Friday, 19 August 2022

Six Poems by Michael Ball

 


The Beard Brushes the Stones

Our gardener, unimaginably old to a child loved the two blonds, my sister and me. We, if we were literal, parroted we were in the Occupation Army in Japan. From infancy to four years, I was not much of a soldier. Yet, our ancient gardener made us feel lordly. While hoary old, he was child short. He was bonsai lean too, but his beard…Yes, his beard plays on my brainpan inner screen seven decades later. His whiskers wispy and long enough to stroke the paving stones in the garden he so skilfully tended. On seeing the blonds, his thin lips crinkled on the edges in a warm smile. “Ohayō Gozaimasu,” he chanted each day, slowly, seeming to savour each tone in the phrase for “Good Morning.” He seemed to find joy in greeting us. Pleasing children pleases old men. I never ceased my joy at watching his long, long grey beard brush the walk.


 

Faith in Fasteners


Marvels of machinery — autos, planes,

Hardware, software, and wetware, lift and thrust,

Wonders of biology — bodies, brains.

Train us to depend on them and to trust.

 

You digested soothing Apple poison.

You now have much faith and demand little…

merely that all systems act by reason.

For what is inside, don’t give a tittle.

 

You expect your life like machines to go.

Your cold and warm servants must simply run.

Your Camry, like your MacBook, does its do

every damned day…till it is undone.

 

Each may suddenly sputter and relent

(a  machine’s stroke or cardiac event).

The actual miracle is each part

runs, just runs, until something fails to start.

 

Elegance of complexity brings ease.

With the trust of the very young or old,

We carry on in simple-minded peace.

Our plane lifts off. We hope that the bolts hold.



Exorcism By Furniture


Sliding sadness and shame to the street.

La-Z-Boy chair and then queen mattress

Suddenly at the curb trash day eve.

They are a clear personal message

As plain as the MISSING CAT flyer.

A running joke for curbed furniture

Is FREE: MATTRESS AND CHAIR. FREE BED BUGS.

If I could I surely would have curbed

My 170 pound insect.

Who used to sleep in my bed…my bed.

I bought that La-Z-Boy chair for him

Only for him to melt into it.

Video games,  Showtime all the time.

He pegged scary bad guys on the screen

Instead of pegging me when he could.

He was my spirit’s benign tumour.

I believed I had exorcised him

But I had only ordered him out.

Then I could no longer stand the sight

Or scent of the chair and the mattress.

The demon is not yet truly gone.

Public Works takes your special requests

To pick up dead PC monitors.

Thee is no space on the request page

For picking up useless ex-lovers.

I hope neighbours on every side.

Notice my furniture ritual,

The exorcism on the sidewalk

I am eager to answer queries.

If one asks me, “Where’s your boyfriend?,”

I’ll say, “In my happier future.”

 


The Fatal Kindness


You need not rise to open your door

So that death can come into your room

Or into your life, although it stopped

For Emily and will visit you.

 

A marvel of physics, death passes

Like cosmic rays through your plastered walls,

Your locked door and your shuttered windows.

And goes where it chooses and it must.

 

Your personal version of a death

May arrive loudly, violently

On the sudden point of a knife, or

Agony of exploding heart, or

It  may visit like the dew at dawn —

Moist, cold, soft smothering and silent.

 

You may bliss out with yogic OM or

Weep at ultimate unfairness, or

Rage your panicked need for long life, or

Make guttural sounds of the drowning.

You may strike an atheist’s bargain,

(In your mind; Death is indifferent.)

 

Death accommodates you in your end.

Braying while grasping a cocktail stem,

Unable to rise from your wheelchair,

Working anxiously at your keyboard,

Vivid dreaming one last time beneath

Your comforter. Death accommodates.

 

You need not rise. Death will come to you.

Surcease is death’s only specialty.

In the end was the word, and the word

Was with death and death was the last word.


 

Yesteryear’s Bowl

 

Astor Place, a linen-and-candles joint,

Placed a wide bowl of mussels before her.

Blue-black shells against whitest porcelain,

framed the beige fleshy fish and she exclaimed,

(loudly in candor and naïve crassness)

“These look just like little cunts!” And they did.

 

Only one as beautiful could shout that,

then bask in other diners’ amused smiles.

 

Somewhere on this dark winter evening

an aged eater retrieves this memory.

She holds a steam-splayed mussel shell aloft

and dines out again on this simple tale.

 


Oak Traitor

 

Betrayed by an acorn,

let us mourn its ingratitude.

 

Scooping ripe and brown bunches

of quercus oak nuts off the ground

does not often lead to baby trees.

Brainless fruits in cupules

require much and offer no thanks.

 

They germinate best after overwintering

and being well washed by many rains.

Legless, still and vulnerable

acorns are prey for squirrels, ‘possums,

birds and wild pigs (where available).

 

Planting them in pots and tending the soil

surely deserve a reward.

From a tiny acorn…

 

In their ingratitude and

lack of self-preservation,

humble oak nuts differ little from humans.

 

Acorns have more excuse.




Michael Ball scrambled from newspapers through business and technical pubs. Born in OK and raised in rural WV, he became more citified in Manhattan and Boston. One of the Hyde Park Poets, he has moderate success placing poems including in Griffel, Elevation Review, Gateway Review, Havik Anthology, SPLASH!, Peregrine Journal, In Parentheses, Spillwords, It’s All About Arts, Kind Writers, and Reality Break Press. Featured poet at Menino Arts Center, Rozzie Reads, and Open Door Yoga Center for the Arts. and 2022 Boston Mayor’s Poetry displayed in City Hall.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Three Poems by John Patrick Robbins

  You're Just Old So you cling to anything that doesn't remind you of the truth of a chapter's close or setting sun. The comfort...