Mystical Visions: Compilation 11/20/2022

With all intent and purposes I crack the curtains quick
I try to get a glimpse of who might loom and play a trick.
I grip the curtain with my hand, creeped out by a large stain
I wonder if it’s part of the man’s now exploded brain.
I hear a noise and whirl around, more of a clumsy spin
To see through light left by the moon and then I leaned right in.
I saw my Lord in my garden of colored tulip blooms
He is my favorite man of law, mixed in like smokey fumes
I backed right up and curled my fingers ’round the slack fabric
And tried to think of why I’m here, I’d figure something quick
My mind erased the memories of seeing him that day
But every night when I lay down, to him I like to pray
I pray that he comes back around to see me at my best
And go to sleep with joyous vibes inclined to take a rest.

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

A Silly Mistake: Compilation 11/06/2022

At the end of the hall of the building I owned

Was a big open window and a playground disowned.

In spite of it all, I was stunned by the site

Of a newly grown willow leaning ‘way from the light

I sucked in a breath as I guarded my eyes

Fearing bites of an insect or the no-see-um flies

For a moment I thought it was a hallucination

Or maybe a high from my pot solution

I focused real hard and decided to go

Down the kind of tall stairway, I’d have to trust my ego

I let down my guard and descended the stairs

Like driving downhill where nobody cares

When I got to the tree I saw you and sighed

You said “Forgive yourself now” but I wanted to hide

Now I felt so embarrassed the tree’s lit by a lamp

And I laughed at my mistake till my cheeks were all damp.

Only Happiness: Compilation 10/23/2022

‘As ancestors go, mine are pretty unique
From the depths of the oceans to tall mountain peaks
The grief from their passing is replaced with a smile
The sadness is lifted, depths of loss reconcile
Pretty bright blooms rise right out of the ice
Rain melts the snow, it is really quite nice
Mud seems to grovel in crevices bare
While salt from the ocean’s like crystals of air
The bruises of sorrow on the skin of the soul
Replace what the heart wants and what it still knows
From the edge of a field to the top of a peak
No words heard murmuring, no sounds here to seek
Keep moving on ’til your cup runneth dry
And remember the happiness each time you cry.

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

Sorry I took your spot: Compilation 10/16/2022

It was with a weary smile
That I finished up my job
I knew that I was early
I gave an untenable little sob

I opened up my car door
Revealing an awful mess inside
With a thumping in my brain
I took a breath so deep and wide

I shot a glance right over
Towards the moon glowing so bright
Then dropped my eyes and held my gaze
And shivered at the sight

There stood a big strong figure
With a snarl on its face
Its a pity I didn’t see the sign
That said it’s his parking space

In an elaborate way to exit
A kind of carving through the dirt
I didn’t care now of the damage
Earth flax my spinning tires spurt

I wanted to arrive in time
Not die right in my car
I know it’d sound like a big lie
‘Cause thats how stories are

So instead I’ll say I worked late
And had a flat or still
Say that I ran out of gas
Avoid the stares and grill.

©2022 CBialczak Compilation

The Truth: Compilation 09/18/2022

Narcotic skies depict the culture of the world
Where a fondness for hatred encapsulate thought
An obtuse idea indicative of our leaders
Who think of nothing more than sinking lower than ought

I don’t want to be saved in a place like a cupboard
Closed and dark opened only once for a simple cup
The design of our world should be clean and open
Allowing us to live in peace, while the evil shut up

We are all different or that’s what they all say
like the tiles lining the wall of a bathroom stall
Scrubbed clean only when someone wants to do it
showing the shine that is hiding under it all.

Someday there will be life without hate or sadness
Brought on by others who have no care for the lame
Grief is free, given when we have loved ones who depart
In the end, don’t we know we all are the same

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

A Meaningless Tale: Compilation 09/11/2022

During the homecoming they were happy to see
That the bush and the shrub weren’t hurt by the bee
There was no regret since no time went to waste
finding the ytterbite was for what they all raced
They wasted no time in this journey of life
like presented with teeth of a tenacious steak knife
For they didn’t know they were next on the list
A symptomatic response like a crack in the schist
they went rocking along, such an agile climb
They picked from a shrub near a dirty clothesline
You could read the response on the older one’s face
That satire here was the ribbons and lace
Tied to the tree to keep all pests away
wanting nothing to bother them during their stay

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

Bath or No Bath: Compilation 08/28/2022

I’m on the straight and narrow as I follow down this path
Heading to the vet right now to give my dog a bath
This always is a challenge since my doggie growls lots
But if I fail to do this chore his skin will get hot spots
I wish the place was vacant like at night when no ones there
I breathe a sigh of relief and try to fix my hair
The fact I try concealing is slapstick to some folks
But building up a facade is like mountains with no slopes
I vicariously will cover regrets with a mock cape
Even though my ideas do not have a certain shape
I ask to use the toilet to erase my sweaty pits
Happy that they use a vent, while doggie waits and sits
This all sounds like a comedy with a genius who is stuck
I wish my body held its heat I really have no luck
But without obstructing further we head to the front door
Until I hear the barking, doggie’s sniffing at the floor
There is a tiny item hiding firmly by the wall
Is that a mouse or hamster? I think it is a vole
I tell doggie to leave it, they deserve the chance to live
After this I head back home, doggie’s bath I did not give.

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

Place – Vet
Emotion – Vicarious
Adjective – Vacant
Verb – Vent
My animal – Vole

Evil Gambler: Compilation 08/21/2022

How many numbers can one gambler count
When wearing a crown, I’d say any amount
But he is a fool who’ll request a memento
And cross all his friends, making them foes
He’ll be unrelenting and seek a new hat
But rumors will stir, he’s too exotic for that
There’s no chance that his soul is headed up north
Heavenwardness, Godly haven, so forth
‘Cause he’s mean as a bull with secrets to hide
with his bony, white hand, he’ll push you aside.
He’ll float past the crowd on his way to the top
Then have a repast before he really will drop
To the bottom of hell or wherever it is
That bad people go, and it ain’t just show biz!
He’ll stay there and rot like bad people do
And no one will cry or ever be blue.

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

The Jewish Sugar-Glider: Compilation 08/07/2022

In a happy, little synagogue tucked up in the hills
there was a sugar-glider who mostly swam for thrills
He didn’t have the webbed feet like ducks and other birds
Soon he was just paddling no need for excess words.
He later went to Rabbi on a whim to seek a task
He wanted the whole testament, a bit afraid to ask
He knew he needed parchment to write down all the words
He understood it’s length was long, timing was absurd!
Nothing now could hinder him from learning his new faith
He didn’t seek approval so he waited ’til the eighth
For on this very special day the glider could perform
Surprising the old Rabbi as if swimming was the norm
He came to him quite slimy, his fur was feeling damp
But Rabbi said he loved the show, turning on his lamp.
What the Rabbi saw just then really made him blush
‘Cause Sugar-glider forgot his pants as he had tried to rush!

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

Sunday Confessionals : Generationally Environmental

Oloriel is the host of this share-yourself type of challenge. Check it out here: https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/19271780/posts/4180167138

This week, I would like to invite you to explore just these patterns; if it was up to me I would say focus on the cute, little ones in yourself, your kin and those around you that you generationally and environmentally inherited or passed on, but you can likewise touch up on those that frighten you or make you question things.

Just a brief overview of my family…

On my dad’s side: I never met my grandfather as he had already passed away before I was born. My dad never said much about him but implied he was a hard worker. My grandmother died when I was a young child and I can remember her a little but mostly her sitting in a wheelchair in a nursing home in Brooklyn, NY. My father had a wife and two daughters before he married my mother and had me, my sister and my little brother.

On my mom’s side: My mother passed away when I was 23. We were close and it was especially hard to get married and have two babies without her. I remember her so vividly, yet I can’t remember her at all. My grandfather passed away when I was little. I have one memory of him; we were sitting at a picnic table out in the yard. That’s is all I have. My grandmother passed away when I was maybe 10. I remember a lot more about her. I can picture her house and how it smelled. All the crap she had everywhere! I got that from her!

I inherited a lot from both of my parents and now that my father is in my care and more like a child (due to the dementia and Alzheimer’s) I am seeing things that we do the same and it is weird!
My mother was great at everything she did and I try to be like she was. When she made something, whether it was food, some sort of craft, or a Halloween Costume, it was perfect. Now, as you may know I craft daily. I also don’t cut corners and make sure all of my things are done correctly and nicely. I love to cook, also from my mom. I used to make my kids matching clothes when they were little, actually using my mom’s machine! She was a strong woman but loving. Everyone loved her and she was helpful to everyone no matter what. My mother worked with my father most of my younger life and then she worked as a teacher’s aide in elementary school up until she passed away. She was 50. She detested lying and sneaking around and had no tolerance for being nasty to one another. I am really like her in this way too.
My dad was a hard worker. He would tell stories about sticking gum on the end of a stick to get the coins out of gutters in Brooklyn as a kid. He also ran deliveries for shop owners to get money for movies and treats. He sold insurance (home, auto) and was a real estate broker. When my father wasn’t at the office he was either in the yard or in his favorite chair. He read the paper every day from front to back. He had a garden that is probably as big as the footprint of my present home (which is fairly small at only 1200+ square feet). He grew everything you can imagine and my sister and I would grab our wagon and pick vegetables so we could walk up and down the street selling them. He never said a word, but I can imagine he would have liked some of his own produce! I think I get my stamina from him, the get-up-early and work-until-dinner type of stamina.

What things I see now that my dad and I have almost exactly alike: 1. some of our physical issues – so now I wonder if he has psoriatic arthritis that never got diagnosed. 2. Our mannerisms when we are sitting and waiting for something or someone. Not fidgety but there is noticeable body language. 3. His sense of humor. 4. How he blows his nose (I wasn’t going to add it but it’s almost uncanny). 5. Problems swallowing – we both always feel like we have something in our throats.