All the Feels I Felt

 

The feeling you thought you

felt, wasn’t the feeling you were

actually feeling at the time you

thought you felt it.

It was a different feeling.

 

You aren’t feeling it,

that feeling that’s supposed to

occur when you know your feeling

is right, that sixth sense feeling.

That inside feeling.

 

Some feelings are supposed

to be a spark that you can judge

by how it makes the rest of your

feelings feel. And when you don’t

get that feeling, you have to say,

you’re not feeling it.

 

Which makes others have the

feelings, the sore feelings, the

feelings that make you feel sick

to your stomach because you can’t believe

how much feeling you poured into

their feelings in the hopes that your

feelings will be reciprocated.

 

I’m just going back the feel of

things, no actual structure or shape,

no color or tone, just the feel of it,

the feel of the room, the feel of those

absent eyes, the feel of being left

out alone again.

 

The feel of nights alone on the

deflated and over-felt sofa,

the feel of cigarette smoke wafting

in little blue whirls overhead like a

crown of missed opportunities and

extinguished flaming feelings.

 

All the feels,

felt so often,

felt too much, crowded,

pressed together under pressure,

feeling like it’s going to blow.

Snow Underfoot

 

The crunch of the snow under

my boots, the familiar sound,

as I walk. Reminding me of all

the Winters I’ve spent,

walking through it.

The sound of it sending me

through time.

 

Walking to Grammar school

in the deep snow piles of the

1980’s, the trudging through

the snow to high school in the

1990’s. The late nights, leaving

a high school sweetheart’s house,

hoping to get home by curfew.

 

The late nights leaving bars,

the late nights knocking on the

wintry door of a lover, snow piled

high in front of her door, hoping

to be quiet. Of nights of knocks

unanswered, stupidly standing

knee deep in snow, shivering.

 

The snow, a deep part of my

memories; growing up along

urban sidewalks, some shoveled,

some not, cautiously stepping, so

not to slip and slide and fall into a

pile of broken bones. Walking like

a penguin, a waddle for safety sake.

 

Wading through the snow pack,

to get to her bed, to get to her arms,

to get through the night and hope the

snow will be melted, or shoveled or salted

when the morning arrives.

Pants and shoes dried by the heat vent.

 

The snowy Winters of discontent,

the snowy Winters of appreciative warmth,

the Winters of solitude and of company,

the snow bound nights of late drinks till

the scraping plows echo through the

early morning.

Hmmm....

 She makes me so mad,

When she knows that I

Don’t know about all

Her love.

So used,  she says,

And I can’t

Argue, I’m

Terrible.

But I’m never mean.

I only do what I think

I believe, and beliefs

Are questionable.

She makes me jealous,

Her talent, her wit,

Her presence in a room

While I stand goofily,

With a drink in my hand wondering

Why I’m there at all.

She’s funnier,

She’s smarter,

She’s aware,

She’s emotional but right,

How the hell did she do that?

I’m only mad because

I can’t figure it out.

Some secret that I’m not

In on. Some special

Message in the soup,

A message in the tea.

Did that guy just look at her,

God damint, fuck that 

Mother fucker,

Mother fucker. 

Damn it.

Where she going?

Oh. 

In There Somewhere

 

There’s a poem in there somewhere,

some story to write, I just can’t

seem to figure it out.

It’s as if I have become numb to

all the waves crashing over me.

 

With the occasional rarity of

monumental tragedy it was sort

of easy to spew out some thoughtful

and heartfelt poem about the nature of

humanity and the genuine belief in

the power of love to conquer all.

 

But that’s boring. So boring.

It doesn’t seem in keeping pace

with the rolling tragedies and

heartbreaking troubles we’ve had

to bear witness to. Over and over

again. Like lessons un-learned.

 

My fingers are too tired to wipe

away any more tears, or tap at

this keyboard, or point at the

monsters in the mirror and scream,

demanding to be let out of this fun house.

 

Fingers tired of rapping on the table,

the desk, the arm rest, the sides of our

own heads. Shoulders so tense, necks

so stiff from shaking our heads,

arms always flexed, hoping to fend off

the next assault to our senses.

 

An exhaustion of the right words,

jumbled and mixed in the ovens of thought,

half-baked in the glow of TV News and the

nightly prayer of, “what now?”

And going to a bed still nervous for the

morning.

 

I know there’s a poem in there though,

a story, a verse or two. I know it’ll come out

eventually, when my fingers want to work,

my shoulders relax, and my mind isn’t goo.

 

  

The Man With the Granite Hat

 

The man with the granite hat,

so stubborn in his ways,

no interest in anything and

unwilling to change.

 

So encased is he,

that even the Sun he will

not see. In his obstinance

he’ll miss even the slightest glee.

 

His face is curled in a stiff, muted

smirk, like he knows better about

life and stuff. And yet there’s nothing

that he has to say, nothing new anyway.

 

No words can penetrate the hard

case shell, no sound can escape

his self-managed hell.  Arms folded

across his chest, never mind the rest.

 

His ears, unable to hear, from

under the heavy hat he wears,

not a whisper or shout will he

ever let out.

 

Stone stiff he lies, unresponsive

to anyone’s cries. No plea heard,

no wish granted, no desire to heal,

no genial politeness ever mentioned.

 

There he is, the man in the granite hat,

up on the hill, past the gates, near the

weeping willow and the old stone bench,

the path overgrown with weeds and debris.

 

That old Son of a Bitch, wicked and rotten,

no semblance of a soul, no redemption planned,

he’ll fade into the Earth as he fades into

history; not as he wanted, but how he’ll be.

 

 

The Year that Was, but Wasn't

 

I had to go back and read

what it was I wrote for the

end of 2019, to see how I

should try and wrap up the

year 2020.

 

https://aminutewithmichael.blogspot.com/2019/12/oh-god-another-new-year.html

 

The Pandemic had yet to hit

and the possibilities of 2020 seemed

mildly amusing and at its

cheesiest best.

Kids in school?

Ha!

 

2020 was the year that was,

and wasn’t. The year that

reminded us of what it is like

to lose, and lose badly.

It’s been a while since a lot

of us have had a quality

ass-whoopin’.

 

2020 was there to shove

their disgusting and diseased boot heel

into our faces and say with smiling

contempt, “I rubbed it in dog

shit too!”

Yes, 2020 came to kick humanity’s

collective ass.

 

2020 was the swirly no one expected,

yet should have been easy to avoid.

We had ample time to get out of the way,

yet our incredulous disbelief in our own

fallibility clouded our heads.

 

The tragedies of the last 12 months

have been immense and unwieldy,

like moving an elephant with a shoehorn.

So I make no predictions about 2021,

only that it is the year after.

 

It will arrive regardless of our disposition.

We will have to make the best of it as well as

we can and resist the urge to choke it out

before we have to.

 

So, all in all, the most I can

ask of 2021 is to be peaceful.

Calm, relaxed, measured and

tempered.

 

I can dream of bigger things,

but I think it’s best to keep those

quiet for a while and see how things

go. I’ll look before leaping into 2021.

 

Happy New Year Dear Loyal Readers,

and thank you for all your support this year!

Sarah's Parking Lot Christmas

 

                Sarah sat in the passenger seat of her boyfriend’s car. He’d taken the keys with him when he went into the store. It had been about twenty minutes and it was starting to get cold. Her breath was fogging up the glass and every so often she’d have to wipe it with her mitten to get a clear view of the entrance. She wished he’d left the keys in the ignition so she could at least play the radio and have some heat. Her legs were cold and she rubbed them to get the blood flowing. It was getting dark outside. Sarah could hear other vehicles driving through the store’s parking lot slush; splashing it. She looked at the time on her phone and sighed. She wiped another clear spot on the glass and scanned the store’s front entrance. 

                It was the annual Christmas Party for Sarah’s employer. She was already running late. Jacob hadn’t really wanted to go but they’d been together for a year now and she thought it was about time she showed him off. She had dressed up a little more than she usually did for the Christmas party; wrapping paper looking leggings, a fun holly inspired skirt, a silly Christmas sweater and Christmas bows in her hair. She thought she’d try a little harder this year, since she had Jacob now. She’d been going to the party for the last few years as a single woman and since all her co-workers were all married, she never felt like dressing up more than the bare minimum of Holiday etiquette required. She was excited to show off her Holiday spirit a little bit this year. She’d encouraged Jacob to get something festive too. Which he didn’t do. Resulting in the last-minute stop at the store. 

                Another five minutes passed and Sarah was getting colder. The temperature had been dropping all day and now that the sun had set, the temperature had dropped considerably. The windows in the car were all fogged now and wiping a clear spot was barely making any difference. She could only slightly make out the well-lit entrance to the SuperStore. All Jacob had to do was find something festive with a quick in and out to the store, a bow tie or a neck tie or suspenders or something Christmas-y to stick to his outfit. Which had already left Sarah feeling disappointed. Blue jeans and sneakers, an un-ironed, ill-fitting white dress shirt, and a Boston Red Sox Sweater thrown over it.  She was pretty disappointed into what little effort he had shown, especially since he knew that this was important to her. 

                On top of that, she had been sitting in his cold car for half an hour. She took out her phone and tried calling Jacob. It went to voicemail. She texted him so he could maybe let her know how much longer he would be and if she should come in and find him or if everything was all right. No response. She was getting more and more irritated and worried at the same time. His blatant inconsideration seemed to getting more pronounced with each passing day. All Sarah really wanted was someone special to celebrate Christmas with. Someone to cuddle with as they watched the Christmas Classics on TV while happily covered in a big blanket. Someone to sweetly stare at the decorated tree with and comment on how this, this is all they really wanted for Christmas. She didn’t think it was too much to ask. Jacob played video games on his team chat all last night.  He barely looked at the little tree Sarah had carefully decorated, even with little picture ornaments of her and Jacob. 

                She started to worry that maybe Jacob was losing interest in her. They’d met right after Christmas last year and everything was so sweet and nice. He was so attentive and cheerful, yet now, he seemed distant and disengaged. She knew that his work had been harder lately and he’d had some family troubles with a black-sheep sister and other stuff, but she wasn’t really sure since Jacob hardly ever spoke about it. She felt very confused, yet, didn’t want to lose what might be the most special relationship in her life. She wiped her eyes and then wiped the passenger window clear. Still no Jacob. 

                She was now nearly in the car for forty minutes and was now twenty minutes late for the party. Her confusion and concern for Jacob had quickly turned to anger. She’d kill ‘em she thought. He’s ruining this night on purpose because he didn’t want to go to the party in the first place. She was beginning to think that maybe Jacob wasn’t so special after all. Maybe she didn’t need this sort of inconsiderate behavior at all. Maybe she was worth more than this, maybe someone, some guy out there would understand her value. Maybe the Christmas gift she needed to give herself was the strength to go out there in the world alone and make her own Christmas joy.  She had felt the sting of rejection and loneliness for so long that she was sure that she could get over dumb Jacob and his inconsistent attention and affections. Sure, it would be no problem for her to call an Uber to the store, get out of Jacob’s car and take herself to the Christmas party where she’d let her inhibitions go and really show those people that she wasn’t a stick in the mud or a sad sack or whatever Daphne had called her that one day. That was it. She was leaving. 

                But wait, there were all the gifts she bought him, and the commitments to spend time with his family instead of hers and the promises made about sex and love and always being open to communication. It was too much for her to process right now. She would just have to get through Christmas and then she would let Jacob know that this wasn’t working out anymore. The she wanted more than this. She shivered. 

                Jacob opened the driver’s side door and plopped into his seat.               

                “So sorry babe, it was a madhouse in there. All the last-minute Christmas shoppers and then a fight broke out between some lady and another lady, and they were pushing each other and then a display got knocked over and all the cashiers had to stop it. It was so crazy," said Jacob. 

                Sarah frowned. Jacob put the key in the ignition and started the car. He turned the heat and defogger on. He opened a small plastic bag on his lap and took out a hideous Christmas neck-tie. 

                “How’s this look? Christmas Party worthy,” he asked.

                “Fine. It’ll be fine. Can we just go please,” said Sarah.

                “Jeeze, what’s with the attitude,” said Jacob as he put the car in drive and maneuvered towards the street. 

                Sarah bit her lip and fold her arms across her chest. Jacob turned on the radio to a Christmas music station. As the Little Drummer Boy pa-rum-pa-pa-pa’d, Sarah had already decided that Christmas sucked.   

                                                                                                ~~~~

 

--------- Normally I try and write an upbeat sort of Christmas story, but this one somehow seemed far more fitting for 2020.  So be it. In spite of how crummy this year has been I do want to thank you and  wish you and yours a truly wonderful Holiday! Merry Christmas and all that! ---------

 

 

                                                                                                                                Michael