A party game
When we were 11
A girl in a closet
I was picked to join her
All the 5th-graders at the party
Would time us kissing
Just 7 short minutes
The CAT scan lasts 7 minutes
Feet first I am rolled in
Take a deep breath
Hold your breath
Breathe
3 times in and out
A burning in my genitals
Just like in the closet
With Mary Kay Place
Although Norman Cousins makes the case that humor is good for one’s health, it’s hard to giggle preparing today for a routine colonoscopy!
I’ll giggle tomorrow after they give me the happy sedative and assure me everything’s come out all right.
Written in response to The Daily Post‘s invitation to write something on the word ‘giggle’.
Round, like a spaceship
Black, like the dirt it finds
Whirring, like a mix-master
Bumping into chairs, tables,
Couches, beds, walls, doors
Bouncing, spinning, random
Cleaning of rugs, hard-wood floors.
Speaking when stuck,
Full of dirt, needing to recharge.
I am needed to open paths,
Lift cords, put furniture back,
Carry to charger–spouse can
Watch Trump on TV–uncleanable.
“Go to sleep!” you insist,
But I can’t resist
Thinking of another word.
I know it’s absurd,
But my mind has just heard
A new verse aloud in my head.
So I grab for my phone
And since I’m not alone,
Turn, so light’s not in your eyes.
When it’s day, a surprise!
A new verse you will read!
“Oh great,” you say, “Just what I need…”
Yesterday Bernie Sanders won big time by over 7o percent in Washington, Alaska, and Hawaii. The bird that alit on Bernie’s podium was not afraid of Bernie. Watch the video.
If I were still healthy and lived in North Carolina, I swear as a 6′ 8″ male, I would put on a dress and high heels and on Easter Sunday go to the biggest Baptist Church in Raleigh and wobble down the center aisle asking for the Ladies’ Room…
If Steve were still healthy and we both lived in North Carolina, I swear as a 5’8″ male, I’d put on a dress and high heels and on Easter Sunday to the biggest Baptist Church in Raleigh to hold Steve’s hand wobbling together down the center aisle asking for the Ladies Room…
Steve sent this @12:26 a.m. today. Though fatigued, he had a “good day” with visits from his high school friend Gary, an 18 year-old he’s mentored since the fourth grade (clarification: since the young man, not since Steve, was in the fourth grade 😮), and a yoga instructor friend who helped him “straighten up in my wheelchair”:
Profs have found that it helps cancer’s pain
To take puffs of that old Mary Jane,
And our State says it’s great,
Docs write scrips for our trips,
But what cancer symptoms can I feign?
A relaxed President Obama speaks about reality. Listen for Putin and the snowball! Some things you couldn’t make up!
This morning we reply to The Daily Post’s invitation to create a post on the word “connection.”
Because Views from the Edge has been silent the last few days – my only connection has been an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder preoccupation with preparing a book proposal for submission to a publisher – and feeling no urgency to add more punditry dribble to the presidential campaign coverage, my immediate response was the antonym for connection: “separation.”
I’ve been totally connected to the book proposal; almost totally disconnected – separated, walled off – from Kay, Barclay, and the news. I’ve also been less physically present except for short breaks for meals and answering the bell Barclay rings when he needs to go outside to do his duty. I’ve been dutiful indoors with little connection to anything but the book proposal – more connected and more separate all at the same time.
Theologian Paul Tillich translated “sin” as “separation” from the Ground of Being, nature, neighbors, and one’s self. I’ve been living in sin! And, now that I’ve broken the silence in response to the Daily Post’s invitation, I’m going back to sin until the connection with the publisher is finally made – by means of the internet which has managed to produce a new paradox: wider connection and deeper separation than previously imagined.
Temporarily less connected until next Tuesday’s submission…unless Steve connects with a poem,
Gordon
Views from the Edge 