I WALKED INTO A BAR...I NEEDED A HOSPITAL

 Lucille: "I'll be in the hospital bar." Michael: Uhh, you know, there isn't a hospital bar, mother." Lucille: "Well, this is why people hate hospitals. Arrested Development

I Walked into a Bar…I Needed a Hospital.

Hospitals should have bars--

I think they should-- a pint

of beer for a pint of blood.

Lounges are like waiting rooms

in hospitals, yet with libations.

Hospital stays are not

like a wild weekend, more

like a reality check.

The regulars are sitting,

some in waiting rooms,

some on bar stools,

some wondering how much

longer until their time is over.

The patient is praying

this stay won’t kill me;

the cocktail barely numbed me, 

the t.v. is blaring.

How much longer

will it hurt like this?

the patron asks the bartender.

Who's winning the game?

Can I get another lager?

The pounding of a heart,

the pounding of a beer--

states only one thing--

cardiac arrest or attesting

to the beginning of a scar.

How much longer will I be

waiting for a miracle at

a hospital or at a bar,

because after today,

I am not sure whether I

need a bar or a hospital to

pick up and heal my remains.

TJKG

SAND IS DISPOSABLE GRAFFITI

Sand is Disposable Graffiti

In the sand, she wrote,

I cleaned this beach---

Please don’t pollute.

The line was drawn in the sand.

Pressed into the sand are

footprints lasting only to

water’s edge.

In the sand, he wrote,

Will you marry me?

inside a giant heart.

Left in the sand is  

graffiti at dusk---

for the rest of us

to learn.

The sand can always be changed.

TJKG check out dverse http://dversepoets.com/2013/02/21/meeting-the-bar-graffiti-poetry/

CIRCULATION

“Feelings come and go like clouds in a windy sky. Conscious breathing is my anchor.” 

                                                                                             Thich Naht Hanh

Circulation 

Violet sky whispers light,

soaking color from the lotus.

Late lauders of the break

sing diligently hallelujah.

Soft gossamer haze lifts

from mossy cobblestone

giving truth to daylight.

Spirituality begins with earth,

ascending life’s energy,

humming with each bone.

The apex of the heightened

heart descends peacefully

in moments of silence.

Sitting quietly, the inner chatter

begins to settle and anchor.

Cyclical posture is the river

rising to a chosen passage.

In the noise, there is silence

without the rise of the hands,

without the voice of reason,

God’s wisdom will proclaim.

TJKG

You can also find me and many others at dverse http://dversepoets.com/2013/02/19/open-link-night-week-84/

NIGHT'S ELEGY

Night's Elegy

Winter gray hovers above

the orange glow,

crashing through

the black bones

of a steepled pine tree--

the piercing

shimmers could be

mistaken for a house fire.

In seconds, one can capture

the rage of

elongated gold heat;

a God's shield from night.

The rising day begins;

we have survived another

rotation-- even as

the sun is hidden by a

blanket of clouds.

TJKG

MYSTERY, MISERY, MASTERY

                   “Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form." Rumi

Mystery, Misery, Mastery 

Inside,

above ground,

calm as the night—

it always seems like twilight

inside

your mother--

soft, warm, and tight.

A zipper straight down the middle,

an amniotic sac breaks open.

It was a cesarean section,

opening the belly to the sky.

Outside low thick clouds

are white wings awakening

an arrival.

Holding close is a life,

delivered from a water bag

Breathing air, body of blood,

cheek pressed to her swollen breast.

Life shares her first breath with the living.

Death shares each heaving breath

with the dying.

She remembers when she was just a girl,

sitting on the foyer steps,

distant church bells, her doorbell rings,

the body bag arrives;

the men walked in,

and leave with the corpse of a man.

Cold, stiff, dead, she remembers; it is the last

time her father would be leaving.

She curls her body in a sleeping bag,

zippers it closed and remembers

to stop crying.

 

Back packs,

purses, storage bags

containing the remains of one’s life.

Life considers a life, hospice, and

just down the corridor is a gurney rolling to

retrieve a person’s failed bones.

The body bag is earth’s final destination,

a zipper runs down the middle, outside,

a resting place underground.

TJKG