A LIE
By David Allen
once upon a time,
i found the secret
to the truth
and,
to protect my sanity,
i smashed it
with a rock
and destroyed all trace
of the liar.
Posts Tagged ‘poem’
A LIE
Posted: September 12, 2015 in PoetryTags: liar, once upon a time, poem, poetry, sanity, truth
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FREEDOMLAND
Posted: September 7, 2015 in PoetryTags: amusement parks, fights, Freedomland, Long Island Press, newsboys, Newsday, paperboys, poem, poetry, teenagers
FREEDOMLAND
By David Allen
Freedom’s not a breakfast food,
I don’t care what cummings said.
It’s the ghost of Freedomland USA,
A short-lived amusement park
With a history theme in the Bronx,
Acres forming a large map of America –
It had New York harbor tugs
And horse-drawn trolleys,
A 19th century brewery, a Jewish deli,
And old Chicago was set afire every 20 minutes.
There was Elsie the Cow in the Midwest,
San Francisco’s Chinatown and the Barbary Coast,
New Orleans Mardis Gras parades
And a huge King Rex carousel.
This gala celebration of America
Lasted barely five years in the early 60s,
Dying from lack of easy access
To the crowds from Jersey and Long Island
And the tourists downtown.
But the thing I remember
About Freedomland most
Are the fights that broke out
Between teenaged newsboys
There for a fun-filled night of freedom
Bought by new subscriptions.
Those who planned the boys night out
Failed to understand they couldn’t
Put us Newsday kids with lads
From the Long Island Press,
Our longstanding rivalry got out of hand.
INHERITANCE
Posted: September 2, 2015 in PoetryTags: Canada, children, climate change, dumbed down, fear, future, hell, inheritance, poem, poetry, politicians, texting
INHERITANCE
By David Allen
I’m glad I’m not young.
I believe we are leaving a hell
for our children
and their children.
(if they live that long).
They inherit the public’s
doubt that Climate Change,
a scientific theory
supported by 97 percent
of scientists and denied
by the majority of our
dumbed down politicians,
who believe money
from the coal and gas
conglomerates outweighs logic.
And only 38 percent
of Americans believe
the coming warming is real.
They’re too busy
texting each other
about their day.
The future will be a shock to them.
Many scientists believe
Global Warming
is now irreversible.
So, enjoy the winters
and green fields of corn
while you can.
Your great-great grandchildren
will have to move to
Canada to survive.
WHEN I SEE YOU
Posted: August 25, 2015 in PoetryTags: dreams, foralways, inspiration, love, muse, poem, poetry, quenched thirst, soulmate, wildseeds
WHEN I SEE YOU
By David Allen
When I See You
my heart soars high,
I can float, I can fly,
I can do the things
I’ve always dreamed.
For, you’re my inspiration,
you’re my muse,
you are all the lovers I have known.
You’re my inspiration,
you’re my muse,
you are the flower of the wild seeds I’ve sown
I saw you first
in a teenager’s dream.
You quenched my thirst
on a desert drive.
You were with me
when I was all alone,
you helped me see
when I was blind.
And when I wrote of love
I was writing just for you,
‘though I had no idea
we would ever ever be.
And when I wrote of pain,
I was crying just for you
and the missing love I thought
would never be.
Now that I’ve found you,
I wonder what you are.
Are you my soulmate
or just a passing star?
Are we meant forever?
Or is it just for now?
I swear, I’d seek the answer,
but I don’t know how.
So, I stay content with us
as two souls intertwined,
alive within this space
with room for just our hearts.
And if it means foralways
I accept it with a smile,
and put out of mind the time
when we will have to part.
For, you’re my inspiration,
you’re my muse,
you are the reward for all
the times I almost went insane.
Your’e my inspiration
you’re my muse,
you are the test I finally aced
when the cards were down
and I had to end the game.
You’re my inspiration,
you’re my muse,
you are all the lovers that I’ve known,
you are the flower of the wild seeds I’ve sown.
My second book of poetry, “(more)’ is now available on Amazon Kindle. The paperback edition is also available. If you want a signed copy, email me at david@davidallen.nu. Order your copy today! I am like most poets — poor.
Here’s a review:
5.0 out of 5 stars Wanting (more), September 2, 2014
By Jenny A. Kalahar “the_story_shop” (Elwood, IN USA)
Here are wonderful, literate poems of longing, wit, wisdom and resistance; justice, injustice, the absurdities of life and of growing older. There are lines full of sensuality at every stage of our existence, and of the waste and usefulness around us. Tinged with the atmosphere of the Orient, they are as luxurious as legs that go all the way up. Mr. Allen’s years as a newspaper man stain his poems with a rougher ink that sticks to your fingers long after you’ve turned his pages. There are losses – parents, loved ones, friends – but there are poems of finding and creating. Children, grandchildren, lovers, partners in crime and art all swirl throughout this collection, humming like a secret humming song. But unlike most hummed songs, these words do matter. They do. So read them now and sing along.
DAYS OF INSANITY
Posted: August 18, 2015 in PoetryTags: drugs, hallucnating, hospital, hospitals, insanity, nerves, nurse, poem, poetry, rickets, spinal stenosis, surgery
DAYS OF INSANITY
By David Allen
Something’s wrong.
Why am I lying in this hospital bed
when I was transferred to a different hospital
just two days ago?
You see, I have a rare disease
commonly called
Vitamin d resistant rickets
and I was flown from this hospital
to a university hospital in Indianapolis
for a new study on this rare disease,
which shortened and bent me
bowlegged and soft boned.
It affects maybe 1 out of 20,000 people.
The doctors were excited about the study;
other patients were being flown
in from around the country.
So, why was I back in Anderson?
Sure, the operation didn’t go as expected.
There was a lot more cutting
to free the nerves being squished
by the growth of the soft spinal bones.
but now I was back in the bed where I had to lay still for two days
and then starved without food and water for three days
when my stomach swelled as
the meds fought each other instead of
healing me.
“Why am I back here?”
I asked the nurse who came in to take
my vital sighs.
My voice was weak, raspy.
“Back?” she asked. “Honey you never left.”
“No, I was transferred.”
“What day is it?” she asked.
“Thursday,” I said.
“No, it’s Tuesday,” she said. “How do you feel?”
“Confused, I croaked.
“You’ve been hallucinating,” she said.
“There was a bad reaction to post-op drugs.
But at least you sound a bit better today.
and you can start eating again.
Just then my wife walked in,
“How are you, my love?”
“Confused. The nurse said I’ve kinda been out of it.”
“I’m so glad that’s over,” my wife said.
“You were acting crazy.
Sometimes you lost words,
Replacing them with
sounds that made no sense.”
In the following days
I spoke with friends who said
I was “out of it”
when they called or visited.
I thought about those days
and realized I had drifted back decades
to a time I purposefully
lost my mind with mescaline
to examine the me behind this all.
And I didn’t find an answer.
Just like the last two days.
Hello Tuesday,
How’d you like being
Thursday for a while?
RUTH ELLEN (27 YEARS)
Posted: August 16, 2015 in PoetryTags: birthday, dreams, haunted, love, muse, poem, poet, poetry, soulmate
Me and my Muse, Okinawa 2005 (or so)
RUTH ELLEN (27 YEARS)
By David Allen
Ruth Ellen, I’m tellin’
You don’t look your age
Your beauty’s compelling
And worth every page
Of the dozens of poems
I wrote of you and our love
You remain my muse
As you were before we met
I just didn’t know back then
If I would ever get
To be with the woman
Who haunted my dreams
Faceless, she beckoned
Her outstretched arms seemed
To invite the poet in.
In the traditional wedding vow
The couple agrees to remain together
“In sickness and health”
Well, we’ve lived that line
And we’re coming out fine
We’ve remain unbeaten, if weathered.
Chesterfield, IN
16 Aug, 2015
HAIKU CHALLENGE
Posted: May 18, 2015 in PoetryTags: Far East, flacks, news, PAOs, poem, poetry, quotes, slow news day, Stars and Stripes, writing
HAIKU CHALLENGE
Working as a news bureau chief for Stars and Stripes on Guam and Okinawa were the best 19 years of my newspaper career. There usually was plenty to do, but sometimes the news was slow and the staff, scattered across the Far East, shared haikus to while away the time. Here’s one started by The South Korea Bureau Chief one day:
The subject: Base PAOs. (Don’t forget, 5,7,5.) I’ll start:
“E-mail the question
Expect an answer by 5
No comment, thank you”
So, I answered with:
I NEED AN ANSWER NOW
“Dammit,” he replied.
“How do you spell that?” I asked.
“D-A-V-I-D.”
And another reporter came up with:
Ask me no questions,
I’ll tell you no lies, unless
you prefer bullshit.
So, an editor wrote:
Jack Daniels, my friend.
Please prevent me from killing
The guy on the phone.
My next submission was:
the questions are old
I await the brasshole’s call
and his blank reply
Which was promptly answered with:
Warzinski speaks fast:
“Mmmm srnn fennn bumn mmm Japan”
What the fuck was that?
Followed by a reporter:
Thank you for calling.
Leave a message…we’ll call when
Sherman leaves Georgia.
And another by me:
deadline is looming
the telephone remains mute
Sid says, “killing me.”
Followed by an editor’s:
We pulled the curfew.
Not because of your story;
Ummm, we planned it. Yeah.
To which another editor responded:
The razor is dull
and my wrists are deeply scarred
when the phone call ends
And I answered:
“why not write good news?”
the Marine officer asked.
when you are we will.
Another editor then wrote:
Interview request?
Just e-mail us your questions.
We like that better.
To which the founder of the challenge answered:
Since this one is almost a perfect quote – and Joe will back it up (remember the conversation with Nowell?) – I think I win!
Why would I give you
information when I can’t
control what you write?
Followed by this protest:
In twenty-four years,
Flack is most unfair and mean.
Take ball and go home.
-30-
I THOUGHT I SAW MY SPLEEN LAST NIGHT
Posted: May 15, 2015 in PoetryTags: cancer, doctor, gut, lymph node, morphine, operation, poem, poetry, sacrificed, spleen, surgeon, wound
I THOUGHT I SAW MY SPLEEN LAST NIGHT
By David Allen
I thought I saw my spleen last night
Had grown to five times its size
There is no doubt, it must come out
The doc said with a sigh.
He made a deep incision
Under my left rib cage
And plunged inside with gloved hand
And thus, the battle was engaged.
Air was pumped into my belly
To make room for his search
But as the doc’s cold fingers found
The spleen gave a sudden lurch.
“Hold on, please don’t be hasty,”
It said with a cry of pain.
“I’m too attached to my host,
Leave me be, I’ll shrink again.”
“There’s a lymph node here that too has grown
Why not take him instead?
There’s plenty more where he came from
While I’m the only spleen my host gets.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” the surgeon said
The lymph node can tell us a lot.
And removing you would be tricky
And you’re the only one he’s got.”
So, the lymph node was sacrificed
And the wound was stapled shut
And morphine calms the intense pain
Coming from my gut.
SOMEWHERE OVER THE PACIFIC
Posted: May 13, 2015 in PoetryTags: 747, airplanev, bible, Dirty old man/poet, Filipina, Japanese, over there, Pacific, passengers, poem, poetry, Popular Science
SOMEWHERE OVER THE PACIFIC
By David Allen
It takes all kinds
crammed into economy class
on this massive 747
hurtling over the Pacific.
Sleep escapes us,
the evening meal and snacks
are devoured,
the feature films
have played out.
Assigned the window seat,
I have already made my two
seatmates stand
for my trips to the head.
And now,
bored,
sleepless,
I turn on the light
to read some Bukowski:
“lovely women walk by
with big hot hips
and warm buttocks and
tight hot everything
praying to be loved
and I don’t even exist.”
The pretty Filipina
sitting next to me,
her petite body comfortably fitting
into the middle seat,
always has a nice smile
when I pass my trash
to the aisle.
She takes note of me turning on
the light and
slips her glasses carefully
out of a leather case
and draws a book
from the seat pocket.
I take a glance,
the Bible;
she turns to Acts 3,4.
I wonder what she’s reading.
The young Japanese man
in the aisle seat
turns on his light
and opens the latest
edition of Popular Science.
He reads about “What’s New.”
We are all stereotypes —
the dirty old man/poet,
the devout Catholic Filipina,
and the science-minded Japanese —
on our way
to someplace else,
coming from
over there.
ACCEPTANCE
Posted: May 11, 2015 in PoetryTags: acceptance, blood on the pages, book, flying, God Bless, mother, Okinawa, Pacific, passengers, poem, poetry, religion
ACCEPTANCE
By David Allen
Flying over the pacific
is never peaceful –
I return to the problems
I left behind when I fled
to the East.
The woman sitting next to me
strikes up a conversation,
she’s the mother of a Marine
assigned to Okinawa
and is returning after a visit
to her first granddaughter.
“She is healthy,
God bless,” she declares.
And this woman’s husband
has a successful electrical business
in St. Louis — “God Bless!” — and life,
“Praise the Lord!”
Is good.
Somewhere in the conversation
I mention I am going to Indiana
for the birth of my second grandchild
and a brief trek to New York
to tout my new book of poetry.
She asks to look at the book
and I find one in my bag,
and, as she reads, I watch
out of the corner of my eye,
pretending to read a magazine
while trying to fathom
her reaction to my poems.
My blood is all over the pages.
I spot her reading
the one about another flight
and the religious Filipina
and scientific Japanese student
sitting next to me, the dirty old man poet
reading Bukowski and dreaming
of smooth, creamy white thighs,
and I wonder what my new seatmate
is thinking.
When she is finished
she mentions the poems are
“interesting,” and handing
the book back asks –
“Have you accepted Jesus
as your personal savior?”
I smile, realizing the conversation is
about to end and answer,
“I tried several times
but he never accepted me.”
And we slept in silence
the rest of the flight.
——————————————————————————————————————————————-
My second book of poetry, “(more)’ is now available on Amazon Kindle. The paperback edition is also available. If you want a signed copy, email me at david@davidallen.nu. Order your copy today! I am like most poets — poor.
Here’s a review:
5.0 out of 5 stars Wanting (more), September 2, 2014
By Jenny A. Kalahar “the_story_shop” (Elwood, IN USA)
Here are wonderful, literate poems of longing, wit, wisdom and resistance; justice, injustice, the absurdities of life and of growing older. There are lines full of sensuality at every stage of our existence, and of the waste and usefulness around us. Tinged with the atmosphere of the Orient, they are as luxurious as legs that go all the way up. Mr. Allen’s years as a newspaper man stain his poems with a rougher ink that sticks to your fingers long after you’ve turned his pages. There are losses – parents, loved ones, friends – but there are poems of finding and creating. Children, grandchildren, lovers, partners in crime and art all swirl throughout this collection, humming like a secret humming song. But unlike most hummed songs, these words do matter. They do. So read them now and sing along.
AND HERE’S MY FIRST BOOK
Like my poetry? Then buy my book, “The Story So Far,” published by Writers Ink Press, Long Island, N.Y. You can find it on Amazon.com (http://www.amazon.com/Story-So-Far-David-Allen/dp/0925062480/ref=sr_1_13?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1397184666&sr=1-13&keywords=the+story+so+far) in paperback and Kindle formats, or by sending me $10 at:
David Allen
803 Avalon Lane
Chesterfield, IN 46017
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