Hodge Podge

Today I thought I would share some poems that are...well, different. The first is an angry poem. The second, a poem that I hope displays some humor. I actually delight in writing funny stuff, but they are usually about and for friends, and the jokes are usually known only to a few, so I will explain a few points. If you like the humorous one, I will share more. Let me know.

During my stint as a therapist, I worked with children. Often, they had some pretty horrific backgrounds. Almost always, an adult knew about the abuse and didn't tell anyone because they didn't want to be involved. The metaphor of the poem came when I was visiting inlaws many years back. Racoons were rampant in the area, and the process was to trap the racoon and then shoot it in the cage. Then someone else would hose the blood from the driveway.

Never Touched a Soul

i flinch every time it happens.
close my eyes and ears
so my ignorance remains just so.
hose blood off the driveway
(its good for the grass, i hear).
i mean, i didn’t put it there,
the blood, that is.
made sure i wasn’t too close to the action.
looked away just in time.
habit i guess. (and a good one, i might add).
if i may be so bold:
take my advice
stay out of the dark places,
children die there, (in the dark places, i mean).
rotting in corners of closets
backrooms in basements.
i’ve seen it.
helped provide the apathy.
but never touched a soul.
never ever.
absolutely disgraceful nowadays.
how innocence is slaughtered.
so many monsters with time on their hands.
i’ve seen ‘em.
the houses they live in (the children and the monsters).
not to worry, just follow my lead:
tend to your lawn.
if i had a forte (love that word, forte).
it would be the cleansing of my conscience.
its as cleanas a whistle.
(i’m told blood is good for the grass).

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This next poem I wrote for a fellow intern when I was getting my doctorate in psychology. She came up from Texas for the year long internship. She could only afford an apartment in the worst part of town. Her deadbeat spouse did not pay the monthly car bill, so her car was temporarily repossessed, her dog was...well read for yourself. The episode with the crow is true. I love Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven", so here is my tribute to her perseverance and Poe's poetry.
My Ravin’
(with apologies to Edgar Allen Poe and his poem, The Raven)

As I wondered in the ghettos, stepping over used stilettos, feeling knowledge rich, and yet so intern poor.
While I plodded, slowly walking, suddenly gunfire came a-pocking, with gangstas softly mocking, mocking at the year I had in store.
“‘Tis only gang-banging”, I muttered, “mocking me so poor.
Only this and nothing more.”

With fears I do remember, the Fall into December, double locking all my windows, and triple checked the door.
As I staggered, without hoping, my sanity a-groping, with drooling dopers doping, I gave a Texan’s roar.
“My car has been stolen”, I shouted, and help I did implore.
It was repossessed, and nothing more.

With my brave retriever, a tried and true believer, hiding in by bathtub, and frightened to
The core.
He was spinning, in a tizzy, I think he got too dizzy, I did not see it, (way too busy), he fell onto
The floor.
He bumped his head, I ranted, and called for help and more.
You need help, they said, and nothing more.

With my dog more was to follow, his head still being hollow, bullied by tiny foxes that left him running for the door.
I was cleaning, inward crying, I tell the truth (I am not lying), he caught a raven that was flying, interrupting my ghetto chore.
“Drop the bird”, I screamed, chasing my dog across the floor.
My focus became that crow, and nothing more.

With raucous cries in my apartment, in my closet’s dark compartment, the raven flew as if to seek some safety’s shore.
On my head, it tried to ramp on, it’s little head I’d gladly stamp on, the fuckin’ bird had stole a tampon, and flew out my bathroom door.
“Stupid bird!” I raved, “to be so hygiene poor.”
I drank a Blue Moon sixpack, and nothing more.

As an intern I’ve paid dearly, hear me shriek in anger clearly, it is your understanding,
that I do implore.
Colorado’s cold has made me shiver, I drank so much I shot my liver, I think of jumping in the river, the warmth of Texas I do succor.
“Heading South”, I chanted, as I never had before.
And you shall hear my ravin’, nevermore.

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Let me know your thoughts and reactions. Til next time, take care of yourself and each other.

b