep asking me questions about it, on and on and on.

Hey! Maybe I don't have to mention it at all tho I told my sister Donna.

Poetry please!


Droplets of mist
surrounded me as I
turned right instead
of left for my
morning walk

The old familiar houses
Patricks, the Ugandans
and the Littles with
their shiny black sedan
with misted windows

all old hat. Not till
I rounded the bend did I
see things anew. Huge
houses,like castles,
swam before me,and I was simply
a little girl, Little Ruthie

wandering in big people's clothes
a stylish blue dress nearly
certain I could find my way home.

And then I saw it. Red bee balm.
Over by the front porch. Might I
knock and ask if I could sit in
the rocker and watch the bees
swarm around like Mojito drinkers
at a party. Two straws are nice
for maximum-
ization of buzz.



I ran out the door barefoot
knowing I was doing wrong
even knowing in advance
something bad was going
to happen

But I wanted to feel
intimate with the grass
my feet touching the
carpet of green that
led to my car
where I needed to fetch
a white book I was
returning to the library

The pain seemed like
something I was born with
that unraveled like red
hot knitting needles as
I opened the handle of
the back door

Though the pain was
localized in the bottom
left corner of the foot,
the way a person goes
to his seat at a concert
Row this, Seat that

I said not a word as
my mind slowly began
to die.

That it had come to this
a small hot patch of venom
in my award-winning feet
that carry me around
every day since the late

Upon occasion the pain
ran up the same leg
this was nothing like
sciatica or stubbing the toe

This was wrecking the entire
leg as if shot in battle
the Civil War where the wounds
and blood ran deep

I was awaiting amputation now
in the stuffy canvas tent where
my fellows lay moaning and
asking for mother

I said not a word. No need.
Had no desire to tell anyone
or express my burial plans.
Just get it over with, I
mumbled to myself. In that
my father and I are the same.

Suffer my bones
suffer my soul
and then snuff out my light.



Poet, Mother, Wisdom-seeker
Gift-giver, Faithful
compatriot who, though
miles away, knows me like
my own sister.

Am drinking to you now
with my Iced Starbucks Coffee

We are survivors still
from all the terrors that
asault the world. Your
beloved Kim is not here
to view them all.

Once in San Francisco we
walked the Golden Gate Bridge
gazing down into the wild
waters, knowing nothing
of what would become of us

O innocence of children. Of
all the children you have
placed into fine homes. On
your own, after Kim left.

Write on Poet, write on, thrill
us with your Visions and may
the stars, the sun and
the moon protect the brilliance
of your ever-lovin soul.


It was not the food I picked out -
Starbucks Unsweetened Coffee on sale
for five bucks
Goat cheese in a round plastic circle
soft as a peach in my hand
New Olive Oil Triscuits raved about
on Facebook by my daughter-in-law
Or Sweet Red Cherries from the
Pacific Northwest where the sea
breezes crept into each plump
cherry that made its way into
my bowl that I ate while watching
Frontline's report on the Newark
Police Department. Horrific! 

The quality of light in the
Giant rained down on me as
I pushed my cart and
marveled at the beauty of
every little thing
Succulent apricots
Green furry kiwis
Shimmering beer bottles

Walking quickly in this
stadium-sized store I
inwardly saluted
The Weinrich baker in his apron
Bearded Erich the pharmacist
in his white lab coat
And remembered a friend of mine
Joseph V Bondi, a Roman Catholic,
who believes there's a Heaven
Indeed there is. And I've found it.
Right here at the Willow Grove


You might say I'm buzzed a bit on the coffee. So, I'm going downstairs in the coolness, and gonna continue reading the John Sanford thriller, a real page-turner.

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