Submissions by Alviola
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Stress Test
The chest tightens as I struggle to stay longer on the treadmill. It is an early stage. “Look forward, think of something pleasant, a pleasant time in your life,” the doctor advised.
I walk into warm waters, into a strait of
wavelets drawing the edge of Toledo City
I walk until I can not, until
I have to use my arms and legs
Chest knotting, I pause while paddling
to look back at the shore, at life, at work
'How are you feeling, sir?'
The treadmill inclines with a loud whir
and I feel the sand between my toes...
I walk into warm waters, into a strait of
wavelets drawing the edge of Toledo City
I walk until I can not, until
I have to use my arms and legs
Chest knotting, I pause while paddling
to look back at the shore, at life, at work
'How are you feeling, sir?'
The treadmill inclines with a loud whir
and I feel the sand between my toes...
#aging
#nostalgia
145 reads
13 Comments
The Patience of the Sun
The sun winks me awake through the wrinkle
and bend of the venetian blinds
dusting off sleep, stumbling out of bed
I pray they will let me go out to play
they no longer smile when they shake
their heads ‘you are not well enough, no’
So I argue as if reason mattered
haggle with a hardly disguised glower
"we are never well enough anymore
the lungs are past the age of just able
the spryness is imagined, we are
never one hundred percent anymore"
the slice of sunlight...
and bend of the venetian blinds
dusting off sleep, stumbling out of bed
I pray they will let me go out to play
they no longer smile when they shake
their heads ‘you are not well enough, no’
So I argue as if reason mattered
haggle with a hardly disguised glower
"we are never well enough anymore
the lungs are past the age of just able
the spryness is imagined, we are
never one hundred percent anymore"
the slice of sunlight...
#sadness
#anxiety
#aging
192 reads
8 Comments
Threads of Lives
I scrolled down the newsfeed of my phone
and walked into a babbling of friends,
years spoke for them, retirement was flashed
as badges and permission to whinge.
Gouty fingers misspelled their rancor,
they reached for devices upon waking,
a frown, a retort before coffee,
responding to barbs before breakfast,
the ribald before the washbasin,
before thanking whichever god
they pray to for the bearable aches,
for allowed liquor, for fairish lives.
Once I counted twelve in one thread,
We had talks that...
and walked into a babbling of friends,
years spoke for them, retirement was flashed
as badges and permission to whinge.
Gouty fingers misspelled their rancor,
they reached for devices upon waking,
a frown, a retort before coffee,
responding to barbs before breakfast,
the ribald before the washbasin,
before thanking whichever god
they pray to for the bearable aches,
for allowed liquor, for fairish lives.
Once I counted twelve in one thread,
We had talks that...
#death
#aging
274 reads
8 Comments
The Pandemic Stole My Magic Hour
The poison in the air gnawed
through the time inexorably
my magic hour is now truncated
the wise and esteemed could not
tell us when the rot would end
what would remain of my last hour
The sun did peep after a while
warily, seemingly chastened
sniffing for the evil in the air
But the glisten is gone, the gold
the sun throws at all it sees
during that magical hour
rooftops and cars, boats at sea
and the irises of children
that glow is now wan and cautious
Unlike the sun, I will, with ...
through the time inexorably
my magic hour is now truncated
the wise and esteemed could not
tell us when the rot would end
what would remain of my last hour
The sun did peep after a while
warily, seemingly chastened
sniffing for the evil in the air
But the glisten is gone, the gold
the sun throws at all it sees
during that magical hour
rooftops and cars, boats at sea
and the irises of children
that glow is now wan and cautious
Unlike the sun, I will, with ...
#sadness
#sun
#aging
#redemption
#disappointment
241 reads
8 Comments
There Really Isn't a New Year
The minute hand does a curtsey,
salutes each number on the face
of the clock before gliding on.
We dice and mince time so we see
what we have left and badly spent,
the ticking makes us think we're in charge.
We mark the calendar when to stop
wallowing, in grief, in tobacco
or alcohol, when to start dieting
or whatever we require of ourselves.
We chop time up, cleverly tuck tasks
and mischances into folders:
“uni”, “first job”, "married life",
"alone again”, "new chapter",
"after surgery", "the...
salutes each number on the face
of the clock before gliding on.
We dice and mince time so we see
what we have left and badly spent,
the ticking makes us think we're in charge.
We mark the calendar when to stop
wallowing, in grief, in tobacco
or alcohol, when to start dieting
or whatever we require of ourselves.
We chop time up, cleverly tuck tasks
and mischances into folders:
“uni”, “first job”, "married life",
"alone again”, "new chapter",
"after surgery", "the...
#motivational
#illness
#aging
#wisdom
#NewYear
279 reads
9 Comments
What the Poison in the Air Stole from Them
The young lie on the floor, fingers
and marrow fused to phones, they lie there
quieter than the poison in the air
The virus stole nudging in buses,
she fondles the screen of her phone,
limning the boy's eyes as she listens,
her finger is not in range, she knows
he will not see her touching his lips
but hopes he will feel the caress
We must tell them that they will, they will
noisily pull out chairs and seat
themselves around tables of laughter
We must tell them not to worry,
boys will cup...
and marrow fused to phones, they lie there
quieter than the poison in the air
The virus stole nudging in buses,
she fondles the screen of her phone,
limning the boy's eyes as she listens,
her finger is not in range, she knows
he will not see her touching his lips
but hopes he will feel the caress
We must tell them that they will, they will
noisily pull out chairs and seat
themselves around tables of laughter
We must tell them not to worry,
boys will cup...
#love
#loneliness
#teens
#despair
#pandemic
223 reads
7 Comments
Today I Saw a Man Who Should Not Die
Today I saw a man who should not die,
he wore the cuffs and shackles of white gown care,
thin fingers
fondling the button that triggers the pump
that feeds him smiles.
He bared his chest to show us the pipes
of great science running through him,
the pipes that feed him smiles.
Today I saw a man who sees pain
walking about the room, he has studied
and mastered it: when to press the button
to stop
the demon from jumping onto his bed
and still remain awake -- to dream.
...
he wore the cuffs and shackles of white gown care,
thin fingers
fondling the button that triggers the pump
that feeds him smiles.
He bared his chest to show us the pipes
of great science running through him,
the pipes that feed him smiles.
Today I saw a man who sees pain
walking about the room, he has studied
and mastered it: when to press the button
to stop
the demon from jumping onto his bed
and still remain awake -- to dream.
...
#sadness
#love
#regret
#death
#cancer
172 reads
Come, Come, We are Too Old to Panic
The clankety-clank of the body
has become like a low rumble
of a running, untuned motor,
the metal-to-metal squeaking
is now a dull, negligible burr,
a hum we can choose to be deaf to.
It is no longer a dash to doctors
when there is blood or a baffling pinch,
quick prayers are paracetamol,
pluck and the bag of ice will suffice
we are too old to worry about health.
I am grateful that I can still choose
what to eat for breakfast (two boiled eggs),
that in the age I pop painkillers
like mints, these hands are...
has become like a low rumble
of a running, untuned motor,
the metal-to-metal squeaking
is now a dull, negligible burr,
a hum we can choose to be deaf to.
It is no longer a dash to doctors
when there is blood or a baffling pinch,
quick prayers are paracetamol,
pluck and the bag of ice will suffice
we are too old to worry about health.
I am grateful that I can still choose
what to eat for breakfast (two boiled eggs),
that in the age I pop painkillers
like mints, these hands are...
#motivational
#illness
#LifeCycle
#weakness
#vulnerability
186 reads
4 Comments
I Must Barter with My Ghosts
The business and bother
of my fingers are unlike those
of other people, they do not
wait for me in the office.
They are my ghosts: the unformed
the pending and the unshaped,
and they haunt so, begging closure,
“Halá, I am nowhere with this.”
The worry about the year
sidles up on the sofa and watches
as I have my first mug of coffee,
a quiet behemoth regarding me,
The advertising idea for children
needing stents is a wraith seated
in the front seat of the car,
doll's eyes on me, eyes asking,
...
of my fingers are unlike those
of other people, they do not
wait for me in the office.
They are my ghosts: the unformed
the pending and the unshaped,
and they haunt so, begging closure,
“Halá, I am nowhere with this.”
The worry about the year
sidles up on the sofa and watches
as I have my first mug of coffee,
a quiet behemoth regarding me,
The advertising idea for children
needing stents is a wraith seated
in the front seat of the car,
doll's eyes on me, eyes asking,
...
#anxiety
#ghosts
#frustration #job
#frustration #job
146 reads
4 Comments
When a Tree Falls in the Forest...
The yip of a youngish dog can travel far,
reach his owner's ears a mile away,
here in the valley, we hear screams coming
from mountain parts hidden in clouds.
You cannot cut a tree in secret,
the shriek is mechanical, criminal,
you can hear the uneven cackle
of the chainsaw miles and cities away.
Sometimes it sounds as if the tree might win,
flexing its core against the cutting chain,
but we hear a whirr and then a whistle,
saw cutting only air, only where birds were.
Because it tumbles so unwillingly,
the...
reach his owner's ears a mile away,
here in the valley, we hear screams coming
from mountain parts hidden in clouds.
You cannot cut a tree in secret,
the shriek is mechanical, criminal,
you can hear the uneven cackle
of the chainsaw miles and cities away.
Sometimes it sounds as if the tree might win,
flexing its core against the cutting chain,
but we hear a whirr and then a whistle,
saw cutting only air, only where birds were.
Because it tumbles so unwillingly,
the...
#forest
#trees
#dogs
#environment
#greed
193 reads
1 Comment
What Happens When a Copywriter Dies?
The cashier beeping groceries
out the store stops and frowns
at a tin can she thought had vanished,
she hmms and shrugs then beeps it on.
When a copywriter dies, do the bottles
and brands that she put on the airstrip
that is the counter tarry momentarily
in the business of flying out of stores?
In the quiet and cold of the night,
while the watchmen yawn, shotguns
on laps, do the shelves inside rattle
a little, for a second at least?
When the handsomely-labelled
tumble into plastic bags, do they ...
out the store stops and frowns
at a tin can she thought had vanished,
she hmms and shrugs then beeps it on.
When a copywriter dies, do the bottles
and brands that she put on the airstrip
that is the counter tarry momentarily
in the business of flying out of stores?
In the quiet and cold of the night,
while the watchmen yawn, shotguns
on laps, do the shelves inside rattle
a little, for a second at least?
When the handsomely-labelled
tumble into plastic bags, do they ...
#sadness
#death
#gratitude
#disappointment
#job
201 reads
6 Comments
We are Born Again as Gods
Why do we deify our dead?
Right from the shock of a slap
on the back of the child to start
the motor that purrs, hums, snores,
right from the rupture,
surfacing blind from placenta,
from the gift of first gasp,
human begins the decay,
the decline to grey and hobble,
the blackening of lung and liver,
the shattering of hipbone,
stubbornness of breathing falters,
the breath one cannot hold
for a minute is held forever,
cavities are now a stage
for the...
Right from the shock of a slap
on the back of the child to start
the motor that purrs, hums, snores,
right from the rupture,
surfacing blind from placenta,
from the gift of first gasp,
human begins the decay,
the decline to grey and hobble,
the blackening of lung and liver,
the shattering of hipbone,
stubbornness of breathing falters,
the breath one cannot hold
for a minute is held forever,
cavities are now a stage
for the...
#death
#religion
#ghosts #aging
#ghosts #aging
285 reads
6 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Alviola