Archives Free Verse

Threading The Warp

In the garden
where my son has retreated
he amuses himself.
There are rugs to weave, books to read—
people come and go…
and hours of tedium.
But most of all there is no rain.
No need for umbrellas,
no need for overshoes.
Naked, his flayed nerves
exposed for all to see,
he plays in the garden.


      Lift the heddle—
      thread the yarn—
      beat the beater—


            He says,
            “Yesterday, I kissed her lips.
            Tomorrow she will kiss mine.”


      Lift the heddle—
      thread the yarn—
      beat the beater—


              “My father doesn’t love me
               and I need his love”.

      Lift the heddle—
      thread the yarn—
      beat the beater—
               “I don’t want to live.
                Life is empty”.

       Lift the heddle—
       thread the yarn—
       beat the beater—

And there are books to read…
word after word…
page after page…

At least in this garden
he can sun himself.
And if he finds tedium
it is here he retreats—
It is his choice to come or go.

As for shelter,
his book is umbrella
enough to keep off any rain,
and the carpet he weaves
Is a temporary occupation,
a plain view twill or double weave,
a clear design for all to see,
a scented flower, a healing balm.
No need for overshoes
or sheltering umbrellas
in this kind garden.
from In Michael’s RoomPublished in Cyclamens and Swords on-line
http://www.cyclamensandswords.com/poetry_dec_2011_2.php

Oh, How We’ll Misbehave

I am waiting in the Neiman Marcus dress shop
while my wife tries on expensive gowns
from the sale rack—
I tell her, “Everything is always on sale for some price
or else they wouldn’t be open for business”.

We both laugh.

…and the sales lady smirks
giving us her best Nan dour grimace.
In the distance the string combo
begins to play “All That Jazz”. “Come on babe, why don’t we paint the town?
And all that jazz” “I have that gown in blue…and in your size
if you would like to try it on!” says the clerk.

…and we both begin to sing the chorus
in perfect harmony dancing through the racks: “Skidoo
And all that jazz
Hotcha...Whoopee
And all that jazz” “Oh, my,” she says. “Performers!”

“How much?” I ask.

“Seventy-five!” she replies, hoping we might leave.

In the changing room my wife slips into the strapless blue number,
then she shimmies and shakes through the door singing: “Find a flask, we’re playing fast and loose
And all that jazz “In the foyer a crowd of ladies and gents has gathered,
smiling and clapping, the sting combo playing:

                    Right up here is where I store the juice
                    And all that jazz

The sales witch, her hands on her hips says,
“I think I need to call my manager and security!”

“Oh, honey”, says my wife, “Don’t bother!
“I’ll take two, one in red and this one in blue
I’ll wear to finish the number with the combo.”

I hand the woman two hundreds in cash and say:
“Thanks for your help. Just keep the change.”

We join the combo around the corner for a reprise:

                   “Got my babe, dancing a brand new rave
                   And all that jazz
                   We’re gonna' burn bridges, oh, how we’ll misbehave
                   And all that jazz”
                   Rock the room, we’ll tear up the dance floor
                   A cheering crowd is here, just hear them shout and roar
                   And all… that… jazz

The combo grinds out a great crescendo.
We finish with arms and hands extended.

A uniformed policeman and the saleslady
stand in front of the applauding impromptu queue;
She points her extended, red nailed finger, at us.

“There they are. Those are the ones who disrupted
my dress shop. Arrest them!”

The queue begins to hiss and boo;
the drummer gives an extended drum rol
and ends with a cymbal crash.

“And all that jazz!” I shout.

Escorted by the policeman we leave.

“And don’t come back,” he admonishes.

“Oh, we won’t,” says my wife
as we begin skipping down the Avenue.

We are both laughing…
And all… that… jazz

09-09-2011