Holiday Dirge

outside chimes sing   driven

by blasts of bitter wind

echo their song of summer

steered by gusts of august

five hundred miles away 

doors open & close as bells 

chirp their tinny tune 

and my son leaves for nowhere

a blizzard blows in my heart

pumping glaciers of blood

to frigid fingers   toes

its only song   a dirge

© 2011 cj schlottman

For Ruth

she lies on her bed    eyes closed

covers folded neatly across

her chest   white hair smooth & splayed 

against her pillow 

her hands quiet & folded

across her heaving chest

eyes shifting behind her lids

the hint of a flinch as I

inject her with morphine 

tell me she is there   aware

i take her cold hand   fold it

into both of mine   lean in

to coo into her ear   say 

peace will soon override 

her torment   breath come easily  

the whisper of movement 

in her frail fingers

tells me she hears   believes

her body descends into 

the arms of Morpheus   

silently calling back

to me that she is safe

i stroke her hair   kiss her cheek

await her next soundless plea

© 2011 cj Schlottman




Linked to Poetry Palace

blockhead

heavy blocks   cubes of concrete

line the streets   block after block

they show my way home   a block 

of ice waits   between my poem 

and me   shows no sign of melting

obscures my view of words blocked

by its shine

wooden lettered blocks tumble

in my head & i am one

the one with the C just blocked

by the Q   i am a blockhead

© 2100 cj Schlottman


LInked to dVersed 

Thank You, Mr. Martini, Whoever You Are

martinis are my drug of choice  

made with tanqueray   frosty cold 

straight up   garnished with two olives

not three  not fancy ones   green ones 

stuffed with pimiento   served on a 

charger   no paper napkin for 

my elegant libation

the masterpiece arrives in a 

shiny silver shaker on a 

black enamel tray   the waiter

shakes it and in a display that 

leaves me breathless   pours the elixir 

into my glass   crystal   of course

when the icy rim touches my

lips   i close my eyes and exhale

a sigh as big as montana

i caress the rim of the glass

with my finger   stir the contents

with olives speared on sterling 

silver mini-swords

i swirl a second sip around

my teeth   taste it on my gums 

my tongue   swallow slowly   savor 

the essence of juniper as 

it finishes in my nose   

© cjschlottman  2011

Bubble Stuff

Bubble Stuff

a gentle storm of glistening 

glowing gossamer orbs

sprays into the air   

shiny tiny spheres mixed 

with larger circles float for the 

moment    evaporate 

amid child-giggles and squeals

small hands grab at luminescent

globes drifting just beyond their reach   

as sunlight sparkles over the 
round rainbows they pursue

© cj Schlottman 2011

Linked to Bluebell Books:  Short Story Slam Week 11

Over A Cliff

I am unable to 

connect the dots that form

a whole picture of

this mess who is my son.

Stories conflict   plans are 

made   then unmade   maybe

never made at all   just

fabricated in his

quest to manipulate

my world   insinuate

himself back into a

position of power

from which his illness will

infect me   bring me once

more into the cyclone 

of co-dependant craziness

he so craves and that would

drive my life like a run-

away bus straight over

the edge of a steep cliff.

© cj Schlottman - 2011

BONFIRE

Bruised   broken   bound by our

own sinew   traps & tie-downs   

we share souvenirs   sores

of love lost twisted with

spikes of hope.

We circle this thing between us

poke it with sticks   prod it

test it’s toughness   measure

it’s mettle.

Scarlet stains of sadness

tattooed on our hearts   we step

back   stumble forward   gauge

the heat of the bonfire.

Its flames in turn rage and

smolder   reflect yellow-blue

in our eyes   warm our faces

as we leap into the blaze.

© cj Schlottman  2011


LInked to Gooseberry Garden

Your Crooked Smile

There are times when I am 

moved to tears   cannot hold back

the sadness or joy that

catches in my throat   steals

my breath   chokes the words I

intend to say out loud.

The sound of your Texan’s

brogue   your bourbon laced breath

move me to open my 

heart   spill it over you

in kisses   caresses

I save for you alone.

Memories of loss move

me to the edge of

sanity   only to 

loosen their grip when you 

appear in dreams   wake

me with your crooked smile.

© cj Schlottman

September 09, 2011

Curtains

Curtains

I see my world through gauze curtains 

wafted by fog tumbling over 

itself into the corners of my brain.

Behind my eyes a carousel 

of blurred images swirl

to organ music piped into my ears.

Hints of smoke filter through my nose

riding on the memory of a 

skirt aflame   engulfing my leg.

Thunder rattles my drowse   winds blow

through the curtains   snatching them down

   their remnants strewn across my bed.

I drift from sleep to consciousness

   nausea strikes from within   pain

emerges from behind the screen 

of Lortab.

Attacked by unseen torches    my 

wounds reignite   scorch my flesh anew

   send tears sliding down my face.

I taste their salt   reach for the bottle

   wait for opaque curtains to once more

surround me   hide me from my pain.    

© cj Schlottman

August 30, 2001

a slave to words

sometimes a piece of work

drips off the ends of my

fingers   slides across my

keyboard & writes itself

at others   words wedged in

creases of my right brain 

   await excavation   

   conveyance to the page

words   my dearest lovers

   my most cruel enemies

serve me at their pleasure

& make of me their slave

©  2011 cj Schlottman

If I Die Young

if i die young it will be 

at 95   surrounded

by friends and family

as we take afternoon tea

there will be champagne on ice

lovely luscious lemon squares

salty   spicy-hot cheese straws 

slices of soft sweet pound cake

i will hold court from my bed

swathed with sheer silk canopies

as yards of laughter cut from 

the bolt of my life fade to 

endless stories born of our

intertwined lives   braided of

love   woven into fine cloth 

i will smile   sip tea   wait to

take sweet kisses from each of you

hold your warm hands in mine  

cool now as i feel myself

fade   grow smaller 

sunshine will shimmer through thin

curtains as it begins its

descent   bathing our faces

in soft light of my dying

i will love you forever

©  2011 cj Schlottman

Sarah at 28

I nose my car into

an angled parking space 

at Wal Mart.   A furnace 

blasts my face as I

step into the sun.

A voice   traveling on

the wind   rings familiar.

   “Sir could you spare some money?”

My head jerks.   Sarah.

At the “Enter” door

   hand held out   eyes down

   panhandling    begging

money from strangers.

A tank top   olive drab

hugs her slender body

   tattered baggy pants

puddle over rubber flip-flops.

Sweat glistens on her brow.

She looks up   a startled

glance that radiates shame

reveals black-rimmed eyes

   silent screams at their core

   her pasty face pocked with 

scabs of psoriasis

   arms tattooed with figures

I cannot make out.

I half expect her to

move in my direction.

Instead   she returns

her gaze to the pavement

   shuffles her feet.

I manage a whispered hello

   move through the sliding door

swallowing bile.   I rush

to the toilet   vomit

   wretch   heave   wash my face

   rinse my mouth, blow my nose.

I sit on the wooden bench

outside the restroom

   fend off more nausea 

   wonder how this child

grew into an addict

   a street person in rags

   blackened blonde hair a

thin disguise.  Our granddaughter.

Juicy Fruit my only 

purchase   I drag myself 

to the door   find her gone 

   stumble to my car   

   tear open the gum   stuff two 

pieces in my mouth   chew 

   chase the foul taste 

   sit   wait   as tears dry 

   wonder how I came here  
how I’ll find my way home. 

©  2011 cj Schlottman

South Beach

You are waiting   crisply dressed   
your face    shaven smooth

glows at the sight of me

as I arrive at the home

ask the driver to wait.

The nurse dispenses

medication for the two

days you will stay with me.

Our cabbie drives us to

South Beach   you chatting

him up like the you 

before bipolar struck.

Calmer now since new

medicine    you are still

unable to amble

clipping at a brisk pace

along the avenue.

The peek-a-boo sunshine

stings my pale skin    a stark

contrast to your bronze arms.

We walk down Ocean Drive   

taking in drag queens    

in gold lamé ruffles 

strutting outside The Palace.

Lunch at News Café.

Relaxed    you shamelessly 

flirt with our waitress.

You     just months ago so

malignantly manic 

unable to hold a thought. 

Iced coffee at Starbuck's

cools us    evaporates

sweat from our skin.

We talk    your tanned face

almost relaxed    no 

angling for compliments  

no perseverating.

A pastel canyon 

Art Deco hotels tower

over us    the sidewalk 

lined with diners in a trail 

of cafés    as fans blow 

mist into the steamy 

heat of midday.

Tiring    you    my golden son

hail a cab    our  ride to the
cool dim light of my hotel.
You switch on the TV.
In minutes we are asleep  
dodging our demons
if only for the while.

© cj Schlottman  2011