First Responder to the Dead





Charon is my rock

though I can't say why

Hero ferryman

lifeboat he does ply 


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 drowning need

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

through double negativity


his job's not rescue 

it's too late for that

the soul finder with

searchlight on his 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, so sure 

to heaven they ride

color me less sure 

grey child mystified 


they say garments washed

come out white as snow

in the blood of lamb

when homeward 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 self-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

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

will get the point of the story


minding the small lights

to save the seamen

but what about women

struggle sinking again?


who saves prisoned maids

accused of causing sin

man-eating mermaids

yet we're dying within


I'm the one sinking

yet bizarrely they blame

with wagging fingers 

pointing out my shame


both hooked and hook 

bewitched witches 

monstrous regiment 

embattled bitches


same old situation

we're the ball and chain

though its me draining

don't hear me complain


wait on curse's fall

bad thing this way comes

unseeing twiddling

ever pricking thumbs 


the sand also drains 

counting down the hour

blindly 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 worth it all

the madness and grief? 


I don't know yet

access still denied

to Charon's taxi

to the other side. 


texted "help" long ago

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







Riffing for England


Part Two of Tea with Lime and Treacle (breaking the fourth wall, the author enters the verse)


Prue wide-eyed asleep

Clive sleeping off his mouse

child left to scuff shoes

in woodland playhouse


bored of her play

she smiling turned to me

offered remnants of

their funny little tea


mulberry decoction 

with notes of sweet lime

in cracked china cups

surprisingly sublime


with the meal over

without Clive and Prue

my shy little girl 

didn't know what to do


Shall we have a game?

hopefully, said she 

what shall we play in

my mind's reverie 


battledore and shuttlecock

can we play all night? 

(In American, bitte?)

Oh, badminton, yes 

I suppose that's alright. 


(we now continue this poem as a play between two voices, Author and Child)

C: Why is it bad mitten? 

A: I don't know. Wait, no it's bad-MINTON)

C: Was Mittens bad? Why?

A: No. I don't know. 

C: Or was she wearing mittens while bad?

A: Minton. 

C: Is that different?

A: Yes. In the US. Here, God only knows. 

C: Wouldn't that be hard? 

A: Would what be hard?

C: To play battledore in mittens. 

A: I would imagine so. Wait, mittens don't come into it. When is Prue going to wake up? I need a drink.)

C: My daddy says that a lot when we play. 

A: I believe it. What does you mummy say?

C: Where's my mother's-little-helper. What do you spose that means? She has Millie the upstairs parlor maid, Mrs. Cooke the housekeeper and Mrs. Holmes the Cook. And  Mr. Door the Butler.  And her lady's maid Needles. 

A: HAHAHAHAHA are those their real names? What's the footman called? Please tell me it's Foote. And the Groom is Groome?

C: No, Boot. And Driver. Say, are we going to play or just talk about servants? And you still haven't said who is mummy's helper. Or what your name is. Or why you're writing about me. 

(*still wiping eyes. So she caught on to that, did she?) 

A: No I'm sorry. My name is Marilisa. And to whom do I have the honor of addressing myself?

C: (rolling her tongue around the strange sounding name) M-ayyree-leesuh. Shouldn't you be Lady or Dame or Mrs. some-one-or-other?

A: I Should be a dame, for sure. But what I am is a Mrs. Mrs. Sachteleben. But I guess I'm just used to introducing myself by my first name. Especially with children. It's easier.) 

C: What's a first name? 

A: Sorry, Christian name, or given, I think you call it. But we still haven't been  properly introduced. How shall I call you?

C: (drawing herself up to her full 36 inches) I am Lady Marie (Mahree) Elise Catherine Frances Eugenie Charlotte Georgina Mont-joy. 

A: Well hello to all of you, my ladies! *many giggles* and what does milady prefer to be called?

C: Poppy! 

A: Perfect. Why may I ask?

C: I just like it. 

A: Fair enough. I tried to get people to call me Ginger like Gilligan's Island, when they couldn't pronounce my name. It didn't stick for a lot of reasons. But Poppy it is. Pleased to meet you!

C: What's Gillie-gun  Island? Is that like a Scottish gamekeeper? And what did you say your surname is, like Zachtuhlayben?

A: My god girl, spot on pronunciation! My own extended family gets it wrong. I see a career as professional interpreter for you! As for Gilligan we got a lot a splaining to do! You do have TV, right?

C: Tea Vea? Like tea I had with Prue? 

(I had forgotten she didn't know that I knew about her and Prue. Because I had written them into existence. And I didn't even know when I had set them. Judging by the mother's little helper references, it was sometime around when the Stones were a thing. But that's presupposing because that song was based on an older cultural drug phenomenon. And I'd not really looked at her dress, as in costume. 

So I did now and kiss-me-quick-and-go-my-hunny it was like 19-naughties or teens at a guess. Maybe older. How did I miss that? Do a mental rewind-reset and fast. 

A: Yes, Poppy, Tea Vea is bevvie you can drink. It's also form of transportation, kind of like a dirigible or a aeroplane. Or even a locomotive which takes a train back to the station it came from.

C: *beginning to look at my attire* You don't come from now time do you? You come from a time that has been or has yet to come. 

A: It would seem so --and Sharp girl! I knew there was a reason I should like you. 

(thought bubble here, should I say where I'm from or ask her where she's from? Would that warp the time-shift continuum thingy?)


C: So you do know me? How? (ow, ow, echo, echo, echo)

(what is with the weird reverb going on here?)  

A: I don't know if do. But I'm glad I do! Now how about some Battledore and Shuttlecock, Poppy? And yes, we can play all night. 

C: Yippee! 

(to be continued)









Tea with lime and treacle


Once upon a ticky-tack

a pocket full of gin

here we come wassailing

won't you let us in?


fickle crickle swamp song

where moose and kittens play

twirling round jewelry box

the ballerina at bay


no time for counting 

nor making words come out right

let verses go sailing

in Honah-Lee tonight 


no more sense making 

I'm sick of clarity

pomp and pomposity

Want some mulberry tea?


You shall be mother 

I poured out last time

Let us raise pinkies 

skip lemon and try lime


oh yes please, and treacle

said my dolly Prue

I love how you think

my good friend and true



(Prue can never get enough treacle. Or rhubarb sauce on scones.) 


went rummaging we two

in nursery larder found

half-eaten Hob-Nobs

when Nanny wasn't around


along with the mud pies

we'd put in to bake

a vase of stolen flowers

too bad there was no cake


Clive the cat brought a 

dish to pass of mouse deceased

not to hurt his feelings 

we added it to the feast


(on an old plate which 

we neither of us touched. 

And which was for the best as 

Clive was feeling a bit growly-possessive 

so we left him to it)


Anthrax be damned. 

sick the author feels 

at this unorthodox tea

don't mention jellied eels


Tea with lime and treacle

the grown-ups scoffed at us

what a daft thing to play

just preposterous 


Probably best not to

bring up Clive's repast 

bring it up is what 

they'll do and do it fast


they were right of course

a mad hatter recipe 

was quite horrendous 

Our Monstrosi-Tea


but we et (sans mouse)

Just to prove them wrong

when did grownups cease

to hear their child song? 


Now Prue feels poorly

so she was laid to rest (sleep!)

in pine needle counterpane

prayed her soul to keep


now I'm all alone

don't know what to do 

I should jolly well 

like to play with you. 


(to be continued)

Cetirizine daydreams


Cetirizine daydream
Here we go again 
Round the tilt-a-whirl
Of KAOS back when 

Blue Benzedrine 
Pink amphetamine 
Amped up nightmares
fun ones end in -ine

Day-glo insanity 
something I can drink? 
Vengeance best served cold? 
When pushed to the brink? 

Wrinkled like a shirt 
Set on tumble dry 
Rainbow blurred by
A speck in my eye

Uniformi-tea
Force-fed nasal drip
Don't step out of line
Swallow or gag on it 

What's the use of choice? 
If there's only one to choose 
Only thing to ask 
Is which lance to use 

This is a bleak one
got no resolving chord
no happy ending
wish I could afford 

We've ground to a halt
a rest with no end 
a change as good as
no turn but a bend

Some go down to ships
some ride the storm out
I verse my angst in 
pillow muffled shout


--thanks for reading. Do drop in, anytime you need my grayer shade of pale












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