All Too Well (First Love version)
I remember a bus stop.
I can picture it- seven years later.
It was cold, so it must have been fall.
I remember your little bounce- you were cold. Already wearing a hoodie, so I couldnt offer mine.
I remember the glint of your teeth off the stop lights. Driving felt so far away then, waiting for the bus.
I remember your laugh on the wind- sharp, deep and cutting. I felt my own lips turn. I remember it was a tie between a grin and a frown-
because I could not openly love you then. And I was too sick to know how, anyway.
But nobody knew- not how I kept you sacredly to my chest. Not my quiet murmuring of worship. They didn't know the same altar I prayed at for your love that they prayed for your salvation. Or mine. Who knows?
Seven years. So many hours lost to thinking of you. So many poems. An entire book.
So, I know. I don't know you now, just as you don't me as must as you like to think you do from what I heard of you saying about me.
Despite it, I love you. Or maybe I love late, cold nights at a bus stop,
and awkward fumbling and hidden, anxious kisses.
I smile and swallow bitterly until im worried my face will stick like that.
And then I know it isn't true.
If soulmates exist, it is you. Because I cannot be rid of you though I try.
I don't remember your smell, or your touch, but I remember you.
I remember it all.
Present wedded bliss ain’t no touchstone...
double negative meaning golden years
joie de vivre of married life unknown
during our sputtering rancorous courtship
when skirting within danger zone
witnessed countless ruptures
courtesy selfish wordsmith,
who authored these words.
Circa ~ late spring/ early summer 1978
twas at behest of Harriet Harris,
thus due credit mother dearest
who tried, to bribe, coax, exhort...
(protracted effort not all in vain),
cuz her second of three progeny,
and sole son i.e. (me) to
commingle, frolic, immerse myself
quintessentially ushering yawping zeal,
cuz general disposition courtesy yours truly
heavily trended toward solitude,
limiting interpersonal opportunities
minus those crafted,
videre licet overactive imagination (mine).
I took immediate affinity
(think duck adapting to water)
to milieu of contra dancing
and soon became popular with the gals,
surprising myself how enjoyable
untrammeled pinteresting linkedin hoopla
delivered je ne sais quois joie de vivre,
(the most fun one could experience
without taking off their clothes),
me no exhibitionist by a far cry!
How fitting and proper
to state we (thyself and spouse)
met (for reel) and jiggered mine johnson
at Thursday night contra dance
Summit Presbyterian Church
6757 Greene Street,
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19119
(initially held at Church
of Saint Martin-in-the-Fields,
SaintMartins Lane, Chestnut Hill,
Philadelphia, PA 19118
scads of years past
(actually more'n deux times deuce
score earth's orbitz around
or quattuor decades ago),
whereby the missus claims,
she espied (yours truly
then as) young lad
(bookworm type fella)
with boyish good looks
and golden locks
emblematic of Samson,
who would be envious (ha).
At four foot eleven Delilah,
the petite prospective missus
(plus her waist length brunette tresses)
ball of fire stood out amidst
madding crowd drew attention (mine),
yet she vociferously, vigorously,
and vehemently still claims
initial awkward overtures
ascribed to Zison assertiveness.
Yours truly, he blatantly admits pranced as novitiate
devoid of interpersonal finesse and polish to whit,
a mere neophyte in a nutshell
hankering to sow wild oats that's zit.
Whereby our relationship got off to
(how shoal I say) rocky start
gallivanting with thee lass,
who would eventually
take me (grudgingly - ha)
as her respective lifelong sweetheart.
Unbeknownst to yours truly,
pent up unleashed testosterone
experienced disquieting alarm
adequately adept equipped with strong arm,
I tapped into secrete Lucky charm,
(albeit surreal environment
cavorting amidst madding crowd)
helped cultivate feral latent impotent
animal husbandry to farm
long fallow fresh unadulterated field
jabbering innocent blather,
brazenness embarrassingly proliferated,
but provocative behavior
smote ego (mine)
not with irrecoverable harm,
analogous to angry bees didst
adequately buzzfeeding naiveté
beehive ving like metaphorical swarm
(smartly stinging me) think freshly cooked
cockles and muscles clammy and warm.
I eventually acquired figurative ropes
regarding dating game
basic primal version
(at that time apps unnecessary)
nevertheless, call of the wild
thee woke former slumbering
beastie boy needed receptive body to tame,
he thus availed himself as lame
crash test dummy
feebly acquired social skills
bungled how to romance a capricious dame
readied himself to aim.
Aye celebrate thy life partner
with balance and swing
proffering courtesy turn
exhibiting gratitude occasionally
while with linkedin elbows turn a circle
punctuating spontaneity with do-si-do.
July 25th marks wedding anniversary
delineating, demarcating, denoting,
where the missus supposedly
filched mine bachelorhood,
whereby justice of the peace
Judge Henry Schireson,
(who still maintains an office
925 Montgomery Avenue, Suite 100
Narberth, Pennsylvania 19072-1913)
accommodated us as we became newlyweds
pledging our troth that hot July twenty fifth,
I try to recollect any vestige
constituting distinguishing,
under_scoring outstanding details
sifting thru hazy memories of past.
Today references when more' n force gore
and seven years ago
tha youngest daughter of
William and Sylvia Zison
found her lifetime beau (zoe)
pea ping over a paperback
(at present aye got nada clue of the title),
unbeknownst to him,
he would be
doing lifetime penance as a husband
and father, no longer
able to keep his head underground
like an ostrich or emu
foisted into marriage
when flagellated cell
didst ova whelm,
and subsequently flue
max, a panic prone
pencil necked geek
soon to learn goo
goo gaga, and brushing up
on Horton Hears a Hoo
learning to swaddle
airtight as an igloo
though a devout atheist gentile,
he attests genealogical lineage
linkedin many a Jew
but unfortunately only
scant details this groom knew,
hence he fabricated
while flushing in the loo,
which sketchy family tree
did include roomy, loony,
goofy, and cookey
offshoots, (essentially deadwood
pruning hooks never took down),
hence weak human DNA stock
freely germinating cow
wards less bright than
cloven hoofed bovines moo
ching and sometimes
tasting virgin Semitic brew,
especially espying bear naked lady
even yours truly
hollered yabba dabba doo
tasting verboten fruit
predestined to sire daughters
after enjoying despacito
while playing flugelhorn spitting
sputtering semantic glue
whereby biological totally
tubular fates loosed full bore
obligatory, yet paternal loving chore
foisting dada track detour
invoking fatherly delight
as fate found me to explore
the joys and sorrows
engaging das mister Harris
chieftain, sans family of four
attending, diapering, and pampering galore
which necessary task
aye could, nor would
be able to ignore
from which pier rill us
infant sea bay bee
launched jarring
insightful growing pains
attendant 'pon requisite
summer re: autotomy offspring,
when tears streamed
down cheeks as more
declarations of independence
meant nudging flight while pouring
heartfelt love shorering, and anchoring,
viz Harris blackstrap -
molasses survival skills,
thence giving progeny Thor
row lee - wharf fare
levying my best damned
gluten and MSG free
emotional bulwark whar
renting channeling concurrently bolstering
your preponderent swell alcove
harboring shipshape bon voyage.
Expediting distilled
when in the quarts of hue man ovens
this neptune salad days
steps outside summit Presbyterian Church -
and Westview Streets
near Weavers Way,
where yarn not gonna believe,
our traditional Jewish
wedding vows as merely imagined
courtesy fictitious Norwegian Jewish
bachelor farmer wannabe
so please pardon perfectly praiseworthy
precise preferential prevarication
page turning suspense
filled vaulted sepulchral air
ushering the veiled spouse to be
while afar off trumpets did blare
(arranged by
well known matchmaker Harriet Kuritsky)
creating the ambiance
analogous to a renaissance faire
yet contrasted in that this bachelor
and other men related to me
segregated with females and males
at a set distance away
i.e. not physically near
dictated by mandates
of Hebrew coda
stemming from Moses biological tree
which, separate quarters
ample enough to spare
until the proper toll of the bell would peal
accompanied by unified yippee!
After Rabbi Boyce officiated
for the groom and bride,
the crowd exalted with cheers
of L’Chaim with chutzpah
oompah sizzling and hot.
Klezmer musicians played schmaltz
which accompanied hoopla
as couples did waltz.
All the while family, friends and relatives
blessed the new groom and bride
although highly orthodox,
the men removed respective skullcap
more commonly known as yarmulke
some plain others dyed
women and children broke out
in traditional dance and song
while other did clap
exemplifying Yahweh to deliver mazal tov
and shalom as spiritual guide
to the pronounced husband and wife
who pledged their troth in a snap.
Toward conclusion
of typical Jewish wedding,
a full goblet of kosher red wine
got tossed in the air
this (in conjunction
with crush of emptied wine glass
sacred apex rite
of passage communicated a sign
and marshaled the crowd
to begin a local Jerusalem exodus
symbolic and clear.
As the newlyweds blissfully
and radiantly strolled arm in arm
and exited the Synagogue,
the euphoric and excited crowd
did house tossed handfuls
of uncle Ben’s unconverted libertarian rice
grown from norwegian bachelor farmers
on nearby organic whole foods farm
a chauffeur waited
to shuttle newlyweds to honeymoon location
passersby waved and bowed
and local fire department
rang a false alarm.
Entry #3: A Melancholy In Gold
The royal tears won't flow. I have no hope of claiming the power in the wake of their deluge. When a meteor hits, the impact only does some of the devastating -- waves do their fair share. I feel as if I have it in me to dredge the toxins from the belly of Gaia herself and, in doing so, spin up and dilute the poisonous rot stewing there. I keep the golden key in my pocket. It will know its' companion in due time.
To know The Key is to let it twine like some eight-legged reptile round my fingers, sink its' teeth into my palms, and find rest. As my coil tremors, my spirit slinks off and away. Cowardice, or tact? Respite, in either case, and by such simple means.
On Beginning Again:
starting again for the first time feels like stepping into the sunshine on your porch for the first time again after hibernating in your bedroom for 9 and a half long days. the first sip of a London fog on a crisp Monday morning. filling out your journal and listening to your weekly discovery tucked away in the corner of the patio at your favorite local shop. sitting in the waves searching for crabs with new friends in the middle of your twenties. receiving calls from your sister throughout the week and getting the opportunity to pour into each other, cry, yell, and process together, laugh and dream-like kids. rediscovering a sense of wonder. reconnecting with your creative nature. doing something you used to love just for the fun of it. trying something new just for the fun of it. letting yourself be bad at something and still enjoy it. talking to that one friend you hadn't heard from in months and reconnecting over the heartache of the collective human struggle. sitting under the stars and realizing just how small you are. catching a glimpse of a shooting star and realizing just how important your dreams are. crying on the edge of your bed with your mom, talking about family baggage, the curses we pass on, along with the blessings, for this is the healing of deep-rooted familiar trauma. celebrating with your therapist when you start to make the connections. the way you stand taller as you rebuild confidence in yourself as you actually do the hard work of learning to follow through on commitments, goals, and dreams. the way you stand taller and rebuild your confidence when you stand up for your boundaries walking down the same streets you did five years ago reminiscing on growth. finally pulling your old journal off the shelf to write this very poem on beginning.
A Chance
Sometimes there is a book that comes into your life and you look at it.
You pick it up and open to the title page. It tells you theres hope. It tells you something you wish with all your heart was true but you can't believe it yet. So, you put it down. Then, a few years later, you remember that book. You remember the promise it gave you and you think, maybe I'm ready to hope. Maybe I'm ready to take a chance. You remember how it told you there were possibilities even in the darkest days and you remember how you felt it could never happen. You pick up the book. You open to the title page. You tell yourself, I'm willing to take this chance. To take the chance that maybe it isn't real. That maybe it was all a dream. But I'm willing to take the chance that this children's book is telling the truth. That maybe there isn't a faun making tea in Narnia, but there just might be a light in the forest or a hope in the dark. So you take a breath, breath it out and read.
People To Keep Close:
the friend that always makes space for you in a conversation. the coworker that asks you questions with intention, hoping to hear your genuine answer because they truly want to understand you just a little bit better. the ones that honor your truth and allow you to show up exactly as you are. the loved one that accepts you unconditionally but still challenges you to be better tomorrow than you were today. the barista that always smiles at you and shares their kindness. sometimes it’s a stranger that gets you out of your head and brings you back into the present. sometimes it’s a stranger that carries you through the most dreadful of days. the friend that offers you loving advice. the friend who makes you laugh. the friend that you can sit in silence with. the friend who knows what you’re saying with a single look. the friends from childhood who have seen you grow from a reckless freckle-faced young girl to a bold and passionate woman— they can tell the eyes of your old soul carry a little more wisdom now. the lover who holds your heart gently and says I know that others have not been graceful with this before but I will not falter. the person who inspires you. the person who believes in you. the person who pours into you. the teachers. the dreamers. the faithful. the trustworthy. the loyal. the brave. the honest. the lovers. the advocates. the creative. the curious. the mindful. the person that is patient with you as you excavate the inner layers of yourself and rediscover the person long buried beneath. the ones that celebrate you. the ones that embrace you. the ones that see you.
“For restful death I cry”
When you said
I think about death all the time
my heart shattered
as someone who has lived with death
invited him over even
once or twice
the sentiment was nothing new
we’re old friends, he and I,
buddies;
but you,
You
who have always loved life
who never entertained thoughts
of mortality
never wanted the trip to end
who found joy in each phase
life threw your way
for you, for me, this was devastating
a normal stage of progression,
perhaps,
but one I’d hoped you’d never meet.
Beryl
When you said y'all would have all our power on by Wednesday, you flat out lied.
Day six looks like it's fixin' to turn into day seven - what spin you going to weave next?
Don't make promises you can't keep...leave that to the loco politicians
Here's a tip don't give an interview with a thermostat right behind you either...
Not a good look, it's not one that hot and angry Texans appreciate.
I know we cannot control Mother Nature as she is fickle.
Beryl was a beast that whipped winds like I have never heard nor seen from any Hurricane.
The mishandling of a bad situation well, y'all got room for improvement.
The "Be Someone" mural on I-45 is legend, and now there's a new kid in town
and it can be found under I-10
Kudos to the artist who expressed "CENTERPOINTLE$$"
Well done.
To Be, To Exist
My house smells of childhood.
Like dirt, and a medicated shampoo that isn’t at all horrible— it’s just there. It clings to my clothes the same as a mild perfume.
It’s a strange town, where the people watch as you drive by. They pause in their routine, and stare.
I once saw a father and son riding backward on their bikes- but perhaps I am wrong. I did blink twice, and a dozen more as I twisted fully in the passenger seat until my spine was angled horribly to watch.
There is familiarity in this strange place, too, aside scent.
I roll my wrists, and one pops and cracks from when it broke two summers ago.
The other is bent at a strange angle from when I type my stories with elbows tucked to my sides,
and I know if I smile it will be lopsided the same as my brothers.
I exist within memories. I am nothing more than memories stacked upon another,
creating a being so filled with time and with so much left to live and yet exhausted.
What a thing, to be human.
To My Ex-Manager
My Dear Ex-Manager,
You
fucking
cunt.
I don't know where to begin. Maybe I'll start by saying that my lovely wife first called you a cunt after hearing my stories. And you're the one person she allows me to call a cunt. I can just start talking about "that fucking cunt" and she'll know it's you of whom I speak.
Oh, you fucking cunt. Remember the Employee Appreciation Lunch, when all the executives stood up and said how much they appreciate the hard work we employees do. And then you, a manager, stood up for 30 minutes and talked about YOURSELF and how hard YOU work. Such a cunt!
Or after that first round of layoffs, in your office, telling me and what's-his-name that if you wanted, you could have everyone fired. That that's how powerful you are. Fucking cunt.
Remember how you cut down my idea for your stupid-ass project, and even told coworkers behind my back that I wasn't realistic. Then, two weeks later, you used the same idea and took credit for it. Cunt!
And why would you talk bad about one of my coworkers and tell me she's having marital problems? Were you trying to out-cunt yourself?
I could go on and on. Remember when you told a coworker, "mishmash doesn't believe in anything!" Didn't you know that would get back to me? You fucking cunt. I actually took it as a compliment. That I was one of the few to stand up to your bullshit.
Of course it all came back to bite me in another one of those many layoffs, when it was my time. I've got to admit I appreciated that you threw a few perks my way at the end, and even expressed regret that you had to let me go. So thanks for that. I guess even you can't be a perfect cunt all the time.
Sincerely,
mishmash