Posts Tagged ‘David Allen’

LOT LIZARD LILLIE

Posted: March 17, 2014 in Uncategorized
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Lot_Lizards1LOT LIZARD LILLIE

 

LOT LIZARD LILLY

Lot Lizard Lilly
Never had much luck
Selling herself cheap
Limping from truck to truck
Parked behind the diesel
Pumps off I-69.
Rapping on the windows
Promising good times.
 
Her good times
Are far behind her,
Although make-up hides her age
It took several lifetimes
To get her to this stage
The prom Queen and child bride
Are parts that she has played
Needles and abandoned children
Led her to this stage.
 
The downslide began with marriage
The result of belly swelling
Her abusive jockstrap husband
Scarred her beyond all telling.
Pills and alcohol helped her forget,
But only for a while
The blows she took from fists and meth
Tore away her winning smile.
 
Other lizards laugh at her plight
She plies the cheapest trade
A pittance for a quickie
Is the most she ever made.
Night and day she sells herself
Inside the crowded cabs
And not one John feels sorry
For using her so bad.
 
 
 

TREES IN WINTER

Posted: March 16, 2014 in Uncategorized
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TREES IN WINTER

Winter reveals
The trees’ inner nature,
Like x-rays showing
Their intricate systems
Spread out like veins,
Nerves and bones.
No leaves to mask their age.
Young trees, slender branches
Lifting straight into the sky,
As if in prayer or celebration.
Older trees, thicker branches
Some bowed, knotty, amputations,
Arteries eaten by unseen invaders;
In their upper reaches, squirrel and bird
Nests appear as cancerous growths.
And then there are the dead trees,
Obese, torn trunks, bark like peeling skin,
Branches akimbo, some detached
Resting in their neighbors arms.
Like monuments, crosses.
These trees tell a tale of the final days,
The ravaging we all face in the end.

By David Allen

IF YOU DON’T LIKE THE WEATHER HERE WAIT A MINUTE

Posted: March 15, 2014 in Uncategorized
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This winter has been horribly cold! Damn the Polar Vortex. It reminds me of another time I ventured from my subtropical home in Okinawa to visit my kids. Here’s the resulting poem.

ON THE ROAD IN INDIANA IN NOVEMBER

Goddamn it’s cold!
Bone fucking chilling
cold!
Oh God, please don’t let me
have to live in this your forsaken
place again!
It’s too goddamn cold!
I just saw my motherfugging breath!
This is proof that we should
embrace global warming,
not fear it.
Warm me up Scotty!

Called my love, teeth chattering
across the continent and over the ocean
to our subtropical paradise.
It warmed my evening.
I’ll call again tomorrow
from some Pennsylvania motel
attempting to warm myself up.
JESUS it’s cold!

Breakfast at a Cracker Barrel
In My-God-It’s-Freezing Fort Wayne.
Who the hell ever thought
grits was an acceptable breakfast food?
But the coffee refills were free
and the two eggs over easy
and biscuits and gravy
and turkey sausages assuaged
my cold- numbed soul.

“A month of this?”
my innervoice asked.
“I know,” I answered.
“Hell has just frozen over.”

MY DAY AT THE CHEMO CLUB

Posted: February 13, 2014 in Uncategorized
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Saw the Blood Doc again today. He said I continue to be a NED (No Evidence of Disease). Looks like I beat cancer’s ass! My bloodwork came back “Perfect.” He’s framing the poem I rote back in June to put up on his office wall to inspire other patients. It’s been a good day.

Here’s the poem again:

MY DAY AT THE CHEMO CLUB
(For Dr. Brian Eddy) 

The Blood Doc
Was all smiles today,
Which made me happy, too.
He said my tests
Sure did impress,
Into a jolly rant he flew.
“Your CT scan and
Blood work results
Are the best I’ve seen
In a patient such as you.
Your spleen has shrunk,
Lymphoma’s defunct.
Man, this is all good news!”

He felt my neck and armpits
For a bump and found not one.
He winked and made notes
In his chart, and said,
“Our work is almost done.”

“Your CT scan is telling me
You might soon be a NED.
Which stands for
No Evidence of Disease
Much better you can’t get.”

ALIVE, MAN!

Posted: February 11, 2014 in Uncategorized
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ALIVE, MAN

Listen to that Godman
Laying it all down like
He knew me, when
The truth is that from
The first squirt of the Old Man’s
Jissom up the Old Lady’s Glory Hole
To the last squirt of blood
Beat by my battered heart
I always strayed far from
His Hallelujah Halls.
Hell, I started out as a squirt
And stayed a squirt all through
My bent-boned bowlegged days,
Jeering at the ectomorphs,
Cause the air was always
Purer down here.
Just listen to that jive
Being spewed by that
Reverse-collared fraud,
Telling the fools I was
Now a Scribe for God
(whoever she is).
Sheeit, everyone knows
The words I scribbled,
Those poems squirted from pens,
Clanked onto paper by steel rods,
And lit up on computer screens,
Were always mine alone.
They’re what lifted me
Above the crowd,
Chanting out loud,
“I’m alive, man, alive
And will be even after I die!”

By David Allen
Chesterfield, Indiana
(A poem written for the Last Stanza folks)

Here We Are Again

Posted: February 10, 2014 in Uncategorized
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