happy inside

My cat has fleas and I have flea bites. I couldn't put the flea medicine on her, but now someone is coming over to help me. My question is can I transfer fleas to other people since I already have flea bites

"While Reading Don Quixote"

This love story never happened

Or this love story is untrue

Although it must have happened

countless times in my mind

Yet there may be truth in my mind

Or it may be an illusion

But I will tell you what happened

and you can judge

whether or not it can be true

I told my lover

if you want to embrace me,

embrace my poems

When you embrace me,

you only embrace my body

If you will embrace my poem,

you will embrace my soul

He agreed instantly saying

“Read me one poem before we embrace

Let’s caress each word

Linger over its meaning

Hold and penetrate every interpretation

Until we completely possess

and ride every possibility”

We finished reading my poems

All was discovered, laid bare

Until boredom the enemy entered and took over

My lover took his leave saying

“I’ll return when there is another poem to embrace”

Dear reader,

does the amount of truth in this story,

decrease or increase the pleasure or satisfaction

you have with it

May I say, there is truth,

If there is truth in my mind

And so, by this reasoning,

fantasies and illusions are true

If this muddles the issue, dear reader,

please use your own reason

to arrive at a reasonable conclusion

For this poet, always will prefer

the wanderings of her mind

But suddenly upon further reflection

I do recall a memory of a true lover,

a true affair very similar in nature

to my fantasy that I just related to you

Perhaps if I encountered my lover this very moment

and prevailed upon him to read this poem,

what do you imagine the outcome would be?

What do you think that means? Thanks for your help.

I would greatly appreciate your constructive criticism.

Thanks to all who participate.

"My Trip: Nothing New"

I don't want to do anything new

I'm waiting to go on my trip

to my three brothers

who never knew me and never will

who will revive those

sad childhood feelings

to those brothers

who will remind me

how different I am

and I'm not talking gender

I will be pretending to be adult

pretending to be sensible and

desperately keeping my head up

while I just prefer to float on my back

And I have to have fun, good times,

smile and laugh

Yes, I have to be a joiner, join

their fun, their conversation

Perhaps, I will fail

I'll get back to my listening

and understanding mode

I'll turn into the confidant

that sympathetic, empathetic

listener role that I do to perfection

I don't want to do anything new

Survivor’s Luck

Now that we have left the century of the Holocaust

we have an outpouring, flood of Holocaust art -

movies, memoirs, plays, installations

And yet we know even if we are moved,

we cannot know if we weren’t there

My friends or so-called friends drain me

I wouldn’t mind throwing them

into the fiery pit of my mind

to be destroyed there

And would I have survivor’s guilt

if I did

If I will be honest,

I am also a so-called friend

Would I visit the latest memorial to the 6 million

or join the March of the Living

Or am I just a so-called Jew

Pretending to feel the horrors

My friend’s father,

a Holocaust survivor

told his story,

sitting in the kitchen

to friends and family

I sat in the living room, watching

I would not get up

I would not join them

I would not finally witness his story

Was it fear

Was it sorrow

Was it a form of my so-called sensitivity

Or some kind of perversity saying like a devil,

even in the horror, you are unwelcome

So I don’t know his story

from sheer willpower not to know

I do remember hearing the word “luck”

Of course, it had to be luck

He didn’t know how he survived

He was just lucky

And I am lucky too

For I have survived

the horrors of my mind

Survivor’s Luck

Now that we have left the century of the Holocaust

we have an outpouring, flood of Holocaust art -

movies, memoirs, plays, installations

And yet we know even if we are moved,

we cannot know if we weren’t there

My friends or so-called friends drain me

I wouldn’t mind throwing them

into the fiery pit of my mind

to be destroyed there

And would I have survivor’s guilt

if I did

If I will be honest,

I am also a so-called friend

Would I visit the latest memorial to the 6 million

or join the March of the Living

Or am I just a so-called Jew

Pretending to feel the horrors

My friend’s father,

a Holocaust survivor

told his story,

sitting in the kitchen

to friends and family

I sat in the living room, watching

I would not get up

I would not join them

I would not finally witness his story

Was it fear

Was it sorrow

Was it a form of my so-called sensitivity

Or some kind of perversity saying like a devil,

even in the horror, you are unwelcome

So I don’t know his story

from sheer willpower not to know

I do remember hearing the word “luck”

Of course, it had to be luck

He didn’t know how he survived

He was just lucky

And I am lucky too

For I have survived

the horrors of my mind

“The Cold”

Cold as a sunny winter’s day

Cold as a computer’s friendly user screen

* * * *

I am like my grandmother

One minute laughing, the next minute crying

My grandmother speaking in Yiddish to my mother,

turned to me for one moment to say “get married”

I didn’t marry

* * * *

The computer and the cellphones are the new love and sex objects

When the cell phone rings, I rush to answer,

in ecstasy, the song of an orgasm

I gaze onto the computer screen with a lover’s intensity,

a lover’s thrill

Who sent me an email

Who answered my question on Yahoo Answers

And yet there is a great detachment

as if the email was written by itself

as if the people who answered questions on Yahoo Answers really are avatars

Another online friend disappeared today

I don’t know why and I don’t care to investigate

A vague detachment has set in

as if that communication was not with a real person

as if that person existed just to entertain me like a computer game

As Bruce Springsteen sings 57 channels and nothin’ on

So we in the computer age are free

to have instant communication with almost anyone in the world

Then why I am so lonely and forlorn at home, hugging my cat

Perhaps the cold computer is the same friend as the TV was

Remembering how it keeps you company

Never succumbing to loneliness when high tech help is always here

The winter scares me

The cold becoming colder

The people rushing to get out of the cold

The darkness with the bare trees

and the traffic lights flashing without warmth

The winter fear is reminding me that life is so cold

as cold as online friendship

even when it suddenly turns passionate

as I type in words that mean so much to me

proving to the other how clever and compassionate I am

and proving to myself once again that I am a talented writer

But then the words are cold too

Placed on a cold screen to an unknown quantity

Amazingly, this unknown quantity continues to respond

to my quick wit masquerade

The cold winter killing the green life

and the lifeless computer connecting me to other lives

These frozen lives live on, unnatural to this word intimacy,

and without my ever feeling their breath on my face

“The Cold”

Cold as a sunny winter’s day

Cold as a computer’s friendly user screen

* * * *

I am like my grandmother

One minute laughing, the next minute crying

My grandmother speaking in Yiddish to my mother,

turned to me for one moment to say “get married”

I didn’t marry

* * * *

The computer and the cellphones are the new love and sex objects

When the cell phone rings, I rush to answer,

in ecstasy, the song of an orgasm

I gaze onto the computer screen with a lover’s intensity,

a lover’s thrill

Who sent me an email

Who answered my question on Yahoo Answers

And yet there is a great detachment

as if the email was written by itself

as if the people who answered questions on Yahoo Answers really are avatars

Another online friend disappeared today

I don’t know why and I don’t care to investigate

A vague detachment has set in

as if that communication was not with a real person

as if that person existed just to entertain me like a computer game

As Bruce Springsteen sings 57 channels and nothin’ on

So we in the computer age are free

to have instant communication with almost anyone in the world

Then why I am so lonely and forlorn at home, hugging my cat

Perhaps the cold computer is the same friend as the TV was

Remembering how it keeps you company

Never succumbing to loneliness when high tech help is always here

The winter scares me

The cold becoming colder

The people rushing to get out of the cold

The darkness with the bare trees

and the traffic lights flashing without warmth

The winter fear is reminding me that life is so cold

as cold as online friendship

even when it suddenly turns passionate

as I type in words that mean so much to me

proving to the other how clever and compassionate I am

and proving to myself once again that I am a talented writer

But then the words are cold too

Placed on a cold screen to an unknown quantity

Amazingly, this unknown quantity continues to respond

to my quick wit masquerade

The cold winter killing the green life

and the lifeless computer connecting me to other lives

These frozen lives live on, unnatural to this word intimacy,

and without my ever feeling their breath on my face

She has a chronic disease, which she will have to live with the rest of her life. I would like to write something real, but heartwarming and/or cheerful, optimistic, positive.

Thanks for your help.

Significant other (spouse, partner, girlfriend, boyfriend)

Not in your life due to: divorce, death, never found the right one

Significant other (spouse, partner, girlfriend, boyfriend)

Not in your life due to: divorce, death, never found the right one

Or perhaps a bit of both. Please explain with examples and experiences.

Thanks for your participation.

Or perhaps a bit of both. Please explain with examples and experiences.

Thanks for your participation.

Are they normal, abnormal, or some other description? Do you ever talk to yourself and under what circumstances? Please share your ideas, feelings and experiences.

Thanks for your participation.

Are they normal, abnormal, or some other description? Do you ever talk to yourself and under what circumstances? Please share your ideas, feelings and experiences.

Thanks for your participation.

The Refusal

As I took my shower

beads of water clung to my body

as I clung to the freshness of my youth

I would continue to play ball with my youth

and my youth would catch the ball, not drop it

No decay, decadence or “Death in Venice” for me

As I refused to see my physical decline

I continued to admire my body

Remembering the lovers lusting for my body

and insisting on calling it beautiful and young

And even if sometimes I see blue pop-up veins,

I will still see my small, firm, white, round breasts

When I look at my face

and feel continually surprised

at another mark of age

But then I am surprised again

when suddenly my hair waves and curls

as it also refuses to acknowledge aging

I survey my face again

and despite the bags,

the blueness of my eyes live

I told my friend the other day

I have to work on my inner beauty

and accept aging

Is it so simple

as when we say pretend to be happy

and then suddenly the true emotion,

the real happiness is yours

I always thought appearance was the most superficial aspect of a person

Then why now do I feel the men my age or older are not worthy of me

These broken down men with their pot bellies, bald heads, tired worn out faces

with the smell of hospital death surrounding them

These men are not my peers

Instead the young men engage me with their beauty and life force

Perhaps, my friend will say to me, even now,

why do you dispute and rebel the inevitable

You must face your age and your death

with equanimity, calmly, nobly

I will answer

that’s good for you

you calm, serene, clear soul

I have another soul

and this soul

tells me to remain a child

The Refusal

As I took my shower

beads of water clung to my body

as I clung to the freshness of my youth

I would continue to play ball with my youth

and my youth would catch the ball, not drop it

No decay, decadence or “Death in Venice” for me

As I refused to see my physical decline

I continued to admire my body

Remembering the lovers lusting for my body

and insisting on calling it beautiful and young

And even if sometimes I see blue pop-up veins,

I will still see my small, firm, white, round breasts

When I look at my face

and feel continually surprised

at another mark of age

But then I am surprised again

when suddenly my hair waves and curls

as it also refuses to acknowledge aging

I survey my face again

and despite the bags,

the blueness of my eyes live

I told my friend the other day

I have to work on my inner beauty

and accept aging

Is it so simple

as when we say pretend to be happy

and then suddenly the true emotion,

the real happiness is yours

I always thought appearance was the most superficial aspect of a person

Then why now do I feel the men my age or older are not worthy of me

These broken down men with their pot bellies, bald heads, tired worn out faces

with the smell of hospital death surrounding them

These men are not my peers

Instead the young men engage me with their beauty and life force

Perhaps, my friend will say to me, even now,

why do you dispute and rebel the inevitable

You must face your age and your death

with equanimity, calmly, nobly

I will answer

that’s good for you

you calm, serene, clear soul

I have another soul

and this soul

tells me to remain a child

pills rather than have friends and/or family to turn to?

pills rather than have friends and/or family to turn to?

why do I always get the best (quality) and the most (quantity) answers from the Seniors section?