++++Nobody++++

Emily Dickenson once said,
"Hello, I'm Nobody.
"Are you Nobody,too?"
Yes, Emily, I'm Nobody
Hello, how are you?

In another life, perhaps,
I used to be Somebody, though.
Oh not THAT Somebody,
But who, I don't quite know.

But Somebody went to work each day
Rolled heads, wrote regs and rules
Pored over puzzles and paperwork
Had little tolerance for fools.

But that wasn't me, I'm Nobody
And Nobody does nothing quite well.
Somebody would disagree, I'm sure
But where is she now, pray tell?

Somebody used to make money
And wear expensive clothes
Serve fancy meals on china plates
Keep ducks in little rows.

But the more Somebody did
The more to do appeared
And she ran and ran on forever
'Till she quite disappeared.

But that wasn't me, I'm Nobody
And Nobody does everything well
Somebody thought she could
Alone and lost, she fell.

But that wasn't me, I'm Nobody
I'm content with nothing, you see
Somebody wanted it all,
Oh, but that was never me.

I'm Nobody, and Nobody lives forever.
It doesn't matter who wins
Somebody dug her own grave
Now Nobody's filling it in.

But that wasn't me, I'm Nobody.

 

++++Galaxies in the Grass++++

I sat alone
The world upon my shoulders
My spirit bending with the load
The brick wall against my back
as cold and hard as life.
When in the grass, a tiny gleam,
A sparkling,
coalesced the blur
Like oil on water, running backward.
And there,
upon a single blade of green,
A tiny star.
And when I looked to really see
There appeared in front of me
A world of shining galaxies
Within the grass.
A universe so grand it seemed
An endless space upon the green
Each drop of dew a blazing sun
And spinning round invisibly
Much too small for eye to see
In endless orbit there must be
A planet’s dance round every one.
And universe in universe in universe and on
Stretching in to touch infinity
Spinning round in inner space
Each one a smaller resting place
For minute stars and tiny galaxies.
And stretching out the other side
Too large for large and wide for wide
The planets, stars and galaxies
A vision of enormity
Of universe in universe in universe
Stretching out to touch infinity,
And in the middle of it all was me.
How small, how insignificant
My troubles seemed to be
When I reached out
...............to touch ..........................Infinity.++

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Love Storms - 30 page poetry chapbook

email W. Laura Alleman for more info

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     Hi. My name is W. Laura Alleman. No one, remembers what the W. is for and only my chidren, who are various and sundry, ranging in age from 21 to 4, of whom, thank god, only four entered this world through my vaginal canal and of whom, thank god, only four still share this rambling monstrosity we call a house, call me Laura. Almost everyone else knows me as "Phant", "Phantie", "Phantom", Phantomheart", or "Oh my god, there she is again." I am old as dirt (47), although I think by the time dirt is that old it has mostly been recycled into worm poo, so I guess I am holding my own faily well, because I haven't completely turned to shit, yet...at least, I don't think so. My husband, however, might argue that point...Oh, yes, I do have some of those husband thingys, one current, several previous, and I also have a big gray tomcat who likes to rub on my legs after he goes out whoring around the neighborhood.
     I began my long and illustrious university career in Louisiana in 1971 where I majored in Psychedelia, continued my education in California, where I studied Street Bands and Washtub Base Techniques, returning to Lousiana to collect the various assortment of three letter tags that I can hang at the end of my name when the mood strikes me, and the stack of framed documents that collects dust on the top of my hutch. After trying on several different careers, from greasy spoon waitress to oilfield truck driver, I settled into the teaching profession where I spent fifteen years filling my students' heads with literary bullshit and social activism, and from which profession I am currently taking an unspecified leave of absence to decide what I want to be when I grow up. And that brings us here, to The Hold, where I am going to attempt to drive both our devoted readers and our eminent editor completely insane with my flagrant and often incoherent ebullitions and my penchant for erratic and remonstrative ramblings.