WADING IN A ROCKY STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS–for d’Verse

Published July 25, 2019 by Nan Mykel

I saw a Neanderthal in a pinafore…

Twice or more a year or so

my nose gets outta joint–

“The Roly Poly Poet”–I get no further

than that, you see, after so grand a title:

dead ends.

You poets out there know I’m sure

how sneaky words can pose a lure

in order to make you think

you’re on the very brink…

But some poems are dead ends,

never see the light of joyful welcome.

Sigh. We know it’s we who have

failed them.

Other poems only lie on the dock

smelling fishy,,,

They do it about twice a year now, as I said,

my words, they want to play with me.

They jump into the dirt and roll, and

expect me to crawl in the mud after them–

which I do. If I say thunder rattled

the window pane where does your mind

go next? I wrote a depressed poem called

“Down in the Mouth” and it was so bad

I wrote “Lighten Up,” both blessedly missing

from this diatribe.

“For shame, Alphonse,”

was my response when he suggested

a rendezvous–just we two. I got mad,

then sad, for though he was my sister’s

beau I always thought him cute, you know?

TIME WAS. . .

Published July 24, 2019 by Nan Mykel

A spear point under an oak,

shark teeth in the roiling beach sand;

shooting stars spied from my porch cot;

fossil trilobites in my hand;

lightening bolts found underfoot

and potshards after a rain.

The unknown beckons Paleoenvironmental indicator-Wikipedia

while my muse reckons

the irregular fringe of time.

HOW LONG IS LOONEY?

Published July 24, 2019 by Nan Mykel

If we live long enough

it’s gonna be rough.

Tell-tale signs of age

spoken off the cuff

betray us and oh

how long and how sad

will it get to be

before…until…we

write bad verse, yet don’t hesitate

to remember to meditate

on what’s gone before and what

lies ahead instead?

Hey nonny nonny,

honey, if it’s not funny

why do we laugh at

our forget-me-nots?

When will we touch base

and head for home?

Not funny, dammit,

unless you’re like me–

easier to laugh

than it is to pee.

Ha ha got you there.

You expected to “cry.”

I know poor taste

when e’er I try

and will until my

looney runs dry.

Ouch! Tell me I

didn’t write this…

The Long and Short of It

Published July 22, 2019 by Nan Mykel

Life’s too short

Tooth’s too long

Horses snort

Answer’s wrong

Eyes too bright

Pool’s too deep

Bra’s too tight

He’s too cheap

Sky’s too high

Feet too smelly

Words can lie

Too tight belly

Stream beds trickle

Chewing gum sticks

I’m in a pickle

Up to old tricks.

Lost my keys

This won’t do

Down on my knees

Should get two.

Don’t say pome

Only a verse

Come on home

Could be worse.

1899. John Brown. (USPD.pub.date, artist life/COmmons.wikimedia.org)

Just You Wait!

Published July 21, 2019 by Nan Mykel

I CAN’T Play hopscotch any more Nor skate across an icy floor. I know headstands would break my neck I drove my car and caused a wreck.

It’s hard to write a funny verse ‘Specially when you’re glum and terse. I wonder if I’ll ever see a poem sadder than my knee.

Oh I know it could be worse– I could have Trumpkin as my nurse, Pointing at me and saying he Would never make a pass at me.

BUT Now I don’t have to clean my plate Or remember to stand up straight Oh what fun to say shit and damn while chasing Mary’s little lamb.

Yet no one tucks me in at night or hugs me as my mother might. Home made peach ice cream’s the best I’d not swap it for all the rest.

I STILL KNOW Little Orphan Annie can say “Watch out for the Goblins today. They’re bigger than ever and terribly clever–”

Citizens United foretold The capitalist manifold That can squeeze you to death, Enjoying your last breath.

I guess there’s a Devil after all. Call him a Goblin, you say? But the evil’s outrageous, And even contagious!

GOOD LUCK For the next century– I’m outta here.

JUST JOKING Though not very funny, I guess. The whole thing’s a horrible mess. Oh I’m moved now to barf, Do watch out for the scarf!

NEXT SCENE Maybe it’ll be better after my next round trip down home. I’ll be pushing up sod Second only to God.

You watch; I’ll be back.

THE SCRUBWOMAN

Published July 21, 2019 by Nan Mykel

THE SCRUBWOMAN

She’s on her knees, but not to pray

Trying to scrub the stains away

While knowing that they’re on to stay

“Undoing” ‘s the term used today.

He Said, She Said

Published July 20, 2019 by Nan Mykel

Today I stopped to see my shrink.

He said, “Well, what do you think?”

I said, “You mean how do I feel?”

“O Yeah, yeah, but what is the deal?”

“I’m losing it, and that’s no fun.”

“Life is no bowl of cherries, hon.”

“I didn’t think it was, but it’s

overflowing with all the pits.”

“You should think Happy Happy.”

“O that is so crappy, crappy!”

“Don’t let me rain on your parade!”

“I can’t believe what you just said!”

“I know it’s mighty bad out there.”

“Well you look comfy in your chair!”

“I am, and you should be too.”

“How can I when I am so blue?

How much do I have to pay to you

for this therapeutic hour or two?”

“S & H green stamps will be fine.

What was it that you had in mind?”

“I’m out of stamps but hope you’ll take

a cherry cheesecake that I’ll make.”

“You’ll bring it next time that you come?”

“Maybe we can both enjoy some.”

Sigh. “Goodbye.”

Flypaper Thoughts

Published July 19, 2019 by Nan Mykel

Today I could talk straight through until I die and not tell you half my thoughts, history and fellow travelers. None great but I was there and lived it all. So much, all the time. Little things, big feelings–I am an Indian mound full of artifacts, a wrapped present on Christmas morning, full of surprises, not all good. These atypical thoughts will leave me, but here they are for you to see, caught on my flypaper.

Moon casts her shadows

A plop sounds in the old creek

Night birds croon their songs

And I sleep…

Image:Ruth Scribbles.com

Other parts of Lump’s Body–Reblogged Excerpt

Published July 19, 2019 by Nan Mykel

Jill Dennison shares an anatomical survey of Lump’s racist body by Nicholas Kristof in the New York Times:

I have identified the following racist bones in Trump’s body:

Phalanges and metacarpals: These are bones of the fingers and hands that Trump has used to tweet tirades against black and brown people and to retweet Nazi sympathizers, including, twice, an account called @WhiteGenocideTM with a photo of the founder of the American Nazi Party.

Mandible and maxilla: These are the jawbones that Trump has used to denounce Mexican immigrants as “criminals, drug dealers, rapists,” not to mention to refuse to criticize the Ku Klux Klan.

Femurs, fibulas, tibias, metatarsals: These foot and leg bones carried Trump into his casinos, where black staff members would be rushed off the floor so he couldn’t see them, according to a former employee, Kip Brown.

Virtually every remaining bone was implicated in Trump’s early refusal to rent apartments in his buildings to blacks, leading the Nixon administration Justice Department (not exactly a pillar of liberalism) to sue him for housing discrimination in the 1970s. A former building superintendent working for Trump explained that any rent application from a black person was coded “C,” for “colored,” apparently so that the office would know to reject it….

Good sleuthing, Jill…