MALAYSIA AIRLINES FLIGHT 17

 

Like a video game,

target appears,

launcher rolls,

rocket armed,

computer calculates

then the whoosh and

roar as the missile

climbs and chases at one mile per second–

covering 33,000 feet altitude and

miles downrange in less than ten seconds,

exploding

with thousands of shrapnel fragments

as it approaches the plane.

 

They never had a chance,

could not know

death was chasing,

explosive decompression,

no oxygen, extreme cold

not  everyone dead instantaneously–

sheer terror and screams

unheard in the clear sky

then filled with skin, shards, shoes,

bodies and parts

falling into wheat fields, onto roads

on top of houses.

 

Initial jubilation at the launcher

gives way to shrugs and

 we fucked up but then so what—

they would kill us if they had the chance.

 

 

A GOOD DOCTOR LOST

 

trying to help,

serious about patients

and outcomes

three kids, another coming

a loving wife

so much respect but mental illness

doesn’t recognize

the real or existential

BANG, BANG, BANG

so much sadness

 

January 21, 2015  PBBH

 

 

A FINGER OF SUN

 

can interrupt shadows of

darken mood infiltrating

the soul with self-pity

 

 

ASHES

 

spreading ashes

an act of respect and reverence

for family and friends

a shrine for the wind

to remember with joy

 

 

A WICKED SMELLING FART

 

reeks and wreaks the atmosphere

altering facial expressions

making hands wave with

evil suspicious

looks all around

 

identifying the farter

is hard unless the blush,

downcast eyes or

 not mine

expression gives them away

 

W.C. said never trust a fart

(never refuse a drink/never ignore an erection)–

he understood fartology and was very wise

 

 

POEMS TO REMEMBER GLORIA

 

 

BORED AND STROKED

 

read everything,

always had a comment,

opinionated,

controlled with a wit that

skewered and torqued,

she could step on the power–

VROOM!

clearly the boss,

never a bore,

until the stroke

 

BLOCKED

 

Gloria is lost

to  a stroke robbing her of

wit and riposte enough to

parry friend or foe

 

her children say the

crank and criticism honed

over the years was consumed

in a tiny clot

 

across the street neighbors

like us are resigned to our

sharpster now as a lost oldster

 

Fall should be her friend

 

 

GLORIA TRYING

 

Words garbled or twisted,

constantly searching, wanting to amend

the endless frustration

She knows it, hates it; trapped

like a grey morning fog,

her eyes reflect the dense

cover without response

to the wind’s query

or the sun’s warmth

Short circuits hide

what can no longer be said

 

 

GLORIA REDUX

 

she is stable,

not good–

even with a perm

drawn, wan, weak, needy

humor–no joy

not ready to be better–

ready to be done

 

 

GLORIA PAST

 

We all get our chance at it–

she was ready, anxious,

resigned to die

had had enough, too old, can’t breathe,

close family close,

supportive in words and deeds

attending to every need–

I’m frightened,

it was near the end, she called for

Will (long dead) to help her

with eyes closed and anxiety

muted by drugs,

the slip into oblivion was

quiet but the relief a blessing

Amen

 

 

DARK ENERGY

 

time can soften

sad memories but

does not heal

we feel things as we are now

not as we wish they were

most are limited in

understanding  fate or randomness

despite faith or rationale

making the major issues of our

life and death

largely a mystery

 

 

One Year Later

 

We miss her–

she had her own independent force field

attracting and repelling at will

pretenders to her kingdom

she ruled with tough love and a dismissive

air of finality. She liked it or not

clearly letting you know.

She was lonely–her husband died a few years

before we became neighbors.

More children (maybe more grandchildren)

would have tempered a longing not often

voiced but deeply felt.

The stroke changed everything

into an inevitable decline robbing her of

acid, wit, dominance, independence.

The end was quiet, anti-climatic, certainly

not like it use to be, but we like to remember,

the use to be– Gloria  knocking your

socks off and loving every minute doing it.

 

 

 

A REFLECTION

 

Good neighbors are a blessing and Gloria was a great neighbor.

She knew the town, had her finger on its pulse and was tough

enough to tell you just what she thought about everything and

everyone. As newcomers, we had a lot to learn.

Gloria was smart, well read and could joust and parry with anyone.

That crank and criticism was honed over many years and I loved to

give it right back to her, so we got along just fine. She called me

trouble; I usually said, hi beautiful.

Gloria liked my cooking unless I served eggplant or almost any other

vegetable unless there was lots of gravy. There was never any

hesitation when she didn’t like something; I heard it right now.

The gravy for us was being across the street neighbors and getting

to know and love her. Our grand kids felt the same, especially when

swimming in her pool.

We miss you Gloria.