Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

My Son, the Survivor

Posted: August 6, 2021 in Poetry
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Today is my youngest son’s 37th birthday. A couple of years ago he went into a coma after an old friend gave him a “kill shot” with the intent to rob him. We didn’t know if he’d survive a week, let alone recover. He has since married and moved on, still suffering from short-term memory and other symptoms of a traumatic brain injury. But he’s keeping on keeping on!
Here are poems we wrote about his bad trip.

I CAN’T SLEEP
By David Allen

I can’t sleep
while my son sleeps
this troubled sleep.
A seizure slapped his skull
with a wash of blood
that squeezed his brain
and forced the sleep
with eyes rolled up
and shaking limbs.
A tube plunged down his throat
helps him breathe,
while one in his skull
drains the invading blood.
And we caress him
and hold his hands
and give assurances
of undying love,
as he sleeps
the drug-induced sleep
from which we were told
might never end.
I can’t sleep
while my son sleeps
what well might be
the final dream
about what may
or may not come next.


I WAS ASLEEP
By Matthew Allen

I was asleep for two weeks.
Then I woke up relearning how to speak,
walking on legs that were already weak.
I asked if the hemorrhage was from the tweak.
 Yup
The tweak exploded a vein in my brain 
causing a blood clot,
killin’ parts of the gray matter
that controlled movement on my left side,
my speech, and short term memory. 
It was a little like blowin’ a head gasket
or having a water pipe burst 
and flood the basement.
I’ll tell you about it,
but, don’t ask me too much.
I don’t know why my “friends ”
gave me what the cops called
a “kill shot” to knock me out
and steal stuff from my Dad’s house.
The docs are telling me my memory 
May not ever be the same,
But I know one thing --I’m still fightin’ and will get better
While those “friends” rot in prison.
Matt’s children flew in from Okinawa to visit him. No one knew if he recover or die


Matt and his wife Heather

The Chunky Mouse

Posted: March 26, 2021 in Poetry

Wanderlust

Posted: September 1, 2020 in Poetry
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WANDERLUST
By David Allen

It's a wonder my parents
didn’t get in trouble 
for letting me run free.
From as far back as I remember,
I did things that could have 
brought charges of child neglect
for allowing me to run wild.

I am the oldest of seven children 
and gladly surrendered the role
of mother's little helper
to my sister, two years younger, 
while I discovered the world. 

Trespassing was my usual crime.
Abandoned homes, factories, 
military bases, and the estates 
of Roaring Twenties millionaires,
decayed after the Depression.
They were my playground.

I never knew what I might find
Signs of a ghost?
Old books, photos?
Remains of animals?
Forgotten paintings?
Broken statues?
Stairways to the sky?

I once found the blackened
remainder of a forgotten pie
in an old wood oven.
In a mildewed closet,
I discovered a half-filled diary
that ended with a huge 
hand-drawn exclamation point.
In a flooded factory basement
I used a wooden door as a raft.

I was lucky no one
ever confronted me
as I sought what remained 
when life moved on 
to other structures
and other worlds.
 

No Flow

Posted: July 8, 2020 in Poetry
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No Flow
By David Allen

I wonder 
If the reason 
My fountain pen
Fails to write
An impressive 
Bold black line
Is the same
As my current
Writer's block.

The ink,
Like the words,
Just refuses
To flow.

									
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RESTLESS LEGS

By David Allen

The warning that came
With my new prescription 
Said a possible side effect  
Was Restless Leg Syndrome.
I scratched my head and thought,
“Side effect? What’s the big deal?
Hell, I’ve had restless legs all my life.”
 

I was never much of a stay-at-home,
At last count, I’ve moved 43 times
In the last seven decades.
I hitchhiked and drove through
 Most of the U.S. states
And lived in four of them’
And the District of Columbia.
I also lived and worked in Guam
And Okinawa, Japan, 
And cruised around Germany, Korea,
Thailand, and numerous 
South Pacific and Caribbean Islands.
 

So, yeah, my legs are restless
And I am excited to see
Where they’ll take me
Once this new medicine works.
 

 

MRI

Posted: June 25, 2020 in Poetry
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MRI
By David Allen 

MRI today
Glad I'm not claustrophobic 
Noise paints inner self

The Light’s Gone Out (again)
By David Allen

It’s getting darker in America
We have somehow lost the dawn
We move slowly as the light dims
And wonder what went wrong

Lady Liberty’s torch is out
It no longer lights the way
We choke on the wisps of smoke
As we face darker days.

Fear and hate now rule the land
It’s the opposite of our dawn
When we welcomed the huddled mass
Escaping foreign wrongs.

But now we limit travel
Because of a viral threat
And watch on TV the horror
Of a black man kneed to death.

As we take to the streets to protest
Our mad leader makes it known
He’ll use all the means at his disposal
To ensure the Dove of Peace has flown.

We’re living in a land divided
By race, religion, and much more
Left and Right poles further splitting
In a mad rush to settle scores.

It’s the opposite of dawn
This nightmare land of fear
And when we’ll see the sun again
Isn’t very clear.

Green

Posted: May 18, 2020 in Poetry
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GREEN
By David Allen

Within a week
the world turned green
outside my humble home.
Branches that bore
tiny green shoots
now bend with the weight
of broad oak leaves.
The woods are alive
with chatterings and coos.
But the leaves hide
the high aerie roosts
and the busy birds
tending their broods.

Wired

Posted: April 21, 2020 in Poetry
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Wired
By David Allen

Something strange
Is happening here. 
Matched socks
Become unmated
When freed from the dryer.
And the footloose 
Shoe stuffers 
Leave no word
Of where they went.

And parking in a space 
Called a driveway 
Leaves me scratching
My head bald and benumbed, 
Remembering how I was also
Confused by driving
On parkways. 

But nothing was as weird
As the warped wire mystery
That messed with me today
As I looked in an old storage tub
For a smartphone charger.
The wires I swear were placed there
Individually months, years ago,
Was one huge mass.

Old phone cords wound around
Extension cords that must have
Extended welcome to strings
Of earbuds and HDMI connectors 
Who gladly wrapped themselves
In a loose wire love fest, 
Apparently testing
All the tangled twists 
Of the Kama Sutra. 

I spent more than an hour
Unwinding them while wondering 
What I would find the next time
I searched for a cord.

bugshirt

 

BATTLING THE BUG
By David Allen

We’re hunkered down inside our homes
while Covid 19 is running wild.
The death count’s mounting up
while the President keeps lying.
I’m looking for the Gorilla Glue,
gonna paste my doors and windows,
make sure the bug stays outside
while I watch the horror news
and binge-watch apocalypse movies.
And just to stay safe,
If the bug makes it through a crack
I hope to slow its deathly attack
with my welcoming black bug shirt.