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

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

Leave the moonlight on for me

well look who's back

Omi and Opi

flew in from dreamland

settled in our tree

nested by the bird seed

grampa always hid 

he knew the good spots

so of course they did!

downy woodpeckers

you may call these things

they're my elder sparks

grand spirits with wings

Once upon a memory

I'd dream of we three

walking by our big lake

my granddad and me

to their eternal rest 

they were finally sent

but came back to visit

from wherever they went

All tears dried we hear

but if heaven's so swell

then tell me why them

leaving hurts like hell? 

Maybe they knew I 

couldn't cope alone

didn't want to leave me

again on my own

so they came each night

then they had to leave

these nocturnal visits 

always made me grieve

it must be hard when

earthlings hold you tight

but I was stuck too 

in a death grip plight

then one night they said

I must let them go

perhaps it hurt them

to see me hurt so 

so I did so they did

cease to visit me

must have been ready

for I didn't even see

they live in recall

verses woven in foam

yet it seems they found

a new place to call home

I hang a feeder

in the backyard tree

like they always did

where birds love to be

when the seed runs out

they scold and nag me

they keep on dining 

when I walk to the tree

we startle each other

it's quite an affray 

we laugh and beg pardon

he never flies away

perched supervising

feeder filling time 

I fully comprehend

his mute pantomime

and in the evening

when birds go to bed

I still see friendly 

shade shadows in my head

elder sparks hover

in twilight requiem

I daren't blink or move

lest I might miss them

these feathered fairies 

whatever they may be

neither fact nor fiction

still drop in on me 

now we've gone gentler 

in dark night of soul

in fairy fragments 

I find full-moon whole

a back dune meander

Elysian daydreams 

driftwood and fireflies

Tlingit moonbeams

now play hide and seek

for grandpa is silly 

when the moon is new 

no light we can see 

like he always did 

bidding me goodnight

began to shut the door

thereby dousing the light

it was just pretend 

just so I would howl

always left it open

my dear wise old owl

sacred was the ritual 

bed bugs and sleep tight

moonshine wish kisses

hugs with all our might

my elders sparks still 

twinkle for us to see

never shut the door and

leave the moonlight on for me

Panic Attack Ack-Ack

deep vein thrombosis

throbs through my whole

shell shock reverberates

shockwaves in my soul

musty sweet sickness 

I know this of old 

Tupperware bowl of

moldy oatmeal stone cold

gut lurching forward in

backward high-speed train 

elevator major lift  

minor fall migraine

crash land on reentry

rank, dank memory

rag rug pulled away

rage storm drowning me

panic attack ack-ack

mind's machine gun nest

can't find my gas mask

for air raid warden test

this ain't no test nor

car backfire sound

my heart knows the drill

of sucker punch pound 

world without an end

they are mad again

me in the crosshairs

cue the great amen

comes the fusilade

flak- ack-ack attack

scapegoat in the middle

no one has my back

angry fingers drum

a morse code of shame

in military tattoo

stenciled on my brain

blindside blindman's bluff

family ambush game

everyone playing

pass the buck and blame

in clown monkey band 

chimp on calliope

harpy harpsicord 

what a travesty

dying but never done

death by 1000 jeers

hurts in ageless pain

I've cried out of tears

that's my legacy 

left in the will 

pocketful of empty

such a sour pill 

it's some consolation

can't miss what I had not

and I just don't care

which oddly says a lot 

Yes we've no patience

for nonsense today

just stupid head games

I don't want to play

Then Ack-ack subsides

like lake into shore

all quiet on this front

I could open the door...

(we now present the volta)

what to my wondering 

eyes should appear 

a cloud of witnesses 

who holding held me dear

waiting in the wings

for their entrance bell

the new ones to love

past ones loved so well

Ave, elder sparks 

I see your dim-bright

shadow fairies hover

hidden in plain sight

Time to free my Tao 

and scrub clean the pain

in Babylon river

and Lake Michigan rain