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SPECIAL EFFECTS

  A Book of Poetry

  By

  Sue Binder

  Copyright 2012 by C. S. Binder

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden, without the written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover image used under Creative Commons Attribution/Share Alike License.

  About the Author

  However, her pride and joy are her four children and five grandchildren and her special Goberian dog, Bakey. She currently resides in southeast Colorado.

  DEDICATION

  To our faithful dog, Bakey. Thank you Kris for the following special words:

  He’s old. He’s blind, and he’s deaf. I hafta help feed him and clean up after him. He wakes up at night and needs my attention. I stumble out of bed to help him. He walks slowly and never straight. When we go out, he is slow and I hafta slow my pace to keep up with him. I clean up his puke and any other mistakes he makes.

  But dammit, I LOVE MY DOG.

  Kris Binder, 2012

  Table of Contents

  CHECKBOOK

  PASSWORD

  STORM

  BLACKOUT

  MENTOR

  STAR TREK FANTASY

  MEN DON’T TELL

  ACCEPTANCE

  EXTERMINATION

  DISILLUSIONMENT

  THE MEDIAN

  FLORESCENCE

  THE BOX

  NEW YEAR’S EVE

  ALIEN

  EXALTATION

  CREATION

  BLACK AND WHITE

  TOURNAMENT

  BURN OUT

  EQUILIBRIUM

  LAMENTATIONS

  DENOUEMENT

  TROPHIES

  COIT

  RESURRECTION

  CONCERT

  REGENERATION

  SPECIAL EFFECTS

  CONSORT OF A GOD

  TRIPOLI

  EXTINCTION

  MURAL

  ERUPTION

  FIRST AMENDMENT

  THE ROAD

  AMTRAK REVISITED

  TROUBADOUR

  CHECKBOOK

  Ancient Writing

  Unearthed by archaeological dig.

  Folded manuscript

  With inscriptions that can be read

  Only by the initiated.

  Arrows and circles

  Crisscross columns,

  Which have been erased,

  Crossed out,

  And rewritten in inks

  Of mysterious colors.

  Thus, will the centuries ponder

  The runes of a primitive culture.

  (Originally published 1990 Chinook, Otero Junior College)

  PASSWORD

  I punch in summer

  With a negative response.

  I type in ocean

  With the same result.

  Like an android programmed

  To self-destruct,

  I repeat the action,

  My soul obsessed.

  Sand, Starry Night,

  Beach Boys, and Fire.

  But the words are just words

  That never relate.

  The Password is lost.

  The link to the Server

  Can never be traced.

  STORM

  Dead branches and discarded McDonald’s cups

  Line the driveway and clutter the lawn

  That I spent four days raking in advent of Spring.

  The trash can clatters down the alley

  And joins the neighbor’s laundry

  On the lawn of the Methodist Church.

  Dust drifts into the cracks

  Around the window sills

  And sifts into the kitchen sink.

  Pellets explode against the window,

  As lightning burst across the sky,

  Leaving behind a world of shadows.

  Power lines nap

  And the town drops to attention

  Paralyzed by the storm.

  Silence.

  Four hours of data input

  Snatched by the wrath of the storm.

  BLACKOUT

  Two months of waking up each morning

  And finding it the same as yesterday.

  Two months of drifting through the hours

  Until night dispenses unconsciousness.

  People speak, but I don’t hear their words,

  Only sounds that echo, without meaning

  Through the common space we share.

  I try to work, and find myself

  Unable to type one word after another

  On the blank page before me.

  I avoid interviewing people

  And hide from political rallies.

  I let my answering machine take all the calls

  And pretend that I’m not there….

  Two months….I wander like an alien

  Upon the planet to which I was born.

  Just when I think I have been

  Overtaken by existentialism,

  The doctor diagnoses my malady.

  “Sinus infection.”

  Four pills a day, and I am born anew

  Resurrected into the human race.

  MENTOR

  Toiling at the typewriter every day,

  When the words refuse to come,

  Wondering if I’m truly gifted

  Or if the gift can be learned.

  Struggling when the mailbox

  Fills up with bills and rejection slips,

  Until I no longer anticipate

  Acceptance.

  Then one phone call

  Breaks the silence of frustration.

  One success, however, small

  In a voice that says,

  “You touched my soul.”

  And I turn back to the typewriter

  And the words begin to flow.

  STAR TREK FANTASY

  Molecules scattered through the galaxy

  Waiting for Scotty to beam me up,

  Reformulated into one Composite Me.

  Lost upon an ice planet

  With only Mr. Spock—

  A destiny most illogical, but gratifying.

  Sharing the Command Chair

  With Captain James Kirk,

  In preparation for my own starship.

  Computerized surgery,

  Laser instrumentation,

  McCoy as my Medical Mentor.

  I wake.

  The living room carpet lies rough against my skin.

  Once more I failed to make it through

  Late night reruns of “Star Trek”

  And the Enterprise crew.

  MEN DON’T TELL

  I wiped the blood from my ear,

  And rinsed the rag into the drain.

  I thought about calling Jack, my friend.

  He might listen, he might hear my pain.

  But, no, I shut the thought out

  Before it had time to grow,

  Jack was out.

  So was Joe.

  And Mike would laugh all the way to town,

  Where he would spread stories all around.

  I thought about my father,

  But he would never comprehend.

  And a woman? One who would take sides

  With the one who was victimized?

 
That would never make my nightmare end.

  No problem. I’m a realist. It’s a small world.

  If I tell one single soul

  Soon everyone would know.

  So I rinsed the rag into the drain.

  I washed away the heartache and pain,

  And forgot about Mike, Jack, and Joe.

  ACCEPTANCE

  Why only now do I understand

  How you accepted life,

  Living with constant dissention

  As a tormented mother and wife?

  Why only now do I comprehend

  The pain of your bonds and fetters?

  Could I have done it differently?

  Could I have done it better?

  Could I being bound by identical chains,

  Not having the future’s key,

  Could I have done it better

  Or even differently?

  EXTERMINATION

  Silent vapors

  Creep through each cell,

  Permeating the tissues.

  No battle cry alerts the prey.

  No symptoms signal the toxic intrusion.

  But somnolent eyes

  Droop in warm receptions,

  Trusting the anonymous friend,

  Whose laughter confounds

  The fragmented family

  Who only perceive him as Death.

  DISILLUSIONMENT

  Like warm, wounded blood

  It slowly seeps

  Pervading through each thought—

  And finally creeps, unseen, unfelt

  Into a vital part,

  Where it takes form and radiates

  Into substantial shape—

  Demoralizing, devitalizing, disintegrating your heart.

  (Originally published in The Antelope, 1971,

  Lamar Community College)

  THE MEDIAN

  Somewhere in the middle is the place where I belong—

  For I’m neither tall nor short, I’m neither weak nor strong.

  Somewhere in the middle is the only place for me—

  I’m neither famous nor obscure, neither bound nor free.

  I’m somewhere “sitting on a fence” with reflections on either side,

  Belonging not to any group, but never cast aside.

  Somewhere in the middle shielded from each test,

  Somewhere in the middle is the me that I detest.

  (Published in National Poetry Press and “The Antelope”, Lamar Community College, 1971)

  FLORESCENCE

  Having spent the time to help them grow,

  I found them laying in a row,

  Their blossoms butchered beyond recognition.

  Pulled from the earth, fertile and damp,

  Their roots squashed by a hefty tramp,

  They were withering and dying, without ambition.

  Oh, God, forgive the vagrant who plundered so,

  Who destroyed flowers commencing to grow,

  Who yanked them up carelessly, flaunting tradition.

  Forgive the fool who plucked blossoms unripe,

  And left them to shrivel in the darkening night,

  Sowing regression and destroying ambition.

  (Originally published in Shore Poetry Anthology, 1971)

  THE BOX

  Down in the box I slowly crawled,

  Submerging even my head,

  And you folded over the cardboard flaps,

  And silently closed the lid.

  These rigid walls won’t let me pass

  Though the world continues its spin

  I know just where I belong,

  Held tightly by the walls within.

  The days pass by, they swallow me up,

  As I cry out from this damned space.

  But there’s no middle ground,

  No escape the agony of this place.

  I ‘m left with only a silent scream,

  In this prison you offered me.

  How could I know that once I climbed in

  I’d never again be free?

  (Published originally in “Chinook” Otero Junior College, 1981)

  NEW YEAR’S EVE

  Was it really so much—

  My wanting to dance?

  After years of walking

  Through all that I did,

  After sitting and watching

  Through high school proms

  And company parties

  That were strictly a bore—

  I wanted to dance.

  Music punctuated my brain

  And I waited, hoping for a chance.

  You sat and listened to idle chatter,

  And watched three men stagger from the bar in song.

  And I asked you if you wouldn’t try.

  I fidgeted as women-libbers spotted prey,

  And maneuvered them onto the floor—

  And knew that I was prudish not to…

  But I sat and listened and tapped my fingers on the table

  In rhythmic patterns to the music.

  Still my feet ached

  And my body strained,

  While my brain vibrated with frantic impulses.

  Hours later, I slowly undress,

  And climb into a cold, empty bed.

  The drinks rip at my head—

  And tears slide down my gown.

  I feat the years

  Have smothered all I was

  And all I ever hoped to be….

  (Originally published in Chinook, La Junta Junior College, 1981)

  ALIEN

  A homecoming dinner,

  Ham and apple pie.

  Hot coffee brewing,

  Aunts, uncles and cousins

  Perch on rigid chairs,

  Crowing over exploits of offspring

  And MasterCard purchases

  Like HD TV and DVDs.

  Family albums,

  Memories I’d rather forget.

  A marriage shattered.

  Six hours of gin rummy

  And conversation

  Punctuated with accusations

  Of a squandered inheritance.

  I reaffirm my destiny.

  EXALTATION

  From the mortal’s conversation

  She weeds out clutter and rearranges his patter

  Into correct usage, form and connotation.

  Intricate concepts of philosophy,

  Anthropology and archaeology

  Spit themselves out in her exchanges

  As easily as the masses

  Flip on their TV sets.

  Humanity retreats,

  No longer willing to sacrifice themselves

  Upon the altar of Trivial Pursuit

  To the High Priestess of Literacy,

  Who will accept no tainted offerings.

  They forsake her,

  Even as she ponders evolution and theology.

  Evoking wisdom

  Within university walls,

  Each night she retreats to her celibate apartment

  As her PHD yellows on the wall

  Above her Macintosh.

  SEMANTICS

  I kneel in the pew,

  And my head is bowed,

  Trying to concentrate

  On this Christian ritual of death.

  Guilt and pain

  Dwell side-by-side,

  Infesting a soul

  That can only gasp “why?”

  “He was a good husband

  And a good father,”

  Intones the minister

  In final conclusion.

  I ponder offenses,

  Atonements neglected.

  Resentment flows,

  As the words rise like incense

  In hallow tones.

  So many ways to shape a sentence,

  So many philosophies

  To bring to the grave,

  To thread strength through the fiber of family.

  Unknowns can be left unspoken

  And half-truths buried with the dead
.

  Ministers aren’t supposed to lie.

  CREATION

  Pinpoints of stars

  Illuminate the sky,

  As I trudge along the path,

  Alone.

  Each night I walk this way

  To where I do not know,

  But uncharted urges

  Lead my feet and disrupt my soul.

  No one else can follow

  Into the channels of my mind.

  No one else can focus

  On that I’ve left behind.

  Here in the darkness

  I walk alone,

  With creation imprisoned

  Inside my soul.

  BLACK AND WHITE

  I can still remember

  When movies were black and white,

  Tom Mix rode the silver screen

  And Flash Gordon fought Emperor Ming.

  I see them yet

  When I push the buttons of my Magnavox,

  And my satellite dish

  Brings the world to me—

  HBO, Cinemax, ESPN, and MTV—

  24-hours of American variety.

  I wouldn’t have it any other way,

  But sometimes I drop at the end of the day

  Before the Great God TV

  Cynical of all that I survey.

  If I could but press the VCR and play back yesterday,

  Would the world still be only black and white?

  TOURNAMENT

  Like opponents in a Scrabble game,

  We’re face to face and tile on tile.

  I choose each letter randomly,

  Forming order out of nonsense.

  Then you, oh, Ancient Rahab,

  Spell Genesis with mocking tones,

  Your laughter echoing through the centuries.

  I subtract a “Q”, a “J” and a “Z,”

  And tally up the points

  Thought the outcome never varies one jot.