Bubble Gum Pink Soap

the bubble gum soap

to scrub printer's ink 

in the press washroom

with the granite sink

soap of neon pink

cleanses grime away 

who will whiten my 

black and blues today?

soul's donkey gray

darker shade of pain

written big and bold

in indelible stain

This Eeyore-ing rain

scoring grooves in faces

weeping down like salt

tales told in the traces

whittling deep and wide

subterranean lows

can't go much deeper

it's low as it goes

elevator mic drop

plummets through the floor

steam locomotive

gate crashes the door

amid the debris

the push pushes past 

chokey smoke roiling 

chaos halts at last 

Notice I said halt

not stop, end nor ceased

slow-motion station

lulls the ceaseless beast

I wish for pink stuff

to wash him away 

but this juggernaut 

is with me to stay. 

But that pink soap didn't work very well either, so I turn to my poems from whence comes some peace. 

Lisping in way-back rhyme

Dune of many steps

runs down to the lake

out to horizon 

underneath the wake

chromatic scale hues

twinkle in the sand

fairy microcosm

I held in my hand

to find my true north

I look to my lake

spirituality

awoken, wide awake

Mandela spinning

slideshow carousel

at Formica table 

known and loved so well

Here's an old photo

but it's new to me

a fat gawky kid

at home by the sea

silly weird  haircut

where long tresses fell

sacrificed to a

god jealous as hell

look at the picture

pretend it's not me

examine closer

now what do I see 

just a little girl

unposed candid peek

not photogenic 

nor a circus freak 

hard to unsee self

without eye of mind

past mental images

so cruel and unkind

I saw different 

I saw inside out

Still can't envision

what I was about

wonder what she saw

squint-eyed in the sun 

blinded by the night

that made the tears run

In elemental swim

building forts in sand

chatters to herself

in this long-ago land

two missing front teeth 

jack-o-lantern smile

chubby cheek chipmunk,

lisp with me awhile?

natter with grandkids

but her I can't reach

funny little sand crab

playing on my beach

I could leave a note

scrawled along the lake

I should warn my girl

of pain and heartbreak 

I'll leave her happy

stick writing in sand

grains of tomorrow

falling through her hand

my hand. 

This is TOWR Radio with an update on the hostage situation

(beep,beep,beep, this is Capt. Charon of the Camelot river rescue, coming to you from TOWR radio with live updates in the hostage situation. We are receiving the lady's messages but some interference in the signal seems to be causing her not to receive ours. We will keep you posted on the status of her release. Meanwhile this is the transcript of messages so far...)

caught in a FOG trap

fear, obligation, guilt

endlessly weaving  

nightmare patchwork quilt

scared by dream scars

so much I must do

with grains running out

I haven't any clue

make bricks without straw

gold from straw to spin

progress sabotaged 

must begin again

dogged by their chaos 

demands left and right

tasks without an end

sleepless Shalott night

got my foot stuck fast

in quicksanded blight

pulling me under 

no more will to fight

carry it alone

no one seems to see

pulled under by my

old man and the sea

tried the new SOS 

and the old CQD

no life raft sent to

come and rescue me

guess it's just me with

my own life to save

rescue swim out of

choking riptide wave 

but t'was ever thus

in and out of years

cries for help falling

on mute and deaf ears

so you quit crying

give up and give in

why even bother

they will always win 

so damned used to

making do and mend

used up and worn out 

to the bitter end

don't dare to stop 

when they have died out 

voices in my head 

always rave and shout 

beasts long devoured 

by conquering worm 

still ever hungry 

devour me in turn

dementors deposed

yet my "loving" kin

still bang on my brain

till I let them in. 

new voices say I 

could turn them away

nothing stopping me

no longer kept at bay

and yet...

cage bars rusted through

still bind and hold me

self-restrained prison

locked by memory 

couldn't see tower's

ephemerality

from inside out it

looks like walls to me

turns out it's just me 

can unbolt the door

let friend ferryman 

help me to the shore 

always the gentleman

allows me the lead

loving kindness goes

beyond word to deed

softly, milady

will you take my arm?

ever holding held 

keeping safe from harm

 Hallelujah!

(Thanks for tuning in to TOWR Radio! Safe journeys on the STYX airwaves. )

First Responder to the Dead

Charon is my rock

though I can't say why

Hero ferryman

lifeboat in tie-dye

that's how I see him

helmet on his head

a first responder 

to those who are dead

living have saviors

patron saints galore 

but the drown-girl needs 

a friend at the shore

lifeboat's not the word

for this charnel ark 

passengers deceased 

he ain't afraid of the dark

ain't afraid of nothing 

prince nor principality

just keeps on vaping

lime serenity 

his job's not rescue 

it's too late for that

he's the soul finder 

in a searchlight hat

seen him depicted as

skeleton crew of one

poling his barge to

Elysian night sun

I like him in rags

coat of many hues

mama made for him?

with holes in both shoes

so many ferried 

safely cross the flow

looking forward to

wherever it is I go

so many black and white

it's to heaven they ride

color me humbly grey

moonlit starry-eyed  

they say garments washed

come out white as snow

in the blood of lamb

when upward we go

 

could it be we all

see what we wanna see

visions of ourselves 

as we'd like to be?

maybe I'm mystic 

in glass darkly see

what I know for sure

mine's a mystery 

I find strange comfort 

in insecurity 

it's cock-assurance that 

destabilizes me. 

does it really matter

how I start or end

just so I land in 

the boat of my friend

I find peace in rags

of Captain Charon

unfamiliar safety 

the girl and her boatman

cuz death's just a stop

on a long steam train

glory-bound platform

in Michigan dune rain                                                                                                 

and this is one 

(the lady of Shalott is still signaling BTW. So keep tuning in to TOWR radio for updates. He rescued me, so there's hope for her.)

That's what I get for going where my heart led

a song my grandad loved 

the fixer not the printer man

"let the lower lights be burning" 

spins round my mind again 

God's got the Fresnel lens

we tend lights on shore

so sinking sailors

will struggle no more

grandson Milo resonates

true son of his Opi

lighthouse loving boy

gets my opaque story

minding the small lights

to save the seamen

but what about women

struggle sinking again?

who saves the mermaids

accused of causing sin

called man-eaters yet 

it's us dying within

I'm the one sinking

yet they're quick to blame

with wagging fingers 

writing out my shame

hooked and the hook 

bewitched witches 

monstrous regiment 

embattled bitches

same old situation

we're ball-cock and chain

it's me draining yet you

don't hear me complain

wait on curse's fall

evil this way comes

blindly twiddling

ever pricking thumbs 

and so the sand drains 

counting down the hour

sightless sending SOS

from Shalott tower

For love of a man 

out upon a ride 

brought about doom 

split glass side to side 

was he gentlemen 

or fork-tongue thief

was he really worth 

the madness and grief? 

I don't know yet

access still denied

to Charon's taxi

across river wide  

"help" text sent long past

but 911 went dead

that's what I get for 

going where my heart led

no wonder she took the hard way out

(The poem's over but the story's not done yet, so stay tuned to this dial at TOWR radio, folks.) 

Crying in dots and dashes

inarticulate today

I write not by choice

skipping record stuck

searching for its voice

is it me heard or 

just me giving way 

to them in my ear

demanding their say?

If I talked back 

whatever to say

to shame in my head

to make them go away

have I ever had 

words that were mine?

did I just rehearse

their fed party line?

It's not them, I know

their babbling refrain

this backward spun song

is incoherent but sane

half-heard half forgot

like foggy dew tune

buried in shadow 

of lightning rune 

is that what calls from

priest hole in my brain

muted phantasm 

groaning out her pain?

my inner lady

in keep of Shalott

stranded at station

in town of Camelot

will they finally hear

keening caught mine deep 

like stranglehold choke

when you're sound asleep

guttural and gutted 

what a godawful sound

blue tick hound howl of

milady gagged and bound

babies speak in tears

no words but a cry 

I can't even weep 

it's useless to try 

I open my mouth

only croaks come out 

fish out of water

dying flops about 

so I think my call 

sent by telepathy 

tapping out Morse code

in towered CQD

no trust in rescue

from message bottled tight

I'll shine my SOS

from Shalott tonight

in dots and dashes 

across dragon moat

willing Charon to 

fetch zipline and boat

tune in to TOWR radio to hear whether he arrived in time 

or if she took the hard way home. 

Mercurochrome Burn

Mercurochrome burn

frying out my brain

heart and soul scorched

bleeding down the drain

agony never felt

when it was just me

harm to my beloved 

searing misery 

blinded by the blight

can't see a damn thing

only hear clang  of

funeral bells ring

Wanna bust out but

writhing just twists more

there is no exit

just a tomb sealed door

So I'll sit tight while 

you think you run loose

give you enough rope

you'll make your noose

I know you demon

Saw you creeping there

you coward bully 

come out if you dare

lying traitor thief

biting at my mind

one day you'll be 

bit by your own kind

you think you're so cute 

but we are on to you

you show your evil

in everything you do

you loaded a bullet

you took careful aim

what you don't know is

that it bore your name

Your time is coming

you'll sign your own end

better watch your gun

has one for you, friend. 

not by my hand 

not for me to do

no need to plot revenge 

you drank doom on you