revisions already?
Category: Writing and Poetry

sorry bout this
but I realized that I had intended to redo one poem
that I just posted

here be the preferred version
where I have opposites thruout:

Love: boon or pain in the ass?

we love rules as much as fences

love has two basic rules:

your partner is always right

forgive your partner's mistakes

don't try to figure it out

love is waiting for your partner to be ready

though your partner rushed you

love is phoning mom

when she can't answer the phone

love is thinking of the other person first

when the other person can't remember you

love is putting your needs on the back burner

while you're in the deep fat fryer

love is understanding what can't be done for you

love: boon or pain in the ass

 BUT here is a 'better' version:

Love: boon or pain in the ass?

we love rules as much as fences

love has two basic rules:

your partner is always right

forgive your partner's mistakes

people have died trying to figure it out

love is

waiting for your partner to be ready

though your partner rushed you

phoning mom

when she can't remember how to answer the phone

love is thinking of the other person first

when the other person doesn't remember you

love is putting your needs on the back burner

while you're in the deep fat fryer

love is understanding
what can't

or won't

be done for you

love: boon or pain in the ass

6:27 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

It’s been a while, life has its ups downs. Here’s some new stuff.
Current mood: argumentative
Category: Writing and Poetry

He wanted a taste

He stood outside

on a very cold day

steamy breath 

smoking air

searched for cigarette butts

in the building entrance ashtray

parka several times patched

eyes hopeful for treasure

he picked out the good butts

checked each carefully

put it in a bag if it measured up

cancer sticks we call them

searching through garbage for poison

until he found enough

the taste of the life

mostly smoked cancer sticks

back in his room

hearing the shared toilet flush

he placed a plastic bag over his head

the one he put the butts in

one by one he lit them

enjoyed the taste, a taste

the bag held in

better to enjoy, a last puff

then he put the butt down

grasped the plastic tight around his neck

and waited for life to finally be done

Victor Schwartzman

victors@mts.net

See me no more

As his mom wakes her eyes brighten

she sees him now

standing by her nursing home bed

she is so happy to see him

he does not want to see her

he wishes she was still asleep

she loves him, he loves her

love makes it worse

when he sees her blank eyes

or when he sees she knows

what she has lost

fleeting memories of what she had been

he answers her same questions

works at chatting

pushes her wheelchair

hoping it will soon be over

wishing it was him instead

knowing it will be

Victor Schwartzman

victors@mts.net

Why are we alone

ever struggled

wondered how

your friends

become smoke

vanishing

burning fire

drives smoke away

ever fought the good fight

you v. the world

principle v. reality

the loneliness

cripples your heart

friends avoid you

you deny them

why desert you

in your need

they do not want your pain

they can not help anyway

and when you feel better

you will come around

friends exist to betray you

Victor Schwartzman

victors@mts.net

Bob Solves Living in Fear

Bob lived in fear

fear of home invasions

fear of muggers

no violence in his life

but tv was full of it

Bob bought a gun

Bob watched the news

the Virginia Tech Massacre

shootings everywhere

his outside was sunny

his tv darkness was spreading

Bob looked at the gun

Bob was afraid most at work

fear of clients

meeting the public

he was paid to serve

nothing ever happened but

Bob loaded the gun

Bob held the gun

shiny heavy black metal

everyone wanted him afraid

everyone on tv

Bob pointed the gun

Bob shot the tv

Victor Schwartzman

Victors@mts.net

Love can be unfair

fairness has nothing to do with love

humans love rules as much as fences

successful love has two basic rules:

your partner is always right

forgive your partner's mistakes

as does love, the rules conflict with reality

love is waiting for your partner to be ready

love is phoning mom when she can't answer the phone

love is thinking of the other person first

love is putting your needs on the back burner

love is understanding what can't be done for you

love: boon or pain in the ass

Victor Schwartzman

victors@mts.net

Forgetting what is important

Every day he phones

mom in the nursing home

10 am - 10:30 am

most days she forgets

did he call yesterday?

really?

why, he hasn't called in a week

she tells cousins to phone him

asking if something is wrong

he phones every day

because he loves her

wants to hear her voice

feels guilty he doesn't see her enough

and she forgets

Victor Schwartzman

victors@mts.net

8:00 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Email poems, one a joke, one not
Category: Writing and Poetry

Subject line not enough for this email

I have to enter a body

before I am allowed

to send an email

a subject line is not enough

I have to enter a body

but entering a body

is not to be taken lightly

whose body do I have to enter

is it the body of an internet employee

does she or he get a bonus

the things you do for work

now I have performance anxiety

Victor Schwartzman

victors@mts.net

Email to Cousin Lew

Hey Lew, thanks for the jokes

funny!

all the same up here, pretty much

mom probably had more t.i.a.s

mini strokes, they call them

she was not answering questions yesterday

staring into I don't know what

her own world, her new world

dropped by her place today

just to see again, to know

she was not surprised when

I walked into her nursing home room

though I said nothing about coming

it was like, oh you're here, that's nice

she's very quiet

never reads, doesn't even watch much tv

sleeps a lot

could be worse

she's still here

not in any pain

sigh

Victor Schwartzman

victors@mts.net

7:21 PM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

More writing about life
Category: Writing and Poetry

Here are some poems I've been working on lately.  My sincere apologies for not reading other people's work lately--mom's now been in and out of hospital twice, and that's been taking up a lot of my time and energy.  It's work to make the time to write, but almost impossible to be able to hop to different people's sites and read them with any intelligence.  I respect other authors too much to drop by for a snack.  I will be back, but my apologies to Rob and Hope and all the other fine writers I've been missing out on.  Time is slowly clearing now--I've moved mom to a nursing home, cleared out her apartment and put it all in my house.  Now I gotta clear out all that stuff from my house!  Plus, as always, there is work.... 

As always, feedback is welcome.  This stuff is quite fresh and new.  The last poem I wrote this morning.  So I'm sure there is plenty o'room for improvement!

Life Partners

1.

 
I wasn't looking forward to the meeting
the worker was a pain in the ass
we bend over backwards to help him
all he does is file grievances
three more years to retirement
it's like leaves falling in autumn
I waste a lot of time raking up
what he leaves on me

 
I wasn't looking forward to the meeting
the manager is a pain in the ass
I've bent over backwards to avoid problems
all he does is ignore me
I dream of freedom
It's like showers falling in spring
I waste a lot of time mopping up
what he showers on me
 

 2.

Lived with that woman thirty years
every hour of which she had a job for me
she never talks until I start something
always having to get her way
always having to be right
she's not like me
me, why I'm Mr. Easy
I love her if this is what love is

 
Lived with that man thirty years
he sat on the couch most of them
always waiting for me to talk
without me he'd have nothing to do
there's a right way to do things
he's not like me
me, why I'm Ms. Easy
I love him, if this is what love is

3.

 
My parents started driving me crazy
and never stopped
nineteen years until I moved
nothing ever good enough
I know they love me and all but
all I heard was the crap
they never left me alone
with their purse or wallet

 
Our daughter started driving us crazy
when Fran was pregnant with her, actually
she's moved out twice, both times painful
her boyfriend has his hands full
that's what she needs to mature
we know she loves us and remembers
all the good times we gave her
(and, we have always been careful with money)

Victor Schwartzman

victors@mts.net

The Meaning of Life

 
In the beginning
the plot of dirt
was under an ocean
the ocean dried
dinosaurs left their footprints
people walked into those steps
a hut was built
then a city
a house rose on the dirt
the woman born in the house
loved her back yard garden
nurtured the flowers
until she could no longer
lift the watering can
she left the dirt.  The new owner
built a large sandbox in the back yard
each morning with a rake
he sculpted a design in the sand
some designs looked like flowers

Victor Schwartzman

victors@mts.net

The Mind of an 16 year old 

The mind of an 16 year old
can I remember
that far back
when there were
more dreams than realities
more goals than results
the world was about me
it was better that way

Victor Schwartzman

victors@mts.net

Hey pal, the bar is closing

Hey pal, does this sound familiar
work all day, eat and
sleep the rest away
with hobbies and cleaning
but mostly working
support my children
support my stuff
I use up my time
all to help the hive
we come and leave
I'll be remembered or forgotten
matters not a snowflake

 
Hey pal, the bar is closing
I heard the last call
this final drink burns
been good talking with you
it's dark outside but I'm not afraid
the air I breathe is killing me
why worry about people or accidents
about what I was born into
about what I helped create
can't do nothing about anything
sometimes I dream
of driving and never looking back

Victor Schwartzman

victors@mts.net

Three Views of an Alcoholic

I don't drink that much

I'm okay if I don't start before noon

otherwise the day is gone

sometimes I slur words

I feel normal until I stand

then the world spins

there is so much I could do

I don't want to do any of it

Our son is a drunk

where did we go wrong

he was always a happy child

seemed on track through school

but then he dropped out

drifting through life

eyes always bloodshot

we failed him

Dad's pissed most of the time

I tried talking, yelling, crying

but when he looked at me

he only saw a roadblock

between him and the bottle

he doesn't fool me with the Visine or mouthwash

I need my father, where is he?

Victor Schwartzman

victors@mts.net

Great Reasons To Vote

he has a winning smile his teeth are capped

he dresses well his aide chooses his clothes

he dresses well he doesn't use underwear

he is supported by groups that sound good but advocate sex with puppies

he crusades for integrity he only accepts a bribe if they give it to him

he knows how to get things done no one's noticed the bribes

he is strong on family values just ask his mistress

he wants democracy everywhere by invading other countries

he has a strong legislative record he shows up

he is a strong leader looks good on a poster

he is a strong leader he does not learn from history because he does it his way

he has a vision he wears rosey contact lenses

he listens he's great at hiding his snoring

Victor Schwartzman

victors@mts.net

7:06 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

As your parents age, you should cherish the moments you have
Category: Writing and Poetry

Cherish Your Last Moments Together

I walk towards her
not yet seen
so I can sigh
it did not take long
before she began
to look like one of them
92 years old, my mom
two weeks ago in the hospital she did not look like one of them
now her gray hair brushed back institutionally flat
no make up
blank expression
slumped in her wheel chair
blank expression
breakfast crumbs on her blouse
blank expression
where is her wedding ring?
blank expression
"hi mom"
for the first time she does not recognize me
focusing her eyes
then the smile
pushing up against her cheeks
brightening her eyes
and she starts to cry
she had not seen me yesterday
where had I been?
she was worried something had happened
"mom I couldn't see you yesterday
every day is becoming hard
and you're not here
two weeks from the hospital
you have to get used to being here
at least until you're stronger
maybe when you're stronger
you can move back"
the phone rang, interrupting the lie
it was on the table next to her
she looked at it
she looked at it

the suite was three months ago
a distant dream for her
sitting in her retirement community
the illusion of independence
aides and nurses there every hour
giving her the medications
helping her use the washroom
but she could sit on her own couch
watch her own tv
in her private apartment
moving her to this nursing home
splintered her confidence
each day a little more frightened
a little more confused
a little more unable
putting her this environment has worn her down
like a glorious wooden sculpture
always out in the sun and rain and ice
daring life, living in the moment
beautiful until its creator forgets it
and no longer protects it
the sculpture ages and dries
the beautifully carved wood cracks
splintering piece by piece in the wind
until nothing is left
but the memory
the memory of her
I look at her now
she already is a memory
has been for a while
I remember my mother, sitting next to her
that is why she is in this nursing home
that is why she lives her last days in a facility
that is why we no longer have a use for her
she has not been here for months
longer
five years ago, after that surgery
she could not add her cheque book
two years ago she suddenly forgot
how to use the message system on the phone
I will never forget
driving in the rain to her retirement suite
to show her how to press the buttons
I will never forget
this will not happen to me
I will never forget
she will otherwise disappear

I try to cherish our time together
it is a challenge to cherish a cruel joke
yes I'm neurotic and worry too much
she gets worried but ten minutes later she has forgotten
and we share a joke together
I leave her smiling
then drive home in the night gripping the wheel
I have it good
most of my friends their parents are gone
at least she is still here
I can look after her
I can be her son
I can slip into childhood memories so easily with her
we enjoy those golden days
she can not remember lunch
but recalls vividly our playing in Brookville Park
for a few moments now we play together again
she is always the mother
but I can never again be the child
the child does not push the wheelchair
and I pretend to let her look after me
with endless questions
what I have eaten
have I had enough sleep, how is work
I let her mother me
give me advice like I should eat better
and there is some comfort in being that child again
until she asks the questions all over again
and I remember it is just pretend
but I was her child for a moment more
finally there is our time together
last times together, knowing the end is near
sitting in the same room
looking at the family photos on the wall
the blue sky through the window
knowing I can reach out and touch her hand

4:05 PM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Putting mom in a nursing home
Category: Writing and Poetry

Hi all.  Sorry for not being more consistent, but the following poem can help explain.  Put mom in a nursing home last week, hospital insisted.  She's been a trooper but it is hard for her.  I was thinking about the guilt involved on my part (am I doing enough etc.) and wanted to write about those feelings.  That transmogrified as I started to write, from real life into fiction.  In the end it's a three part story poem.  A man lies to his mother and abruptly moves her into a home without warning (please kinow I reviewed it all with my own mom well in advance--but I have lied to her since she moved, telling her if she gets stronger we can move her out of there, but she likely won't get any stronger at 92.)  So I worked with those feelings, then brought in the mother (who, unlike my own mom, ain't so nice) and one of his children, for a three part picture. 

As always, I'm curious to see whatchall think.

Lying To Your Grandmother

 (1)

honey I'm back
get me a beer
it's left me a wreck
get the kids in here

children today my mom
your dear grandmother
was moved from her home
by me and my brother

and put in a…facility
sorry for tears, it ain't easy
what I did wasn't me
it was this guy who was sleazy

to make her happy I lied
you'll leave two months, maybe three
mom sat and she cried
when I'm old don't lie to me

(2)

The bed is hard
my room mate snores
the food is lard
the nurses whores

I knew it was in the works
when they came that morning
their eyes low, like jerks
moving me with no warning

their little brains think
it's them it's about
so I end up in the clink
because they ain't figured life out

they worry alone I'll fail
they only love my money
it's cause I'm cheaper in jail
damn calling me honey

(3)

Dad got me freaked
he tried to sell us
such a geek
when he's zealous

what he and Dave done
getting gram in that place
what is a good son
Dad is a disgrace

oh he's understood
we should believe the big lie
it's for your own good
lay down and die 

dad cried like never before
then waited unsteady
guess he was thinking up more
lies, but he said plenty already

Victor Schwartzman
victors@mts.net

6:24 PM - 5 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

Roshomon (spelling? the Kurosawa film), High School Graduations, Me and You
Category: Writing and Poetry

Hi.  First, apologies again for my not being around much on My Space.  Apart from work, my mom's been in the hospital (she's 91 & ok) for two months or so.  Now the government's medical system is arranging, with our participation, the proper 'personal care home' for her.   We are not worried about expenses, as the system covers everything.  There is a surcharge based on her income, which is fine.  Mom will be happy there, and then I'll be happier, knowing she's safe. 

Anyway.  That now means clearing out mom's suite at the retirement community, helping her through the move, adjusting to this new stage.  But between that and everything else, writing, posting, socializing are outta my grasp until sometime in August.  And the "everything else"?  That included two high school graduations in two days. 

The first was Wednesday night last week.  That one was for my niece, in Dauphin.  That's a 3.5 - 4 hour drive from Winnipeg.  Each way.   We spent more time in the car than we did with my niece.  Following the Wednesday night  graduation, we immediately drove back to Winnipeg for my daughter's, at 7:30 am. 

This morning, I drew on the two experiences, the people listening to speeches and at the same time socializing in one of the few truly meaningful public ceremonies we will ever attend.  Doesn't matter whether you loved high school or wanted to put it in a bag with rocks and throw it in the river.  A high school graduation is a big deal. 

Anyway.  Turned out that it was just the starting point in a little drama that evolved, stanza by stanza.  Since it's only a few hours old, as usual any feedback is really appreciated.  I still DO read the comments every other day or so, I just usually don't have the energy to respond or read other people's work (I'm squeeking by with my Outsider Writer commitments, still posting Agit Prop poetry and book reviews). 

Cross Talk

I was trying to listen to speeches
at the high school graduation
those people were talking to me
about our children becoming adults
but instead what I heard
were two women in front of me
blathering about someone I didn't know
hell, I could gossip plenty
our son got some girl pregnant but she lost it
I leaned forward and asked them to be quiet

I was chatting with my daughter about Lise
when this jerk behind us told me to be quiet
are the boring speeches more important
than talking about my granddaughter
and how the miscarriage
did not prevent her graduation
I know what is important
life is important, not speeches
but to finish I had to whisper in her ear
Marilyn wanted to know what I had to say

 
When he complained and mom had to get close
her breath smelled like a toilet
so does her blathering, god
I wanted to enjoy the moment
Lise's cap and gown, how grown she is
I wanted to forget, for a moment, the mess
how she kept the baby for the future
endured the jerks, then lost it all
speeches about the future mean little
when the future stands before me

 
Victor Schwartzman
victors@mts.net

7:42 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Regrets
Category: Writing and Poetry

I had been feeling regrets.  My mom has been in the hospital for over a month.  She's 91 and had a mild heart attack, and still is not stable.  She's in the hospital for another two months at least.  I had been visiting every evening,  after work, and on the weekends.  It was getting exhausting, and I was thinking of seeing her every other day, or a few times a week--and then feeling guilty.

So I decided to write something about regrets.  It started out one way, but then the poem and characters took over, what can I tell you?  I've been working on this one the last couple of days--any feedback, as always, is appreciated!

Regrets

Johnny Canuck never tried to do much
so past mistakes never haunted him
his life was sitting in a depot
watching trains pull in and out
people getting on, people getting off
Johnny was a life voyeur
watching others ride 

Johnny had no regrets
Johnny was an idiot
only fools have no regrets
only fools have too many

Janey Canuck had only regrets
she sought every night temptation
then suffered every morning
over imagined bad deeds
her past  was her future
the only present she got
ulcers and guilt

Our lives are a balancing act
mistakes haunting us
the past trapping us
in the dream of 'what if'

Johnny and Janey met at the train station
he made room on the bench
no one else had sat there before
but when they were to make love
he only wanted to watch
Janey loved it, for the first time
she had no regrets

So of course they were married
and lived together but
apart from themselves
love means compromise

Victor Schwartzman
victors@mts.net

7:04 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Is this poem just another way to jerk off? Or be a jerk?
Category: Life

The last month has been difficult for me in terms of posting anything new.  Mom has been in the hospital for a month, but is doing very well at 91.  Visiting every day has been difficult but rewarding--and very sad, all at the same time.  Anyway, I was thinking of something other than tough life situations, and up came  (so to speak) this poem!

Masturbation Goals

One day I want to masturbate while reading

about the top CEOs in Forbes Magazine

I want to play with myself while looking at

a shiny new SUV, fully loaded

I want to jerk off watching the President at a media conference

and to pleasure myself looking at photos of Fort Knox

I want to get aroused at boxers dominating each other

I should be turned on by the Hydrogen Bomb.

Everything in our world is about power

our most powerful are rich jerks

jerking off on them makes cents

Victor Schwartzman
victors@mts.net

5:48 PM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

I'm having fun with rhymes
Category: Writing and Poetry

I Pays For My Bad Ways

 
I was sitting at home, having a smoke
when the Authorities, to fix what was not broke
barged boldly into my private house
and declared me an environmental louse

To start with they towed my beloved SUV
okay, conservation was never important to me
but when they went and took all my plastic
I realized that they were going to be drastic. 

They took my tv, because of what I watch
took the drugs, wine, beer and scotch
cleared the fridge of my favourite unhealthy food
and I was forced to agree it was all good.

Now I sit here more dead than alive
nothing to drive in--hell, nowhere to drive
nothing to eat, drink, smoke or watch
I don't like this new world very much.
 
I was taught to be selfish, to throw things away
to think of tomorrow and not of today
but there'll be no tomorrow if I'm hit by a truck
so why worry so much about trees and muck?
 

Victor Schwartzman
victors@mts.net

4:57 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

do Not Resuscitate
Category: Writing and Poetry

 Still editing and changing.   Shaping.
 

Death Watch, Do Not Resuscitate

His office had no windows
floor to ceiling medicines
posters of colons and urinary tracts
no other world to see 

She gave me the gift of life
I give her the gift of death
she would thank me if she knew
will my children pull the plug on me?

5:11 PM - 3 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Eight Weird Things About Myself (courtesy of Hope's request)
Category: Life

Eight weird things about myself

I have run the Video Room at Keycon, a science fiction convention, since 1995

 
I have watched Earth V. The Flying Saucers more than twenty times, King Kong more than thirty I'm sure, and The Maltese Falcon more than that—yet Humphrey Bogart is not a stop motion puppet

 
People, including those I love, use up my energy and make me tired

 
I write all this poetry and prose, to communicate with people, but hardly ever send it out to be published

 
I believe House is not sarcastic enough

 
I do not kill my food, but I can roast and eat the corpses real good

I'm a writer and will not clear three hours to read a novel but will clear three hours to watch a long movie—again
 
I could care less how I look because unless I look in a mirror I don't see myself anyway, it's your problem

I remember why it was good to be politically correct

I wrote ten weird things

8:11 AM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Television poem, closing in on it

Well, I'm homing in on it now, I think.  The last stanza has been replaced.  In the end, although good for shock value, our narrator killing his dad was too active for his character, and perhaps undeservedly grim.  The new stanza moves it in the right direction, but still needs some work.

I find this 'public process' kinda fun.  Comments?

Television has made me what I am today 

I always talked sarcastically
especially to my friends and parents
problems were resolved in an hour
sometimes half an hour
people were always cured at the last minute
someone you did not like very much dies
between pauses to sell products

 
When dad got cancer
and I sat for hours by his bed
I felt betrayed by my culture
no breaks, no jokes, no easy outs
he even got fat and ugly
it sounds terrible to say it,
but it was no North American way to go

 
A misanthrope is an optimist who has met people
dad taught me in death to distrust life
I