Bring me his head,
bring it on the plate
and I shall faint.
Keep it as far
as you can
and his body will follow,
will follow,
will follow ...
... everywhere
looking for a soul
it doesn't have.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 11/30/2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
Where shall I find you?
Trash can
full of cigarette butts,
where shall I find you,
my dear?
You'll find me in an attic
hanging laundry
on the clothes line.
You'll find me
in the hen house
collecting eggs.
You'll find me
in the barn
on the top,
or all way down.
You'll not find me home,
I don't like to be alone.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Translated from Czech (also copyrighted by me)
Pottsville, 11/21/2011, 11/28/2011
Reunion3
She accepts and puts her snow shovel and a broom away. He offers her his arm, on their way they pass big grey mansion to the main entrance.
"What is your name?" she asks.
He answers, but she doesn't hear it and doesn't want to ask again.
"What is yours?"
"I am Margaret."
Again something stirs the old man memory.
"My wife's name was Margaret. We called her Margie."
They enter the hallway of the big house cluttered with gardening tools, pots, broken furniture, working bench, even a saw and piles of the wood.
"Nobody comes here anymore," he apologises and leads her to the kitchen. She sits at the rectangular table covered with red and white checkered plastic table cloth.
He brings two bowls of hot vegetable soup on the table. She is looking at the white bowls with a blue rim and remembers:
"We had a whole complete set of them with cups, saucers, even a turin. It was my wedding gift."
They eat quietly soup and bread. Then he brings coffee.
"Do you have a family?"
No. I don't remember."
"What about children?"
"Yes, I had three children. It was long time ago."
"I had three children!"
"Boys, girls?", she asks.
"Two boys and one girl. What about you?"
"I had the same. What are their names?"
"Danny, Scott and Angela."
"What a coincidence! My children have the same names."
He is looking at her left hand with a wedding band.
"Are you married? What is your last name?"
"My name is Donegal, Margaret Donegal."
"I am also Donegal."
A light of recognition comes into the old woman's eyes.
"Tom, is it you?"
Their hands meet on the table.
"When we got separated?" he asks.
The end.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 11/21/2011
"What is your name?" she asks.
He answers, but she doesn't hear it and doesn't want to ask again.
"What is yours?"
"I am Margaret."
Again something stirs the old man memory.
"My wife's name was Margaret. We called her Margie."
They enter the hallway of the big house cluttered with gardening tools, pots, broken furniture, working bench, even a saw and piles of the wood.
"Nobody comes here anymore," he apologises and leads her to the kitchen. She sits at the rectangular table covered with red and white checkered plastic table cloth.
He brings two bowls of hot vegetable soup on the table. She is looking at the white bowls with a blue rim and remembers:
"We had a whole complete set of them with cups, saucers, even a turin. It was my wedding gift."
They eat quietly soup and bread. Then he brings coffee.
"Do you have a family?"
No. I don't remember."
"What about children?"
"Yes, I had three children. It was long time ago."
"I had three children!"
"Boys, girls?", she asks.
"Two boys and one girl. What about you?"
"I had the same. What are their names?"
"Danny, Scott and Angela."
"What a coincidence! My children have the same names."
He is looking at her left hand with a wedding band.
"Are you married? What is your last name?"
"My name is Donegal, Margaret Donegal."
"I am also Donegal."
A light of recognition comes into the old woman's eyes.
"Tom, is it you?"
Their hands meet on the table.
"When we got separated?" he asks.
The end.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 11/21/2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Reunion2
The woman poures steaming hot coffee into a cup and offers to the old man. Then she takes off her knitted glove from her right hand and pulls out from her coat pocket another cup and gets coffee for herself. They drink their coffee standing up with small careful sips, blowing into coffee.
The man can not help do not notice small, firm hand with liver spots, white hair sticking out of her hat and sky blue eyes.
They finish coffee, the man continues to clear the snow until the dark, then he promises to come the next day, and because the temperature is dropping, they depart.
On the way home he thinks about his new acquittance.
"My wife used to have such blue eyes. I wonder what happened to her." He doesn't remember going to her funeral.
The woman has blues eyes like summer sky and he is looking forward to the second day of snow cleaning.
The very tired woman drags her shovel behind her to the side door, opens and closes the door behind her, sits heavily on the bench and takes off her gloves and galoshes. She wears wedding band on her left hand. She places the thermos on the side, takes off her heavy coat, the hat and combs her hair. Then she walks absentmindedly to the kitchen, forgets the thermos on the bench in the hallway, remembers she hasn't eaten whole, long day, but she is to tired to make a sandwich. She lies on the sofa and immediately falls into short, interrupted sleep. She wakes up during the night, her stomach rumbles, so she makes herself a cheese sandwich, washes it down with a glass of warm milk, undresses and goes to the bed. In the morning she gets up, provides usual routine tasks, puts a bowl of milk in the kitchen for a cat she doesn't have for a long time. She remembers it's time to clean the snow again. In the hallway she notices a blue thermos, takes it to the kitchen, rinses it well and places it on the counter to dry. Suddenly she remembers something happened yesterday. She gets dressed and walks outside to continue to shovel the snow. The man from yesterday is already there with his snow blower. For a while they work quietly. He progresses rapidly, noisily, leaving large path behind him. She makes a narrow path in the snow. She can not throw the snow high. She has no strength, but she also uses a broom to dust off powdery snow. Finally they meet on the sidewalk, near to her door.
"May I invite you for a cup of coffee and a bowl of chicken noodle soup?"
To be continued
The man can not help do not notice small, firm hand with liver spots, white hair sticking out of her hat and sky blue eyes.
They finish coffee, the man continues to clear the snow until the dark, then he promises to come the next day, and because the temperature is dropping, they depart.
On the way home he thinks about his new acquittance.
"My wife used to have such blue eyes. I wonder what happened to her." He doesn't remember going to her funeral.
The woman has blues eyes like summer sky and he is looking forward to the second day of snow cleaning.
The very tired woman drags her shovel behind her to the side door, opens and closes the door behind her, sits heavily on the bench and takes off her gloves and galoshes. She wears wedding band on her left hand. She places the thermos on the side, takes off her heavy coat, the hat and combs her hair. Then she walks absentmindedly to the kitchen, forgets the thermos on the bench in the hallway, remembers she hasn't eaten whole, long day, but she is to tired to make a sandwich. She lies on the sofa and immediately falls into short, interrupted sleep. She wakes up during the night, her stomach rumbles, so she makes herself a cheese sandwich, washes it down with a glass of warm milk, undresses and goes to the bed. In the morning she gets up, provides usual routine tasks, puts a bowl of milk in the kitchen for a cat she doesn't have for a long time. She remembers it's time to clean the snow again. In the hallway she notices a blue thermos, takes it to the kitchen, rinses it well and places it on the counter to dry. Suddenly she remembers something happened yesterday. She gets dressed and walks outside to continue to shovel the snow. The man from yesterday is already there with his snow blower. For a while they work quietly. He progresses rapidly, noisily, leaving large path behind him. She makes a narrow path in the snow. She can not throw the snow high. She has no strength, but she also uses a broom to dust off powdery snow. Finally they meet on the sidewalk, near to her door.
"May I invite you for a cup of coffee and a bowl of chicken noodle soup?"
To be continued
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Reunion
For years on my way to the work I was passing a big grey mansion with tall, spotless, sparkling clean windows and grey roof. The mansion must be built and maintained with an "old money". It means in the times, when the coal was a king in the county. The building was always quiet, I couldn't see any activities ... until one late February blizzard came, when little angels overdid it with throwing down pillows at each other, and whole county shut down and put a key from the town under the doormat. Everything was closed but pharmacy and a grocery store. The shelves usually stacked with snow shovels and salt, were bare.
In the front of the mansion on the sidewalk on the left side was an old man dressed in old home spun winter coat and the warm hat. The scarf was covering half of his face, and with the hands in gloves, was shoveling a foot deep snow.
When I was passing by I spotted a short old woman in light blue coat doing the same thing as the old man on the other end of the mansion. There were no neighbors to help them, because everybody was busy with their own abundance of snow on the sidewalks and digging the cars out.
Then the old man found in the basement an old snow blower and cleaning the snow was faster on his part of sidewalk. Late in the afternoon he noticed the old woman slow, tedious and little progress making a path in the deep snow.
"May I help you Ms.?"
"Oh certainly."
"Let me do it."
After a while watching the man and avoiding to get to close to the snow blower, she asked:
"May I bring you hot coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?"
Yes, you may."
The woman hurries with her little steps and disappears behind the house. After a short while she appears with an old dark blue thermos. The man notices the thermos.
"I remember we used to have thermos like this," he thinks.
To be continued
In the front of the mansion on the sidewalk on the left side was an old man dressed in old home spun winter coat and the warm hat. The scarf was covering half of his face, and with the hands in gloves, was shoveling a foot deep snow.
When I was passing by I spotted a short old woman in light blue coat doing the same thing as the old man on the other end of the mansion. There were no neighbors to help them, because everybody was busy with their own abundance of snow on the sidewalks and digging the cars out.
Then the old man found in the basement an old snow blower and cleaning the snow was faster on his part of sidewalk. Late in the afternoon he noticed the old woman slow, tedious and little progress making a path in the deep snow.
"May I help you Ms.?"
"Oh certainly."
"Let me do it."
After a while watching the man and avoiding to get to close to the snow blower, she asked:
"May I bring you hot coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?"
Yes, you may."
The woman hurries with her little steps and disappears behind the house. After a short while she appears with an old dark blue thermos. The man notices the thermos.
"I remember we used to have thermos like this," he thinks.
To be continued
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Requiem for John
John is coming to number 506 leaning heavily on his crutches. "They called me twenty seven pills John." John is cutting down the pills, doesn't walk on crutches anymore and his talk is beginning to make sense. He always talked from his own experience, slowly, clearly, like he was talking to small children. He repeats the same simple message again and again. Someday it might sink for somebody. "If he will open his mouth again one more time, I shall leave." Of course he talks again and I never left. He didn't hurt anybody and he never offended me. He was a good man and he took me under his wing and his talks began to make a sense even to me.
When I was walking to the party with a lonely lesbian in the tow and a cake in my hand, the lesbian asked me: "Where are you going?" "To the party." "I am coming with you." "You can't." And I slam the door into her face.
We are at the party in the fourth floor apartment with the balcony. It is smoke free apartment. At one moment all of us are standing on the balcony, smokers and nonsmokers alike, and John, who was rather round, is coming to join us. The balcony is already full and I get suddenly scared, that the balcony will not hold all of us. "John, you can not come here, or all of us will fall." John backed up and I hurriedly finished my cigarette and walked back to the apartment.
I left the party early afraid of conversations, because I am not willing to listen to anybody else then myself.
John approaching me on the porch of 506 is trying to penetrate a hard shell. Sometimes something sunk.
I am coming back from the long lasting trip and limping downstairs. It is three of us with an injured leg and John was one of us.
John who was able to give up smoking long time ago is standing with us outside on the freezing day and is trying to tell what he is doing with his life.The hard shell is cracking little bit. He is buying, selling and making little profit. He is coming to the house, when we are moving.
He is putting tasty cakes and Halloween candies on the table next to me. "John is trying to fatten you up." John is smiling little shy smile.
"I live across the street." I came to borrow movie Titanic and returned after two days. "Do something with your life. I go regularly to fire company."
John stopped coming. He went to Reading instead.
Couple days ago John was strangled by another man who trespassed Do not kill amendment.
I do not cry, but I am sorry, John. I will not meet you anymore. What the way to go.!
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 11/22/2011
When I was walking to the party with a lonely lesbian in the tow and a cake in my hand, the lesbian asked me: "Where are you going?" "To the party." "I am coming with you." "You can't." And I slam the door into her face.
We are at the party in the fourth floor apartment with the balcony. It is smoke free apartment. At one moment all of us are standing on the balcony, smokers and nonsmokers alike, and John, who was rather round, is coming to join us. The balcony is already full and I get suddenly scared, that the balcony will not hold all of us. "John, you can not come here, or all of us will fall." John backed up and I hurriedly finished my cigarette and walked back to the apartment.
I left the party early afraid of conversations, because I am not willing to listen to anybody else then myself.
John approaching me on the porch of 506 is trying to penetrate a hard shell. Sometimes something sunk.
I am coming back from the long lasting trip and limping downstairs. It is three of us with an injured leg and John was one of us.
John who was able to give up smoking long time ago is standing with us outside on the freezing day and is trying to tell what he is doing with his life.The hard shell is cracking little bit. He is buying, selling and making little profit. He is coming to the house, when we are moving.
He is putting tasty cakes and Halloween candies on the table next to me. "John is trying to fatten you up." John is smiling little shy smile.
"I live across the street." I came to borrow movie Titanic and returned after two days. "Do something with your life. I go regularly to fire company."
John stopped coming. He went to Reading instead.
Couple days ago John was strangled by another man who trespassed Do not kill amendment.
I do not cry, but I am sorry, John. I will not meet you anymore. What the way to go.!
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 11/22/2011
Monday, November 14, 2011
Biography
I spent first thirty three years behind iron curtain. In 1981 I followed my ex-husband to United States. English is my second language (www.betabitches.blogspot.com). I also write in Czech www.aalfons.blogspot.com. I self published (with lot of help) in the Czech Republic a book called Aber die Konzen (But those ends) which I wrote in 1976 and Veggies 2 (2015).
I am a member of POW! (Pottsville Open Writers) and regularly contribute to GROW (England).
Marie Neumann
Betabitches
How could I name a book Betabitches? It is named after one of the poems and also how veterinarians call female dogs. Alfa dogs and alfa bitches get everything and beta are just a part of the pack. In the case the title offends somebody I apologize.
Poems were written between 2006-2010 and were copyrighted and published on the blog with the same name.
Thank you to Press for willingness to publish them.
Marie Neumann
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Mortality
Growing together,
walking together,
living side by side.
Our children
went to school
about the same time.
Sharing, not sharing,
luck of communications.
Question is: why?
Little jealousies,
little victories ...
Didn't want to believe ...
It wasn't a game.
Now, she is gone.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 11/8/2011
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Paper heart
The wind is blowing
scraps of a paper
down the street.
Lonely paper heart
landed at my feet.
I picked it up.
I am caressing
little white heart
with my forefinger.
I do not know
to whom you belong,
little heart.
Maybe to the paper doll,
or you suppose to be
a Valentine,
or a part of the Birthday wishes
from one little girl
to her mom
on Mother's Day.
I touch paper heart
with my forefinger.
The heart turns pink.
Little paper heart
you loved to much,
because somebody
cut you out
from the paper
with scissors
and gave you
as an expression of love.
Paper heart turns red
and I can feel a heartbeat
in my forefinger.
I have to release you now,
you don't belong to me.
The wind will take you,
where is your place.
The wind picked the heart
and carried it away
up the street
toward the projects,
where children
were playing
in the park.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville 2011
Pottsville, 11/1/2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Thanksgiving
I wake up in the morning.
I am listening to my deep,
even breathing.
Somebody told me
many years ago:
"When you are over fifty
and wake up in the morning
and you don't feel any pain,
it means you are dead."
I do not feel any pain.
Whole body is completely relaxed.
I am lying in the heated bedroom,
under warm, clean blankets
and my stomach
doesn't rumble from hunger.
I stretch and open my eyes.
There is already daylight.
It means I am retired.
I don't have to get up
at six o'clock in the morning,
have a shower, get dressed,
make up my face and hair,
have a rush breakfast,
drink hot coffee in the car,
put on professional smile
and hurry to the work.
With my eyes open
I can smile
and say "Good morning",
because there is someone
to say "Good morning" to.
This is year 2011,
end of the war is near.
It is time to build bridges,
economy and secure borders.
It is time for peace.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 2013
Pottsville, 10/30/2011
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