Rohn Federbush's Blog, page 29
August 10, 2013
Teapot
Teapot
February 1, 2012Dance music blared throughout the dining room, causing the patrons to shout. The soup was thin, the bread not eaten.
Dimmed lights re-shadowed the hot-water pot, which was smaller than the circumference of the cup. Light glinted off the teapot’s curved lip, on the protuberance of its belly, and on the sparse handle’s outer band.
Darker shadows crouched inside its half-opened top into its blackened spout hole. Grays vied with ivory surfaces on the curvatures of cup, saucer and teapot to lie smashed yet rounded on the ironed linen table top.
And the pink skirted rock-singer belted out a mean screech of song.
February 1, 2012Dance music blared throughout the dining room, causing the patrons to shout. The soup was thin, the bread not eaten.
Dimmed lights re-shadowed the hot-water pot, which was smaller than the circumference of the cup. Light glinted off the teapot’s curved lip, on the protuberance of its belly, and on the sparse handle’s outer band.
Darker shadows crouched inside its half-opened top into its blackened spout hole. Grays vied with ivory surfaces on the curvatures of cup, saucer and teapot to lie smashed yet rounded on the ironed linen table top.
And the pink skirted rock-singer belted out a mean screech of song.
August 9, 2013
Nourishment
NourishmentOctober, 2005
Honey warmth folded morning around her arms. She turned toward faces as blossoms follow the sun.Could she nourish her stems to dance away the threats made to her charms? Could age outlive its usefulness? The harms gravity and stress create can’t blow her soul beyond memories to crow about the ones who fell into her web of tears, lovers husbanding unimportant moments. The same need for devotion hovers, waits to hear again the comments youth provided. Yet grace uncovers the shine of spirit past, glimmers contentments.
Honey warmth folded morning around her arms. She turned toward faces as blossoms follow the sun.Could she nourish her stems to dance away the threats made to her charms? Could age outlive its usefulness? The harms gravity and stress create can’t blow her soul beyond memories to crow about the ones who fell into her web of tears, lovers husbanding unimportant moments. The same need for devotion hovers, waits to hear again the comments youth provided. Yet grace uncovers the shine of spirit past, glimmers contentments.
August 8, 2013
Love in Lost Frontiers
Love in Lost Frontiers1971When not inflicted with the ailment, description of the symptoms seem impossible, until happily saturated once more.
Cemented cubicles of earth space providelurking room for males and females to adventurously discover their soul terrors. The first to claim vulnerability wins the option to inflict injury.
Imagine when the seed has germinated long enough, the plant of love should gush full bloom.
Nevertheless, some wind vines over trellises, claiming solidity, unfolding broad leaves and finally, gently flower a blossom too delicate to open in sunshine or smoke.
Love is not a compass wielding jigsaw or a purple-sided trapezoid.
All it is, is one promise to another.
Cemented cubicles of earth space providelurking room for males and females to adventurously discover their soul terrors. The first to claim vulnerability wins the option to inflict injury.
Imagine when the seed has germinated long enough, the plant of love should gush full bloom.
Nevertheless, some wind vines over trellises, claiming solidity, unfolding broad leaves and finally, gently flower a blossom too delicate to open in sunshine or smoke.
Love is not a compass wielding jigsaw or a purple-sided trapezoid.
All it is, is one promise to another.
August 7, 2013
Losing Mother
Losing Mother
1994I didn’t lose her the last day I called. Unable to speak, they said she flapped her arms like a bird; not knowing I had told her with the drugs, cancer would taker her painless up to heaven like an angel. I couldn’t claim her when she said, chiding her younger sister, my aunt, I could call myself anything I wanted, deleting the name, Mary, from my list of nine monikers. I didn’t lose her the last day I saw her experimenting with oxygen with the hospice aide in the trailer’s back bedroom and she had waved, one arm held high. I was stone by then.
When I visited after the first news of cancer, we went over my revised history crediting my survival to her prayers. I didn’t dismiss her when she approved of my fourth husband without attending any of my four weddings. I yelled at her, on the phone, when she drove five minutes past my door without stopping when I hadn’t seen her for a year.
I didn’t damn her when she asked Daddy to buy a new car and moved to Florida rather than pay for a custody battle for my two sons. My first husband told me to keep the door to forgiveness open after our elopement. She had refused to speak to me when I came home to pick up my clothing. I might have shocked her when she caught me with a guy in the driveway.
I didn’t lose her when she sent me off to be a mother’s helper the last summer my middle sister and I could spend together before she married. I didn’t remember for long when she let my oldest sister wear my necklace to the dance. I didn’t blame her when I hid Daddy’s razor strap or even when she pulled my hair to give my younger brother my pair of scissors.
Maybe I lost her because when I nearly drowned at two, Daddy scolded her and I got chicken pox and scarlet fever and lost the use of an eye, and an ear, and dragged one foot. But I think I lost her before I knew her, when knowing was breast or even before, during the pregnancy.
She was never mine.
1994I didn’t lose her the last day I called. Unable to speak, they said she flapped her arms like a bird; not knowing I had told her with the drugs, cancer would taker her painless up to heaven like an angel. I couldn’t claim her when she said, chiding her younger sister, my aunt, I could call myself anything I wanted, deleting the name, Mary, from my list of nine monikers. I didn’t lose her the last day I saw her experimenting with oxygen with the hospice aide in the trailer’s back bedroom and she had waved, one arm held high. I was stone by then.
When I visited after the first news of cancer, we went over my revised history crediting my survival to her prayers. I didn’t dismiss her when she approved of my fourth husband without attending any of my four weddings. I yelled at her, on the phone, when she drove five minutes past my door without stopping when I hadn’t seen her for a year.
I didn’t damn her when she asked Daddy to buy a new car and moved to Florida rather than pay for a custody battle for my two sons. My first husband told me to keep the door to forgiveness open after our elopement. She had refused to speak to me when I came home to pick up my clothing. I might have shocked her when she caught me with a guy in the driveway.
I didn’t lose her when she sent me off to be a mother’s helper the last summer my middle sister and I could spend together before she married. I didn’t remember for long when she let my oldest sister wear my necklace to the dance. I didn’t blame her when I hid Daddy’s razor strap or even when she pulled my hair to give my younger brother my pair of scissors.
Maybe I lost her because when I nearly drowned at two, Daddy scolded her and I got chicken pox and scarlet fever and lost the use of an eye, and an ear, and dragged one foot. But I think I lost her before I knew her, when knowing was breast or even before, during the pregnancy.
She was never mine.
August 6, 2013
Kalamazoo
Kalamazoo2000
Readingsare lost on me. I sit like a stiff idol my ears deaf
to the questioned endings, my nerves pray for a chance to escape the soul-numbing crowd of panderers.
My age, ragged as it is, allows time to chase words down a page.
But, I don’t have the hair to be a poet, not long enough to sweep over my shoulder,
nor thick enough to hold in my fingertips to crown a remark. But my throat still longs to mouth a tonal ‘moon.’
Readingsare lost on me. I sit like a stiff idol my ears deaf
to the questioned endings, my nerves pray for a chance to escape the soul-numbing crowd of panderers.
My age, ragged as it is, allows time to chase words down a page.
But, I don’t have the hair to be a poet, not long enough to sweep over my shoulder,
nor thick enough to hold in my fingertips to crown a remark. But my throat still longs to mouth a tonal ‘moon.’
August 5, 2013
“It all depends upon…”
“It all dependsupon…”Ocotober 1, 2011
The constant lay of land,
the changingline of her breasts,
the thicknessof pouting lips,
golden rimsof evening clouds,
and the soul’s lift
at caring words.
The constant lay of land,
the changingline of her breasts,
the thicknessof pouting lips,
golden rimsof evening clouds,
and the soul’s lift
at caring words.
August 4, 2013
Hidden
Hidden1981This cage is to my liking. Words upon words flying by, soft pillows easing my malleable brain.
The terms weigh lightly on my softened bones. They spread the page and spell me.
But, here comes reality stomping down the hall, hate where I thought love might be.
Dive back to the sweet text, hide me in your silken lines, glance at reality with glutted eyes.
Words made flesh, keep the old man at bay.
The terms weigh lightly on my softened bones. They spread the page and spell me.
But, here comes reality stomping down the hall, hate where I thought love might be.
Dive back to the sweet text, hide me in your silken lines, glance at reality with glutted eyes.
Words made flesh, keep the old man at bay.
August 3, 2013
Going, Going, Surely Not Yet Gone
Going, Going, Surely Not Yet GoneJuly, 2012
The nightmare’s death train was covered in red canvas.The Seattle engineer allowed the railriders to remain hidden.We were all looking forward to home life in comfortable quarters.And when he raced beside us we cheeredUntil his motorcycle blew up and he was left unmarkedWrapped in death as beautiful as a four-year-old can be.I wept at the choice, so young, so loved, and true.I spread out my arms in grief then noticed Mother.Her hands were outstretched too and we touched fingertips,
Sharing the loss.
The nightmare’s death train was covered in red canvas.The Seattle engineer allowed the railriders to remain hidden.We were all looking forward to home life in comfortable quarters.And when he raced beside us we cheeredUntil his motorcycle blew up and he was left unmarkedWrapped in death as beautiful as a four-year-old can be.I wept at the choice, so young, so loved, and true.I spread out my arms in grief then noticed Mother.Her hands were outstretched too and we touched fingertips,
Sharing the loss.
August 2, 2013
Whirligig
Whirligig1971
All red the lamps, the whirling fan A bar and loud and drunken me.Youths surround me reaching for the cliffs of mediocrity. One chap, virgined soul, white tie on bare unforested chest, is a muscled Adam gripping his fist to show an un-endowed Eve his offered prowess. Shorn athletes stomp, bearded folks sway, while tee-shirted damsels dance. Showman, singer vamps the players,
gender unknown. Does it matter?
All red the lamps, the whirling fan A bar and loud and drunken me.Youths surround me reaching for the cliffs of mediocrity. One chap, virgined soul, white tie on bare unforested chest, is a muscled Adam gripping his fist to show an un-endowed Eve his offered prowess. Shorn athletes stomp, bearded folks sway, while tee-shirted damsels dance. Showman, singer vamps the players,
gender unknown. Does it matter?
August 1, 2013
Wait a Moment
Wait a Moment2004
Prescription drugs might do the job when the road gets rough; especially when affluence and laughter visit you in nightmares where they kill you.
Whether you miss the excitement of a fallen bride or feel the gloom of an adult orphan, the traces chemicals will flatten out your life like a heavy shoe.
You’ve seen those white toothed models sling their hips past all catastrophes, and yet you wonder at their fresh good fate? Why shouldn’t you want to share a piece of their merciless dream?
The day will come when even the prestigious will throw their last beggared coins in hopeless rage against the time of reckoning when the earth calls back its own. Let the days fall where they may – awake.
