He lived his life running
Hiding in closets along the way
Never living his life
Cheating those around him of theirs
Jumping from Closet to Closet
Desperate to hide his anguish
Pushing his pain on those around him
Cracking the door now and then
Tasting glimpses of freedom
My Father came to visit me last night, normally this wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary, except for the fact that he has been dead for nearly twenty years. He grabbed me by the hand and lead me to a party, some face I recognized, friends and family who had recently passed on. ‘
“This, Baby Girl is the Cast Party. We all come here to unwind when the show is over, ” he said before offering me a refreshment.
I noticed a few people being taken out in handcuffs. This alarmed me, naturally I questioned my father about it.
” Well, I’ll tell you baby Girl, The Director felt they gave an awful performance, so they are being cast out. He just doesn’t see any hope for them.”
Looking around I didn’t see my Ma , by brother or my mother. I became nervous. What had become of them? Again I put my concerns forth to my father.
Sometimes The Director sees potential in people and decides to give them a repeat performance, to allow them to hone their craft. Your mother and brother are among those people they sent back to give an encore.
People like Me and Ma , the more experienced ones get to enjoy fruits of our labour. Ma is up there no in the Penthouse waiting for me.
If it feels wrong, you probably shouldn’t do it. Those words have been ringing in my ears since the first time My Father spoke them to me, and they are the guide I go by when I feel uneasy about something.
I found myself in a position where I thought I could do some good, but all that glitters is not Gold.
I struggled with myself , should I speak up or not, and I would be a coward not to ,
So here goes, and let the chips fall where they may.
I stepped down from my position as Poetry Editor due to an anthology that is being marketed very cleverly as a benefit anthology for children with cancer, when the truth is they only intend on giving the first week’s royalties to the children.
Perhaps I am not cruel enough for business, but this disturbed my soul .
I had been fighting with myself for the past week over this, until I became physically and depressed.
If I lose friends and/or acquaintances for speaking the truth, I guess that is fine.
I am just a Mother, Grandmother and a Writer. I don’t pretend to be better than anyone else, nor do I want to be, I would just hate for someone to be put in the position I was in.
There were no parades
When Joe came home
They spit on him instead
Baby Killer! Baby Killer!
Shouts Ringing in his ears
Not one pat on the back for Joe
No thank yous for a job well done
Why couldn’t he tune in, turn on, tune out
Burn his card and run away to Canada
A bomb disguised as a child took out his company
He lost his left ear, and gained a purple heart
War bruised his heart to the point of a violet hue
Chaos ensued under the big top
The Brotherhood of Clowns at war
Pies loaded with shards of glass
Tossed haphazardly in every direction
Not a care for who or what dripped blood
In the end none of matter anyway
Everyone was still there to see The King
The True Master of IT all in The Center Ring
Oh, Whiny Bitch Boi
Stroking Keys Incessentally
A Keyboard Warrior on the prowl
An Oddity in your Own Right
A Johnsonless Johnson
Perhaps that is what feeds
Your Need to Over strike the keys
To some you bring boredom
To others you bring laughter
Sitting in your own foul stench
Stroking away endlessly
Your keyboard needs chastity
Oh, Dear Whiny Bitch Boi