Posts filed under ‘UNPUBLISHED WORKS’
My readers,
Here is a story I wrote for a very special lady.
THE HIP HIP
Ella was a feisty eighty-eight year old line-dancer. Line-dancing kept her young and full of life, but things were about to change. If for better or worse, I’ll let you decide.
* * *
Ella limped into the Brickette Lounge on a Thursday night. She was immediately surrounded by the usual line-dancing crowd. Sitting down on the first available chair, Richard and Rainy made their way to her, followed by Joni, Amanda and Nancy. Joe, from across the dance floor, wandered over. Elizabeth joined the group.
Amanda was the first to ask, “Ella, what’s wrong?”
Ella answered, “I need another hip replacement.”
Now, Ella blew out hips like some people blow out tires. This would be her fourth redo.
Ella told her friends, “I’ll be back with a new hip. Then, try to keep up with me you children.
* * *
Ella’s surgeon told his colleague, “I have a patient, a spry old woman, who loves to line-dance. She suggested an unusual test. I figure, it can’t hurt, so here it goes. She gave me a CD to play to the hips.’
The doctor placed the CD in a portable player and turned it on. On the table lay a group of hips he could choose for the implant. He studied the hips and said to his colleague, “That’s the one.”
* * *
A month after Ella’s surgery, on a Thursday night she returned to the Brickette.
Amanda elbowed Joni when she saw Ella enter, “There’s Ella. She has a strut now. That hip must me a real blessing.”
Ella sat down with her friends. She appeared fidgety, and upon closer inspection, exhausted.
Joni said, “I’m so glad to see you’re back. You’re looking great, although a little tired.”
“Well, that’s my fault,” she replied.
The DJ began the music and Ella was the first one up. She danced to the first song playing and every other song the DJ offered. Not once did she sit down.
At ten o’clock the music stopped. Ella blew a sigh of relief and staggered over to the table to sit with her friends.
Nancy was the first to ask,” Ella, are you okay?”
Ella responded, “Actually, no. But it’s my fault.”
“How do you mean?” Bronwyn asked in her Australian accent.
“Well,” said Ella, “I insisted the surgeon test the possible hips he could implant.”
“What was the test?” asked Joni.
“I asked him to play a CD that I gave him. I told him to watch for the hip that began reacting, vibrating; that was the one I wanted.
“I made a huge mistake. I can’t turn on music at home without dancing. I can’t listen to the music I love, and at the same time, get anything done.
“If I’m walking down the street and some youngster is listening to music in one of those ear things, and I can hear it, by the way, they have it turned up far too loud, I start dancing in the middle of a street or a sidewalk.
“My surgeon said this hip should last about ten years, and then I’ll get one that will give me some peace.”
March 20, 2011 at 5:17 pm
9/11
I wrote this poem seven years ago.
Who alive on that beautiful September morning, other than the tiniest child spared the memory, could forget that day.
The vast majority of us carry the images of that fateful day. The one I remember most is the jumpers. Those desperate people, approximately fifty, who joined hands or made makeshift parachutes, only to meet the same fate.
This poem is dedicated to them.
JUMPERS
They were like birds flying,
Leaping from flaming windows,
No wings to purchase air,
No hope of flying home.
They were like birds flying,
Tumbling in twos, alone,
Flashing by in a smoke-filled sky
While crowds watched in horror.
They were like birds flying
Flights, imprinting the nation’s memory.
They were like omens flying,
Carrying us into a world of fear.
September 8, 2010 at 5:15 pm
My Reluctant Readers,
Here is another unpublished offering. It never found a home.
The subject matter is dark, but relevant.
TWO LOVERS
She fondles the syringe
As she was once fondled
By a lover long ago,
For this is her new love now.
The product of her first love
Gently moves within,
The product of her new love
Scars arms and thighs.
She feels a kick,
A struggle for life,
She forgets the past
As another is robbed of a future.
She sends her new love coursing her veins,
There is a treble, then nothing.
All is quiet as the night begins,
All is quiet, The endless night begins.
August 27, 2010 at 6:48 pm
Dear reluctant readers,
I have not visited my blog for some time now. I have been busy revising my novel, The Beast Awaits, and hope to, by the end of the year, start seeking a home for this work.
In the meantime, I thought I’d post some of my work that no one felt worthy of publication.
This offering is a poem, written some time ago. Now that my daughters are both adults, I feel a special kinship to this poem that was written when they were children.
TRANSITIONS
The years, they march forever,
Dreams flare, then fade away,
Some reach, some corner of my mind
Still plays with yesterday.
The years, they take their toll,
Hopes dim, then fade away,
My youth, now past now spent
Has abandoned me this day.
I pause, I catch the sound
Of small children, my children at play,
The world comes slowly full circle,
I pause, nothing what to say.
Their years, the grow they flourish,
Their dreams, they seize the day,
I retreat, then yield and vanish,
Hope fills their world today.
August 23, 2010 at 6:07 pm
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