pocketful of cheer

The following verse is a tongue in cheek response to a myspace blog post (reposted immediately below) by dodinsky who, by the way, plans on publishing a chapbook of his works. In order to repost his words I added his link which appears at the bottom of this post.

Not Today

I greet my day
with a pocketful
of enthusiasm,
but you come along
with a sprinkling
of your biting sarcasm.

From your nostrils,
dark clouds billow.
Frogs start croaking;
I need to get going.
For today, I don’t intend to ride
your mood swings.

- dodinsky -

I haven't really thought of a title-
perhaps "POCKETFUL OF CHEER" will suffice, eh?


My pockets both had holes
Through which my moods escaped
Scurrying like moles
Like children swinging on a gate

They clattered all around me
I was unsure of what I felt
But you stooped to the ground with me
And gave me a bit of help

So now we've pinned all my moods to my chest
Like a kindergarten teacher's notes home to mothers
And at each interaction I choose the best
Selection of one mood from the others


Anyway, I thought it was about time for a cheery thought in this,
my dark little corner of the universe.

Below is Dodinsky's link...

uncle wick

the next time I see grandpa
he will not see me
his eyes will be closed
and people will be murmuring "how peaceful he looks"
now that his soul is no longer trapped in his withering frame
rattling the ribs of its cage so that his body curls around the pain

the next time I see grandpa
my eyes will be so clouded with tears
that he will be a still blur
and I will regret sleeping in on cold holidays

the next time I see grandpa
my soul will be so wracked with longing
that it will scream to burst free of my wreck to join him
but he will not beckon me to him
he will not hold my hand and smile
he will not touch my face
or tell me I am a good person
no one will look me in the eye and whisper "beautiful girl"

the next time I see grandpa
I will carry my pain close to my heart
I will greedily guard it
stuffing it into my mouth and swallowing
before anyone can steal it
my belly will ache as the anger twists through my body
I will feint the comfort of others
though I know there is no comforting

the next time I see grandpa
someone will belch a Sunday song
that was meant for a pretty red bird
shot with a rifle in Missouri
or a bald eagle soaring over the sierras
shattered from the sky by so many leaden tears
tell them to turn and run just like those young boys
because I will rip open their throats so that they can not presume to sing

the next time I see grandpa
I will be angry
he will not ask for my kisses as he puckers and sucks the air
puffing little popping sounds
he will not gaze wistfully remembering his sweet bride with black hair
he will not tell me the story again of the first time he saw her
under that revival tent, singing in the choir
"not that old story again" she would say and roll her old eyes
and he would tell undaunted of how he knew she was the one
and she would smile and say how she pointed him out that same night as the man she would marry
long after the gold rush staking their claims in each other
moral of the story: you are never too old to obey your mama

the next time I see grandpa
I will kiss him anyway
I will be close enough to see the unnatural natural flesh tone sitting on the surface of his grey skin
I will feel the rush of nausea as I catch a whiff of a foreign scent on his body
imagining the rubber gloves prepping and fussing over him in a well-lit room
he will look ready to present the evening news
with his mask of uncaring
I will want to wash his face with the tears I spill onto his new make-over
he will be as hard as he is cold
the stove can no longer keep him warm
even if it burned his flesh to ash
even if I cover his body with my own and breathe my breath into him
he will remain silent and still
he will not help me
his last bit of gold was snatched away

the next time I see grandpa
I think I will understand why
treasure is meant to be buried
in quiet
in darkness

trained bird

The tracks are showing through your skin
Ripped back by years of wear
Callouses grown and faded
The line moves forever forward
Whether you choose to follow or not
They will reach their destination
With or without you

You lay your pennies down
To slip like bullets through the air and clink into the gravel
Scabby fingers burned by the heat in their eagerness to feel the smoothness of honesty’s monument
Elliptical Polished Hungry

Do you follow foolish tripping along a path travelled
By a memory that would threaten to transform you to a distorted image of yourself
The warning in a whoosh and thrill that leave you breathless
Longing for that ghost who kisses you and gives life to the restless bird
Caged inside your breast
She would fly high over the rules that tick away in front of you
But you must trudge carefully picking over the broken back of this forgotten beast

Watch your step
Twisted briars block your way
Roses whose wild heads hang heavy with perfume
Breathing words you almost hear
But still the path moves on
The thorns snatch at you and plead with you to stay here in your pain
To bleed your prayers into the splintered ties
That bind you hands and feet
As the memory rounds the bend and whistles for your attention
The pain hunts you on this trail of tears and drying bones
There is nothing for you here
Except loss and creosote for your wounds

The rushing is only wind
It cannot hurt you
Only what is carried in the wind
Be mindful
The swirl can lift you it is true
But beware what else has been tossed into this blueness with you
You are not alone
How many others have been raptured only to be dropped without a sound
Broken porcelain birds who were never meant to fly
Appropriately reprimanded
Scolded and humiliated
Left to find their way back
Along this road that has been buried in a world of disbelief
And cynicism that it ever existed

But I have the shining pennies as proof
Shot from the train that passed me
It is a wonder those bullets never harmed us
As children
But now I understand the pain they can inflict
As they work to separate heart and soul from body

That bird was shot months ago
These bones are dry as tears