What Chopin wanted most
was to die
in George Sand arms,
on his deathbed
all he got
Was a nosegay of violets
She left at his door
When her daughter
turned her away–
People can be such shits.
He wrote a friend on his deathbed, “She promised me I would die in her arms.”
How did Chopin die?
Amantine-Lucile-Aurore Dupin aka George Sand, Novelist.
And yes, I’m aware that the event may be based on legend, but many believe it is true and by it’s very intensity, a legend becomes a painful little poem with a nasty but truthful conclusion. It is justified by that truth. “Art is not a study of positive reality, it is the seeking for ideal truth.” ~George Sand
I had my annual physical today and all was well.
The Doc. asked if I had any concerns, I said
“I need a strong pain killer for a broken heart.”
He laughed, but I said, “I’m serious.
Nothing but booze helps and that gives me a hangover.
Can’t you give me something for it?”
He said, “Look man, at sixty five
You’ve only just started a difficult walk
Down the senior path and you haven’t seen anything yet!
My advice is enjoy the scenery.”
I wanted to punch him, but his words hit me harder.
— Wasn’t it Harry Truman who said
“I never gave them hell. I just told them the truth
And created it for them.” Or words to that effect?
Today, ignoring the voice of memory: my mother saying, “Never,
Never stand on furniture to change a light bulb”…
I stood on a desk to change a light bulb
Slipped, fell… hit the floor
But before I did
The desk flipped
I hit the steel frame with all the force of gravity
On my side
Nearly cracked a rib!
I could barely stand.
The students were astounded.
The class was canceled.
The doctors were astonished
I didn’t break a bone, damage an organ —
I love the pain killers, ordered pizza
May stay home tomorrow,
It only hurts when I recall having sex five years ago
Or watch an action movie —
Someone saw a lesson in The Fall, Yes:
Follow the rules, abuse no tree or furniture
Cause no pain or injury, simple gravity
Is greater than man’s best balance, ignore not the ancient Mother Voice.
Oh Lotto Ticket!
You make phone sex obsolete, your tongue
moves over the gutters of my body like a street cleaning truck.
Your love is like a red, red
Tube of toothpaste
You are better for my mouth than Scope
You are better than bubble gum blown
during an action packed movie
You’re more exiting than Twitter
More meaningful than Google
I get lost in Best Buys
Dreaming of your stupid afterglow grin.
When I think of what your fingers do for my Friday nights
A free Lamborghini… Bores me.
I am obsessed by what we do in bed more than what I do with my…
Visa at Nordstrom’s
You are to me
What potatoes are to potato salad, big dresses were to Mama Cass
Tie-dye to hippies
Plastic surgery to Tinsel Town…
You’re hotter than a Hollywood Comet, cooler than Kevin Spacey
You’re my “Living End”
My Marilyn Monroe Sleeping Pill
Janis Joplin Hypodermic, Buddy Holly Plane Ride
Jim Morrison Parisian Bath
Your my Billy Holiday Heroin-dusted Gardenia, my Birthday Wish
You pop out of a ten foot cake to give me free orgasms an hour
Then go for one more…
Oh Fuckkitten, Loveclone, Suckpuppy on your knees in the morning
The best thing about you without doubt is that
You… are… imaginary!
Note: This poem first appeared in Rattle 17 years ago! Wow, has it been that long? The version above is updated and revised to make it more current, but the thrust of the poem is the same: Anti Consumerism & Comedy. ~ Rayn Roberts.