Cup and Biscuit
They sit
with cup and biscuit in hand
a clearly defined purpose
to discuss the moral of the situation
steering the committee to new and loftier heights
but when the discussion allows in the unholy marauder of reality
cups are never filled
biscuits remain uneaten
and not one crumb will ever be tossed under the table
for the people who need it most
because they don’t do anything really
but
have tea parties
eye each other jealously
surreptitiously
from behind their humble bumble bee stinging smiles
After all, it is in the truest sense of the word a sort of social club for the bland and unremarkable.
MAY 24 1971
Sandwiched between days
of string games on fingers
elastic bands knotted together
heights to jump over
and hiding from the tragic seeker
there is you
big league dreamer
toss me the ball
I’ll catch and toss it back harder
always a child of eleven
defiant
a backward glance
from the threshold of dying
that is my urging
my reminder
that to be here
in this place
of fear
of poverty
of greed
of rage
of war
of abuse
is still better than the canopy of angry flames that swallowed you alive,
the rest of us numb, sifting through the poison ashes
for the human remains of our murdered innocence
Twin
I’ve been truly spinning for you
matinee idol
suave of manner wise to me
on my craftiest day
sweet dream of mine
come through for me and you
heralding all that could be fine and true
suited to be tied in a matrimonial knot
that I didn’t want to share
our mutual breath choking noose
oh but sweet juice of a man
I could drink you under all the tables round after round
link your arm in mine
let me thirst no more for need of you
wrap your soul around my black and blue
JERRICHO
I recall a kid with sticky bubblegum fingers
in a raccoon hatted tail
running around the dirty vomit spots on a train platform
thinking himself into a supernova
exploding sparks of hyperactivity
moving little combustible
Mama’s bane
Papa’s penny drain
who didn’t live to see the age of nine
My friendly broken Jerricho
Omen Snap
the snowbird brought the sad far away news
of your undignified death
an dog ear splitting fracture
an omen snap
of a fragile bottle neck
against the reflection in the window to your soul
Tuck on the Radio
This past Monday, April 1, I was invited to be a guest on San francisco’s Radia Valencia Scream for Peace program. DJ Aslan and I discussed Tuck, the nature of creativity, writers’ block and all manner of things connected to insanity of writing.
You can listen to it here: Getting unTucked
While you are at Radio Valencia, take a stroll around and enjoy the healthy and edgy art vibe that is the very nature of what they do there daily.
Sounding the Last Post
Like all good soldiers, I know when it’s time to say say goodbye. This is the last time I will post anything on this blog, or any other blog for that matter. I will let the words on here be a testament to what my life has been before I move along to what is to come. I have loved everyone who has stopped by, left comments or followed my posts. I have grown as a writer and a human being here and that is no small thing at all. Be happy, safe and love each other because there is nothing else to this life that matters, but those we love.
Valda xo
