Yesterday’s sojourn for the snow was short;
it fell fast and quick, and it disappeared
off of apartment buildings and scaffoldings
as rain, melting, hitting the heads of passersby
the morning after, in a bright day of sun,
making accidental mini-rainbows
dancing in sewage grates.

Sickness is done, must breathe easy.
Back to work, joining the crowd again
as we drive through underpasses and bridges
where the new melted rain
flows down easily.

In my warm bed,
I was having sex
with an angel
named Gabriel
His wings were not soft;
his skin was.
Or, did I stup
Peter Gabriel of Genesis,
circa 1973,
while he was in his
cult music getup
he would wear a flower head on stage, his face white with black-lined eyes. Was he ever an angel?
His older self,
bald in a black turtleneck,
worldly, powerful,
sans wings and white makeup
tucked me in bed tight
so
I could sleep soundly
without
shocking the monkey
with a
sledgehammer

When mummies wake up,
do they believe
that they’re part-living, part-dead,
no real lips for lipstick or kisses
to rub upon; any strong-backed grip
or word uttered is muffled,
here, not here, all at once?
Their 1000-year-old traumas
are still fresh, an open wound
infected like a rotted, tender heart.
The others have stolen
their property, their brain, their dignity—
Any sort of violation
is theirs to suffer,
they feel every blow first.
That’s why they scream:
they see themselves as whole
as they once were, never again.

You now admire Kim Jong Un
after working with him,
after seeing how his powers of suggestion
dazzle his people—

The cult of personality passed down by his daddy
really affects the entire populace of his country,
and you want to attain a similar kind of undying power
while governing your followers
as you try to win the Nobel Peace Prize,
while sanctioning the many decades of tyranny
of North Korea’s regime—

But what about the children?
The countless refugees and would-be immigrants to our country,
these innocents now brutally separated from their parents,
urgently trying to escape their home countries’ regimes’ rapes and murders
(a lot of North Koreans tried to escape to China after threats of death,
and why did they want to do that?)

Mr. President?
Are you going to say something about this?
Or…are you defending your new buddy
by covering your own ass?

All these young kids need “a shower,”
no goodbyes are necessary,
it’s like leaving them at preschool,
all children cry—
It’s no freaking preschool;
children are screaming bloody murder!
Are they losing their parents, possibly forever?

Hitler did this with the Jews,
separating parents from children
and husbands from wives,
all with the promise of a “shower” to clean up the mess

There were no more Hitlers in Germany or Austria after WWII;
that family name is now permanently erased.
Keep going along this path, Mr. President,
and there will be no more Trumps.
If your family members do have any hearts left,
they should distance themselves from your name
due to your sanctioned emotional holocaust—

Will your obsession with immortality
and sweet dreams of dictatorship
be worth all the pain you have caused?

(2/3rds of our country now view you as mad
since you hate the emotional power of whole, intact families
who are now uprooted violently by their tender hearts,
standing alone in stalemate
without a country,
their children taken away like pawns in a chess game?)

Is this worth it, this emotional holocaust that is creating your legacy
so you can be more like Kim Jong Un?

All the brides can now come out in full force,
every cowboy can come off of their horse
and rest for a spell,
before they can ride off into the sunset,
‘cause it’s Juneday!

All the fabulous people, the crazy stags
who either are proud and out
or are closeted fags,
can now unfold their rainbow flags
‘cause it’s Juneday!

Even when the rain is falling,
June is a great chick,
who gets into good trouble quick,
and nothing really bad ever sticks
around to spoil the party—

I’m calling you now,
my love.
Remember when, then, my love?
when we were married on the 18th,
on Sir Paul’s 64th birthday,
and it was Father’s Day,
so I saw my Daddy cry
as he held my hand, the hand of the bride
while we were riding in the limo—

I prayed for happiness,
love and faithfulness.
June is full of those days, full of sunshine
(well, not today),

and it’s almost just the same,
we just said “Adios” to May
(She was a tropical fish,
a wishy, flower-spiked dish,
with a weird sense of humor;
she kept us all in stitches,
too big for her britches)

June’s another big girl,
let’s give her a whirl…..

We should never forget
when we were the unwilling pawns of madmen

who ushered out death sentences
due to cults of personality,
who robbed good people blind for their own profits,
who tried to destroy historical objects and actual stories in order to get ahead,
who trapped those who were perceived as rats and pigs,
but were doves and gentle dogs trying to find their way home,
wandering in endless fields,
hidden in overgrown trees,
sailing in boats with no home port to escape to—-

All the deaths, ongoing for many years,
the wasted hidden potentials snuffed out before their time,
possible cures and inventions to help humanity,
never realized,
families shattered, stripped, eschewed, abandoned, changed forever—-

My husband’s family,
half of its elder, original members that carried the torch for hundreds of years,
is now dust, thanks to war.

Genocide is still happening,
we haven’t learned the lesson:
NO MORE
NO MORE

The slaughter continues;
will we ever learn to stop the senseless killing?
We must at least try to remember this,
no more killing,
please good people,
no more

‘Cause Cancer had come to call, he’s no welcome guest.
The surgeons took a big hunk of skin from my sister’s arm,
three lymph nodes under the tender armpit and neck,
and a biopsy from her stomach, since her voice has grown
deep & rusty as if it had run-over by razor blades.

‘Cause Cancer had come to call upon this tough, youngish lioness,
whose growl could tame the winds of the Serengeti,
or North Texas, when tornados stay in Springtime, setting up shop,
she could had conquered everything in her path for her two cubs,
the first three operations (arm, neck, stomach) did do her in yesterday
but now she’s prowling at Wal-Mart, getting things done—

‘Cause Cancer had come to call, it will get expensive;
her friends and family send love, support and money online,
so she could still pay the bills between treatments.
Mom stayed behind to mind the kids, and to aid my sister when she’s sick.
We sent money; I wished I was there to do more—-

‘Cause Cancer had come to call,
I pray every day that he don’t claim her.
She just turned 40; her best years are ahead,
and I dread those later years if I’d end up losing her—

But she’s fine, one day at a time—
Just don’t get too comfortable
when cancer comes to call.

Sullen April,
why are you so sad?
Why are you so cold?
Baby, we just want to get to know you—

They say that all girls
love the springtime,
but you dragged your boots,
crushing new flowers in two

And April showers
make you so happy,
but not us, gloomy Gus.
We like the sunshine.

And the Frenchmen at the other table,
they don’t turn your head.
Though they’re dressed up to the nines,
you like your own company fine.

Sullen April,
why are you so sad?
Why are you so cold?
Baby, we just want to get to know you—

You did with boys way too young,
Now you hide in the library,
and you got them on the run—

You weren’t much of a singer,
you couldn’t write a decent rhyme,
but, in spite of your recent hiding,
you had impeccable time-ing.

And wide, open spaces to you were always such a chore,
when it will finally heat up, oh, my sweet,
maybe we can meet up by the shore.

Sullen April,
why are you so sad?
Why are you so cold?

Baby, we just want to get to know you;
Honey, we just want to get to know you;
Darling, we just want to get to know you.

Didn’t emerge from my cell today,
my brain carried a low-hanging cloud,
causing me to sneeze and cough
Vitamin C cleared my voice but not for singing.
I saw bones forming from a serpent heart
until sleep saved the scene—
I wish I were somewhere sunnier for a day or two,
I wish I could sleep in a foreign land,
I wish my cloudiness could let go of the rain,
so I could breathe easy again.
Virtual reality 3/27/18 by Carrie Magness Radna
March 27, 2018 ~ Leave a comment ~ Edit
Future invalids will be caught before death.

They’ll bolt them tight unto their beds
and strap the head harness on
with the elbow-length ultra-sensitive gloves,
sitting straight up on honeycombed gel mattresses,
wrapped in tissue-thin bathrobes.

Even with their minds almost gone,
they could visit their past,
reliving their glory days
as they lie back in virtual grassy meadows,
the golden light peeking through the thin blades,
puffs of dandelion smoke blowing through.

But she’s not there now, your beautiful girl
you once loved splendor on the grass;
she never believed in virtual reality
and all the experiments the scientists did to you,
so they built a similar model to void any loneliness—

And the children are here,
meeting, fighting and loving others
in another world,
traveling millions of miles without moving,
forgetting the real world entirely.