cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com
Fallout : Holiday Dirge
http://cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com/2011/12/holiday-dirge.html
Tuesday, December 27, 2011. Outside chimes sing driven. By blasts of bitter wind. Echo their song of summer. Steered by gusts of august. Five hundred miles away. Doors open and close as bells. Chirp their tinny tune. And my son leaves for nowhere. A blizzard blows in my heart. Pumping glaciers of blood. To frigid fingers toes. Its only song a dirge. 169; 2011 cj schlottman. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). There's no money in poetry, but then there's no poetry in money, either.". What if . . ?
cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com
Fallout : Any Monday Night
http://cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com/2013/03/untitled_5.html
Tuesday, March 5, 2013. Baby Boom n. a sudden, large, sustained increase in the birthrate, especially the one in the United States and Canada from the later 1940s through the early 1960s). Lined up at the bar like crows on a fence. Our conversation is muffled by the din. Of others talking. We are baby boomers at. Neighborhood bar, single every one of us, avoiding. There is comfort in familiar faces, bustling servers,. The smiling barkeep, clanging sounds from the kitchen,. 169; 2013 cjschlottman.
cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com
Fallout : March 2013
http://cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com/2013_03_01_archive.html
Tuesday, March 5, 2013. Baby Boom n. a sudden, large, sustained increase in the birthrate, especially the one in the United States and Canada from the later 1940s through the early 1960s). Lined up at the bar like crows on a fence. Our conversation is muffled by the din. Of others talking. We are baby boomers at. Neighborhood bar, single every one of us, avoiding. There is comfort in familiar faces, bustling servers,. The smiling barkeep, clanging sounds from the kitchen,. 169; 2013 cjschlottman. Subscri...
cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com
Fallout : May 2013
http://cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com/2013_05_01_archive.html
Monday, May 27, 2013. Worms in Your Head. On life with an adult child who is plagued with bipolar type 1). Worms in your head demons. Bore holes in your soul. To dangers that trip you. Hurl you into the gutter. Expansive gestures slice into. Your voice ascends to. Strident sounds crowd the air. You think you can. Walk through the wall. Into the arms of Morpheus. Work your legs against. The sheets and dream. In your throat spills over. With static and fear. Pills and two hours see. 169; 2013 cj Schlottman.
cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com
Fallout : If I Die Young
http://cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com/2011/08/if-i-die-young.html
Saturday, August 20, 2011. If I Die Young. If i die young it will be. By friends and family. As we take afternoon tea. There will be champagne on ice. Lovely luscious lemon squares. Salty spicy-hot cheese straws. Slices of soft sweet pound cake. I will hold court from my bed. Swathed with sheer silk canopies. As yards of laughter cut from. The bolt of my life fade to. Endless stories born of our. Intertwined lives braided of. Love woven into fine cloth. I will smile sip tea wait to. What if . . ?
cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com
Fallout : BONFIRE
http://cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com/2011/09/bonfire.html
Friday, September 16, 2011. Bruised broken bound by our. Own sinew traps and tie-downs. We share souvenirs sores. Of love lost twisted with. We circle this thing between us. Poke it with sticks prod it. Test it’s toughness measure. Scarlet stains of sadness. Tattooed on our hearts we step. Back stumble forward gauge. The heat of the bonfire. Its flames in turn rage and. In our eyes warm our faces. As we leap into the blaze. 169; cj Schlottman 2011. LInked to Gooseberry Garden. Madness Mania and Muddlement.
cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com
Fallout : Thank You, Mr. Martini, Whoever You Are
http://cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com/2011/10/thank-you-mr-martini-wherever-you-are.html
Sunday, October 2, 2011. Thank You, Mr. Martini, Whoever You Are. Martinis are my drug of choice. Made with tanqueray frosty cold. Straight up garnished with two olives. Not three not fancy ones green ones. Stuffed with pimiento served on a. Charger no paper napkin for. The masterpiece arrives in a. Shiny silver shaker on a. Black enamel tray the waiter. Shakes it and in a display that. Leaves me breathless pours the elixir. Into my glass crystal of course. When the icy rim touches my.
theredsweater.blogspot.com
The Red Sweater: Home At Last
http://theredsweater.blogspot.com/2014/11/home-at-last.html
Monday, November 3, 2014. The summer tourists have departed and the Georgia-Florida football onslaught of students and alumni and other rabid fans is behind us. The Island is quiet and peaceful and the pace of living has returned to its languid norm. Labels: Life After 65. Life on the Coast of Georgia. What a lovely and splendid entry. Makes me wish I was there enjoying this beautiful scenery with you. Glad you are enjoying calm seas right now. November 3, 2014 at 4:30 PM. Linda @ A La Carte. I purposely...
cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com
Fallout : a slave to words
http://cjschlottman-mypoems.blogspot.com/2011/08/not-always-easy.html
Friday, August 26, 2011. A slave to words. Sometimes a piece of work. Drips off the ends of my. Fingers slides across my. Keyboard and writes itself. At others words wedged in. Creases of my right brain. Conveyance to the page. Words my dearest lovers. My most cruel enemies. Serve me at their pleasure. Make of me their slave. 169; 2011 cj Schlottman. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). There's no money in poetry, but then there's no poetry in money, either.". Madness Mania and Muddlement.
theredsweater.blogspot.com
The Red Sweater: Mother's Day - A Different Way
http://theredsweater.blogspot.com/2015/05/mothers-day-different-way.html
Monday, May 11, 2015. Mother's Day - A Different Way. So, you can imagine I was not looking forward to Mother’s Day. Parrish, even when he was hundreds of miles away and completely out of my reach, always made a thing about Mother’s Day. There was always a card and often a phone call. Last year, he brought me an African violet—which has grown so much I had to repot it last week—and brought me breakfast in bed. Meanwhile, I was watching “Grace and Frankie” on Netflix and laughing my ass off...When I go...
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