A Sentence

It's not a death sentence. It's just life without parole.

And I'll take that.

After avoiding posting about this for six months or so, it's time to update where I'm currently at and give more attention to this blog. A poet has a right to be staggered by circumstance just like anyone else. But like every other human, he must slip the noose somehow and defeat his captors. There is no other way. So.... words are crouched under my fingernails and it's time to recount what has been happening and get on with things....

In late May, I began feeling a bit winded after a bike ride. What caught my attention was that my fatigue didn't feel like Sorry-Ass-40-Something-Out-Of-Shape-Dude fatigue. This was something more. Like a deep discomfort in my upper-belly/lower-chest. Of course, I dismissed it right away as acid-reflux symptoms.

About 4 days later, the "acid-reflux" felt more like hand-grenades going off in my chest. I went to my doctor and he did an EKG test. Upon reading the results, he called an ambulance and sent me to the emergency room. I was experiencing a "cardiac event" (is there a Hallmark card for that ?).

I underwent a triple bypass on May 29, followed by 8 days of hospitalization. After that, I recovered at my brother and sister-in-law's house in the suburbs for a couple of months. Those months were a blur of pain meds, HMO paperwork, and listening to my body like I haven't done since puberty.

The first few showers I took were careful, methodical 45-minute affairs. The leg incisions where they took the grafting veins were the worst. Three separate 3x5 bandages covered incisions that looked like swollen lines of rope licorice. I limped, shifted slowly, and balanced my weight carefully every time. The steam from the shower helped loosen the bandages. It was a difficult tear. The blood and pus swirled down the drain as if Hitchcock filmed it himself. Bathroom linoleum looked like murder and I measured every move like a chess master.

Think ahead or lose.

And so it went. A painkiller called Norco and prescription-strength Ibuprofen. And as the days went by, I was able to see every corner of my prison cell. Count every day of my sentence. Things got better and I re-captured the summer precisely on July 15 at 4:30 P.M. when tUnEyArDs performed at Pitchfork Music Fest. Under the arches of maples and elms, with a cold Newcastle Summer Ale, the music never sounded and felt so good.

In September came more trouble - an angioplasty and three stents implanted. What can I do ?

Don't look at me.

Life goes on and I expect curveballs. Nothing was ever promised. My friends should look to me as an early example of how to deal with failing health. I stare right back.

Right in the eyes.

Because it's life without parole - not a death sentence.

Life on a handful of pills.
Life on healthy food.
Life on daily exercise.

I'll cop that plea.

Alligator Stew

The latest issue of "Alligator Stew" is out and this time, there is a new wrinkle. All proceeds will benefit Gozo's Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

10 postcards from 10 poets, each featuring an original illustration.

What and where is Gozo you ask ?

Well, let me Google link to that for you.

Mr. Lally was kind enough to feature me in the debut issue of Alligator Stew and I'm honored to be featured this time around as well.

For the sake of the animals in need on Gozo, please consider making a purchase or a direct donation to http://www.spca-gozo.org/

Chapbook Published

The good folks at Chance Press (Justine and Jordan) have just published a small book of my poems. It is titled "I Am The Circus" and contains some works that were originally posted here on SSP. Since I'm no good at describing my own work, I'll let them do it for you HERE. (Just scroll about halfway down the page)

They have previously done some terrific work with poet Stephen Hines, painter Carol Es and many others, so I am really flattered to be a part of the CP catalog.

Announcement Coming Soon...

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Sorry, but I can't tell you just yet...

PAUSE

three shots

two close
and one more distant
a moment later

cracking the night wide open
to freeze the neighborhood
in it's place for a bit

until we decided it was
safe to hit the mute button again
and carry on

yes
somehow we carried on.

(c)2011DaveDonovan

STATE PARKS

state parks are for picnics
and summer vacations
spring weekend drives and
autumn walks

through red-yellow
cathedrals of oak and
soft maple sailing down
curled and crisp prayers
to the hard ground below

state parks are for frisbee and
softball and toss and fetch with your dog
watching the sky change
from morning through night and

state parks are for
fireflies and meteor showers
the fireworks under a black sky
on the back bumper of a station wagon
with a six-pack on the ground
behind the rear tire in case the cops come by

and state parks are for
history
bronze plaques
antique cabins
the wagon wheel of memory

state parks are for
the ashes of those
who walk and wonder in eternity

every season

then
and
now.

(c)2011DaveDonovan

PARTY OF NONE

she has the loveliest
tattoo up her
right arm

a trellis of
climbing roses and
musical notes and

she crosses the room
with plates of pasta
rolled napkins and
a whiskey sour

with the piped-in music
faking the conversation
for everyone else
I lift my pint

and wait for her
to come around again
and decide

to study my cellphone
in the direction of the kitchen
so I can check out her ass
with reasonable cover

and it is lovely too

lovely as the roses
and the musical notes
and the curve of her back

with the rise of my heart
bleeding ink into the mirror.

(c)2011DaveDonovan

New Poems...old attitudes...exotic recipes...weird fables... whatever...

Well at long last the interweb psy-ops project against MY SKULL has successfully concluded and that's as good an excuse as any for a run-on sentence and a couple of new poems....

(In other words, my internet connection has finally been restored)

1995

i remember
more carnicerias
than grocery stores

more banda in the carnicerias
than lite-fm

more graffiti
than chamber of commerce banners

more pick-up trucks
than SUV's

more juanitas
than ashleys

more punk rock flyers
than Reader boxes

and the more i think about it
the less i want to remember.

TRAFFIC LIGHTS

i saw her yesterday
down the sidewalk in
a faded green sweater

laughing with a boy
holding coffee-to-go

the traffic
back-lit the evening at 5:45

and i remembered that
this was exactly how it was
supposed to happen

to say it all
as the city passes by
and people fold papers
and send texts
and adjust earbuds

...she waved with her hands
and he nodded yes yes yes and
she leaned in and he threw back
a ferocious laugh...

without effort
or pity or even
having to cross the street.

TWO-WAY STOP

i love to kiss her

my lesbian friend
when saying hello
or goodbye

i never go for the lips
or even the cheek
i dive

for the base of the neck
where that collarbone
scoops out
a lovely depression

where the heart lung and nerve
trade pulses
like the smoothest freeway
exchange you ever saw
and my mouth
searches

for that cellular dividing line
that changes traffic forever

turning her one way and me another

and i wonder where it is
where that answer is buried

in science
in childhood
or under my kiss
beneath her lovely depression

but that doesn't matter

doesn't matter at all
and neither do I.

NIGHT PASSAGE

riding the highway
at night
on a bus

half-a-dozen
of us travellers
scattered
in the forty-two seats

dozing
or chatting
maybe reading
or just staring
at the inside
of our own skulls

i like the distance
between the towns
stretches of field
and pasture
without light

only
the distant treeline
against
the faint sky

and once in a while
a tiny dot
or two
of warm yellow

from
the farmhouse windows

who have night passengers
of their own
to comfort.