Archive for the ‘The Weekly Poems’ Category

The Weekly Poem: Halloween Night

October 31, 2011

Halloween night at the Johns household, c. 1993

I was Laura Ingalls, George Bush, a cowgirl, a nurse
Queen Nefertiti with a candy-filled purse.

Once home, brother and I would set out our wares
Arranging battalions of chocolately fare

(While lamenting the tyranny of “Fun Size”
Because no miniaturized candy was fun in our eyes)

To improve our hauls with meticulous trades
Of desirable candies, haggled and paid.

We bore our customized stashes upstairs to bed,
Slightly greasy from make-up and a bit too well-fed,

Dreaming of Hershey’s in our lunch for a few weeks at least -
Sweets to last til the Thanksgiving feast.

Which one would you choose?

 

 

The Weekly Poem: The Desert

September 27, 2011

I need a drink.

This poem is inspired by my father, who in his childhood coined the term “The Desert” in reference to shopping with my grandmother.

It’s as dull as the desert and almost as deadly:
A polyester forest, a bad textile medley

Of faux-fur lined vests and all the latest for fall.
It’s the relentless consumerist assault of the MALL.

Every year or two I am forced to go store-hopping,
Though a bed of hot coals sounds nicer than shopping.

Some retail employees will completely ignore you
While others will follow, cajole and implore you,

Pointing out clothing that’s patterned like pelts;
Suggesting the purchase of bluish python-print belts.

In the department store maze I lose all direction…
What’s this? Oh my Lord. It’s the Kardashian Kollection.

For slim long-limbed girls, do fitting rooms offer glory?
To me, those cubicles are sartorial purgatory.

When you locate some trousers in this garment-filled wasteland
They’re a fit in the hips but not in the waistband.

Sleeves are too long and hems drag on the floor;
Tight, sticky side-zippers are enough to start wars.

Blouses and sweaters look frumpy at best
And button-downs won’t button up over my chest.

All the stress took its toll – I may have parted from reason.
I fear I have journeyed beyond what is pleasin’.

Despite all my woes and my fears and my tinny “can’t”s,
My husband convinced me to get skinny pants.

A hard-won new outfit.

The Weekly Poem: An Appropriate Breach of Etiquette

September 17, 2011

Don’t raise your voice if you’ve got something to say.
Speak calmly and quietly in a civilized way.

But there is at least one case where shouting is called for.
When volume won’t gall, or brand you a boor:

It’s when friends find their patience is veering away
Because neither of them think that they need a hearing aid.

When folks are unwittingly irritated on account of bad ears,
A shout restores tempers because it’s what they can hear.

This poem is inspired by weekends spent with my great-aunt Doreen, whom I love dearly. Here’s an essay I published recently about more of Dor’s adventures. 

p.s. I realize that the Weekly Poem has been more like the Sporadic Poem lately. I’ll try to do better.

The Weekly Poem: The United States’ Ultimate Crushing Doom, Upon Us In The Year 2011

August 17, 2011

God forbid we raise taxes on anyone’s fortune!
Who cares about funding when tempers are torchin’?

And cuts to our spending will spell doom and worse.
Let’s just pretend Medicare can take all the boomers.

Superpower no more! Might as well call a hearse.
Like the empires of history, the US is cursed.

But forgive me – are these really our worst times to date?
Is a quarreling congress going to seal our fate?

We survived the Civil War and its crises umpteen,
The dreaded influenza of 1919,

We survived slavery, Jim Crow, the first and second World Wars,
And our own Great Depression, when stocks dropped even more.

There’s been earthquakes and storms and fires to smother.
Remember when the US and Russia aimed nukes at each other?

The point is, we’ve seen worse than these budgeting woes:
The buffoons that fill Congress are not our worst foes.

It seems to me, when folks say that the US is finished,
What they really mean is that we’re diminished.

We won’t be the smartest, the richest, the police of the world:
Other countries are rising, their economies unfurled.

Maybe, in world power, China is the sequel,
While we learn to see other countries as equals.

“You un-Exceptionalist minx!” the patriots might say.
“The US takes top billing – there’s no other way!”

Friends, let’s be real – the latest crisis won’t kill us -
Unless the hyperbole continues to swill us.

It’s hard to admit, in American eyes:
“Doom” ain’t the same as being cut down to size.

 

The Weekly Poem: Your Public Restroom Duty

July 27, 2011

Think a rinse is all you need?
What tosh.
Please please please please please
Please WASH.

D’ya think handwashing’s for chumps
At work?
Your failure to scrub ain’t just
A quirk.

From the stall up to the faucet:
Now stop.
Pump some soap and think:
Germs hop.

You could be poor, you could be
Posh -
I beg beg beg beg beg you:
WASH!

The Weekly Poem: Heat Wave

July 22, 2011

Father, Son and Holy Ghost!
Meat on the sidewalk becomes a roast.
Summer’s a climatic whipping post,
The time of year I hate the most.

The dogs are panting, I am sweating,
I’ll never make the bus, I’m betting.
Miserable and mean I’m getting;
Summer is the year’s worst setting.

“F@#k you, seat’s mine!” the people say
Riding on the bus today.
The weather makes them talk that way.
July: politeness doesn’t pay.

Tell me, is it from May 21st
When none of us repented first?
‘Cause Satan couldn’t cast a curse
Which could be a fraction worse

Than this disgusting heat.

A Poem: Ten Things I’m Thinking About You When You Diagonally Park Your Porsche Cayenne Turbo Across Two Spaces In The Whole Foods Parking Lot

July 15, 2011

#1

Isn’t Whole Foods about responsible consumption?
Look at your insufferable, Porsche-sized presumption.

#2

We shop at the same store, I like to discern:
Maybe one day, I, too, will have money to burn.

#3

You change lanes, make left turns, and things that’re tougher -
But when you’re parked, you insist on a double-space buffer.

#4

Let’s be real: my things couldn’t sell for ten bucks at a yard sale.
But were I rich as you, my Porsche-parking objections might pale.

#5

Did you buy a Porsche because you’re the big fish in town?
Or – chicken or the egg? – is it the other way around?

#6

Even at the grocery store, you know you’re on view.
When you got a Porsche, did the world become a showroom for you?

#7

When your car costs a hundred grand, you must always attend it.
Someone might steal it, scratch it, or God forbid, dent it.

#8

Your entitlement is obvious: you get two parking spaces instead of just one.
What do you get next? Tax cuts? Free condiments? Traveling for fun?

#9

Do you really think this parking lot is such a buffoon bin
That if someone parks next to you, your car will be ruined?

#10

What happens (I’m imagining parking lot fisticuffs)
When you park on two mall spaces, the Saturday before Christmas?

The Sunday Poll AND Weekly Poem: Is Marriage Obsolete?

July 10, 2011

Billions of people have took up
The most enduring life vow we could cook up.
Some say life is great,
Others trade love for hate.
Should they all have just gone for a hook-up?

Do we need these rings?

Thank you to everyone who voted in last week’s poll about a wife’s duty when it comes to Transformers 3.  My husband and I went to a lovely wedding just last week. As soon as we stepped outside the church, a female relative seized me and whispered fervently in my ear.

“You should never have to go to Transformers, even if your husband does want to go!”

But the poll numbers suggested otherwise: a clear majority were in favor of a Transformers 3 date.

So I went.

If you missed it, click to visit the Transformers 3 poll.

But that’s not what I will discuss here. Last week, I questioned the relevance of Transformers 3 to my wedding vows. This week, I’d like to get your input on the value of wedding vows in the first place.

A slew of articles have come to my attention this week on the topic of marriage, some touched off by the recent declaration at the Huffington Post by none other than the founder of eHarmony that most people should delay getting married, or just call the whole thing off, because most married partners are ill-suited anyway.

Columnists weigh in on whether or not marriage really is obsolete. Some point to the overwhelming majority of Americans who plan to marry. Others say that most marriages are undertaken for the wrong reasons, and are unneeded, given the wide range of rewarding connections we can make with others outside of the official bonds of marriage. Others say we’ve finally discovered it’s a “myth” that a person needs marriage to be happy.

I read an interesting article in Psychology Today about non-traditional marriages, in which one psychologist alleged that people should not wait to establish adult lives before getting married. Despite statistics that point to marrying at a young age as a huge risk factor for divorce, this commenter maintains that people should get married young – no need to finish their educations, establish their careers or live independently first – thus keeping their spark alive throughout the years because they “grew up together”.

Other marriage-related headlines make me think that marriage can’t be obsolete, because Presidential candidates Michelle Bachman and Rick Santorum are making waves for signing a “Marriage Vow”. The Family Leader, an influential conservative organization in Iowa, has declared that Presidential candidates must sign the vow to get its endorsement.

The main point of the “Vow” seems be to ensure that the candidate will uphold “vigorous opposition” of same-sex marriage, though it also demands that the candidate will not commit adultery or use pornography, and will advocate “robust childbearing”. But only if you’re married: a choice piece of the pledge says that while American slavery was “disastrous”, nevertheless, enslaved black children of the past were more likely to be raised in a two-parent household than modern black children.

I guess being enslaved isn’t nearly as bad as being raised in a single-parent household.

Vander Plaats, the head of Family Leader, says that a candidate’s position on marriage “correlate[s] directly to his/her moral stance on energy issues, sound budgeting policies, national defense, and economic policies.”

So is marriage obsolete? Who is right? The 70% of Americans who want to get married? The disillusioned founder of eHarmony? Or politicians who say that the right views on marriage are so important that they should underpin all government policies?

As a married couple, I think my husband and I are in the minority among our friends, most of whom move in together after dating for a year or two. Was our marriage necessary? Sometimes it seems like the main difference between us and other long-term, unmarried couples is that we have a massive stash of fine linens, kitchen appliances, Waterford crystal and mixing bowls.  And I have certainly celebrated several weddings that ended shortly in divorce, while some unmarried couples endure for years.

On the other hand, my parents have been blissfully married for almost thirty years, and my husband’s parents for forty.  We undertook our own vows with a real vision of how a marriage can succeed. We’ve been together for nine years and married for four (we had our anniversary last week). I recently realized that I have spent a third of my life in the company of my husband. I plan to spend the rest with him.

But I’ve been invited to plenty of weddings where I secretly cross my fingers for the couple. My own years of marriage have had their share of frustration and joy, and while I don’t regret my own choice, personal experience of marriage’s challenges do make me believe that many people who get married have no business doing so. (Cruel of me, perhaps, but does anyone want to start a bet on how many months Kim Kardashian will stay married?)

And so we come to the poll.

Out to dinner for our fourth anniversary.

The Weekly Poem: On Stink Bugs

June 23, 2011

Stink Bugs on the window-frame,
 Stink Bugs on the door
(Nobody knows why they came),
Stink Bugs on the floor.

Stink Bugs crawling up the wall,
 Stink Bugs in the nook
 (These insects will defeat us all),
Stink Bugs reading books.

Stink Bugs crawling up the plants
 Stink Bugs on the lace
 (Check your bedspread, check your pants),
Stink bugs thrive in every space.

Brown Marmorated Stink Bug
Is its proper name.
Town operator Stink Bugs
Of immigration fame.

Stink Bugs came from Asia,
Arrived in Allentown
(And this is what’ll really faze ya):
Before the 90’s,  weren’t around.

Now their creepy-crawly reek
Gets Mid-Atlantic grouses.
Better hope your nose is weak:
They winter in our houses.

They feed on crops and wreck the price
(Never squish them – oh, the smell),
They’ve got no aspects that are nice:
They’re olfactory and farming hell.

We’ve seen the mighty Stink Bug
Annoy us coast to coast.
The mean and flighty Stink Bug
Is not the bug I hate the most.


But it’s close.

The Weekly Poem: “Get The Hell Off My Bumper”

June 15, 2011

(Announcing a new feature of Alaina Mabaso’s Blog: the Weekly Poem. I’m going to write a poem once a week, and unlike other poets,  I will never leave you wondering what my poem is about, even if you like the way it sounds.)

Get The Hell Off My Bumper

I reserve my most volatile day-to-day hate
For you drips who think it’s ok to tailgate.

I think driving laws are really quite handy.
But you’re close as a toddler who thought he saw candy.

Forgive me for 70 in the 65 zone.
I’m in the right lane, take the left for your own.

The Beltway is hellish enough by itself.
Why be a prick of the very top shelf?

Shall I list all the reasons you make my blood boil?
Why you make others’ travels such horrible toil?

First there’s your arrogance, plain as the day:
“Fuck safety rules, I’m driving my way!”

Next is your callousness, you unholy ass:
You’d rather endanger me than simply pass.

Your foresight and dignity amount to a speck.
Don’t you know that you’re courting a terrible wreck?

If you’re tailgating me, what should I do?
Drive even faster and burn up my fuel?

Drive very slowly and hope you don’t linger,
Finally passing while you give me the finger?

Tap on my brakes just to scare you a bit -
Hope to teach you a lesson without getting hit.

Or grimly ignore you and maintain my speed,
Praying a deer doesn’t jump in the street.

Whatever it is that I do or don’t do,
I hate that I’m bugged by a numbskull like you.

If I said I wished you some physical pain
My kindly veneer I couldn’t maintain.

But I do wish that next time you’re making a drive
Of four working tires you are deprived.

I hope one goes flat on a desolate highway.
And you don’t have a spare.
Then only mechanic in 90 miles charges you
$1,400 for a new tire and brake pads.
But the work takes till tomorrow
And your motel room is infested with
Bedbugs and then the only thing
There is to eat is the free continental breakfast.
Then when you’re speeding the next day
To make up lost time, you get pulled over
And get a whopping ticket and then
It’s the last straw for your insurance policy
And your rates go way up.

But however terrible this’d be to you,
It’s a picnic compared to what I go through

When you won’t get the hell off my bumper.


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