Myth

A thread of hope I spun for me,
A cotton candy fantasy
Of gentle lords and chivalry.
I spun it out of nothingness,
And unto nothingness it went,
Unbound my tears and set them free.

I harkened unto fairytales,
Of knights and kings and kindly whales,
Where good must win and evil fails.
I listened to the milk-sop lies,
And tried and tried and tried and tried
To find the hidden glory trails.

I walked into a darkened world
Where pirates left their flags unfurled
And cared not where the maelstroms whirled
For evil is untouchable
When sheltered in it's own black walls,
Breathing it's poison vapors curled.

I sought a shining noble Knight
To tilt for me and win the fight
Against the ever growing blight,
But fools rush in where angels don't.
I was very, very alone.
And very, very far from light.

I reached inside my dimming soul
And grabbed the last bright dying coal
I guided pirates on the shole.
As they wrecked on the cruel reef
I thought how very bittersweet
It was to so reverse my role.

I took a dinghy dingy red
And from my rocky island fled
To where the truth is done and said
I stayed until my heart was whole,
Not through others deeds but my own,
And only then was evil dead.

Crabby day

Turning over slimy green slabs.
Barnacle bedecked.
Finding tiny little green crabs.
Red and purple flecked.



My family went walking at the beach, well, all except Gage. He was carried. We turned over the rocks, made prickly by their barnacle friends, and found crabs. There were lots of different colors, but only two or three species. We gave them to Dad to identify. There were some teeny tiny little hermit crabs too, small as a pinhead. I found a bigger one, about the size of a matchhead, it had one of the little ones clinging to his claws.

testimony

I have been living underwater,
Slowed and defused.
I have been weighted down by sorrow.
Tired and confused.
And then it happened.
Some good samaritan fished me out.
I can BREATHE!!!
I am filled from head to toe with life.
And the sodden burdens are lifted away.

Visiting

It is strange to me
To be walking these halls.
To be driving these streets.
Run my hand along these walls.
It is strange to me
To be talking to these friends.
To be dancing these moves.
Shaking everbody's hands.
As if I never left.

Conversation

The light fades from the sky,
And the warmth leaves the summer air.
One by one the people filter away.
But those two are still sitting there.
Their laughter lifts it's wings,
Soaring over deserted swings.
Their talk meanders around
The quiet, empty playground.

Mutterings of a confirmed kitchen experimenter

Saw my new shiny red
stand mixer.
Waiting.
Beckoning.
Went into the kitchen
To make something sweet.
Didn't know what,
but it had to be sweet.
Looked through the fridge,
Looked through the cupboards.
Found no inspiration.
Spied the fruit bowl.
Half a dozen apples getting wrinkly.
PIE!!!!!!!!
Pulled my tattered,
Bestained and besmirched
Nineteen-forties cookbook
from it's hallowed place.
Began making crust.
New tools, unsure.
It's tough.
Stick it in the fridge to rest while paring apples.
Paring apples.
Paring apples.
Paring apples.
STILL paring apples.
Slice them paper thin,
So they'll gather all that saucy goodness.
Pull crust out of fridge.
Won't roll out.
Back in the mixer,
Add more shortning.
Better.
Line the pie plate thouroughly.
Pinch the crust beautifully.
Fill it with apples.
Not enough crust for the top...
Streusel top!!!
Better not add the spices yet.
Out of oatmeal.
Brown sugar hard as a rock.
Stick it in the microwave.
Still hard as a rock.
Stick it in with butter!
Mmmmmmm carmel.
Still hard as a rock.
Hmmmmmm carmel.
Sweetened condensed milk,
Carmelized with butter and brown sugar.........
Carmel apple pie sounds good.
In a saucpan with you.
Stirring constantly.
Those stubborn brown sugar lumps aren't doing a thing!
Pour it into the mixer with leftover crust.
Turn into a fascimile of the prehistoric soup.
Pull out biggish sugar lumps.
To lazy for small ones.
Glop uncerimoniously over the top
Of paper thin apples.
Put n the oven til top is crunchy and brown.
It's so good, have to invite friends to help eat it
Before stomach ache can happen.

Up! Arise! The foeman is at the gates.

Glossy black feathers
Raises his wings in anger
Shrugging his attacker off
Dusty brown feathers
Ruffs his red breast in anger,
The villainous attempt he scoffs.
"Swar-vey" black robber,
Seeking the pure, and perfect.
Trying to luncheon on life.
Little brown Father,
Defends the pure and perfect.
His nest, his eggs, his wife.

Pariah

Pariah they named me,
The same as them and yet they blamed me.
Stripped me of humanity
Tore away my shreds of dignity.
When I pass they pull their skirts aside
Spit on me and then deride
My lack of worth and poverty
My heart dies a little every time

Hopeless I cannot flee,
Defined, confined, they have shackled me.
The dregs of humanity,
Seeking one dead scrap of dignity.
Buffered away from the pure Brahmin
So they can't touch me and sin.
Scrabbling in a land of plenty,
Even my dirty blood isn't mine.

How living in an apartment is yucky.

beat beat beat beat
underneath me
beat beat beat beat
music pounding
underneath me
beat beat beat beat
sabbath morning
music pounding
beat beat beat beat
pounding under-
neath my feet feet
beat beat beat beat

A bird may love a fish, but where would they live?

If I were a little bird,
And I loved a little fish,
I'd ever so carefully
Build us a great big nest.
I'd build it out of sticks,
Next to a river broad,
And stuff all the holes with green grass,
And seal it up tight with mud.
Then one by one,
And beak by beak,
I'd fill it with water
Week after week.
And that's where we would live.

If I were a little woman,
And I loved a little man,
I'd ever so carefully
Build us a loving home.
I'd build it out of time
Next to a river broad
And stuff all the holes with kindness
And seal it up tight with God.
Then day by day
And meek as meek
I'd fill it with laughter
Week after week
And that's where we would live.

There came an Angel saying, "Peace be unto you"

Peace I give unto thee,
Not as the world giveth give I unto thee.
Around me a whirlwind of clothing.
So many! Where do I put them?
Filling the racks, piling up on my table.
Hanging on doors.
On the floor.
And still more!!!!
Ten customers in line.
One after another.
(Eight? Here you go. You're welcome!
Three? Here you go you're welcome!
Eight, the limit is eight.
Onetutheefurfisise'enehniteh'leven.
You have eleven items, our limit is eight.
I can place three on hold for you, anything in particular?)
where do I put them?????
(You're welcome!
Yes, you may use any room.
Except that one!!!
I have to keep it open for handicapped people.
And women with small children. I'm very sorry.)
I have to get these clothes sorted,
And hung proper,
And buttoned and bowed.
(Four? Here you go! You're welcome.
Thank you, have a lovely day.
Do you want these?
Okay, thank you.
Have a lovely day!!)
Sixteen rack full, call Lucille.
(Five? Here you go! Thank you!)
Department sixteen ten petite, Oh right, it's full
(one......twelve
You have twelve items, out limit is eight,
I can place four items on hold for you, anything in particular?)
I NEED PEACE!!!!!
"You're so cheerful! How do you stay so nice?"

Okay.....so maybe I do have peace.......