Acrostics for the baby grands

The humble acrostic name poems have their roots in ancient Jewish culture. Here are some for my beloved grand children. 

Juno: Joyfully crawls Under Neath and jumps Over obstacles in her way (also loves Owls)

Ezra: Extra Zesty boy, soon to be Running Around (when his broken leg heals)

Silas: Superior builder of Legos And Such (Harry Potter and Star Wars preferred)

Emmett: Energizer-Man May Eat Tater-Tots (or not, chicken nugs always)

Moses: Man Of STEM and Excavator driving Staff 

Remus: Reaper and Eater of Mainly Underripe blueberry Specimens (and generally nice guy)

Lucian: Looks at life Upside-right, slightly off-Center, Inside-out and Near to far

Henry: Happy-go-lucky with ENdlessly Renewable energY (former and reformed pirate lover)

Milo: Much in Love with O-Gauge (particularly steam engines, please)

Lola: Lover of Large Animals (and very good at ballet but her name has no B's) 

Flora: First fairy Lady of the Realm of All-knowing (all-seeing, too)

Maximus: Madly And eXtremely busy in Matters Under Shirts ( with a cute tongue wiggle to boot!)

For the Love of Alyssum

our backyard won't win prizes

in House Beautiful magazine

it's ragamuffin and hodgepodge

no manicured look to be seen 

we let weeds wander as they will

why we should kill them anyway?

why don't we just let them be

those alyssum really make my day

Weeds deserve sun too

so my alyssum gets her spot

who are we to dictate

who gets to live and who does not?

grampa used so say

if its green let it grow

after all what's a yard for

but a joyful place to go?

not a showplace for the crowd

just a space for kids to play

and lots of peeping people

will only get in the way

if perfection's all we're chasing

we'll go right out of our wits

when all those tramping tourists

trample our perfection to bits

just look at Holland's tulips

to festival they come to gawk

there are police to guard them

but some tulips still take a walk 

(Emma Grace...😏😉)

I wouldn't even want perfection

who defines those perfect bowers?

one woman's yard of weeds 

is another's garden flowers

All are welcome in my yard

I'm happy with my flower weeds

my weedy alyssum cheers me

would you like some joy seeds? 

--dedicated to everyone who loves alyssum and the weeds she grows on

Mea She'arim and me

 (This isn't a poem as much as an essay or mind  meandering.)

I watched a video on a place called Mea She-arim. I thought about those religious Jerusalem Jews. With the Haredi, I've little in common. But that I did not choose. 

We're worlds and miles apart. But in some ways, I think a lot as they. I'm faithful, steadfast and true. I never fit in either. Perhaps I just envy their tight-knit way.

I wish I had the what they have. I don't mean the tallit or furry hat. I'm born again Catholic, plus I'm a girl. And happy to be that. 

The part I covet is family. Not covet but I think you see. The value they place on their kids. Compared to how little mine thought of me. 

I ponder their collective closed community. Requests for modesty on the wall.  All for one and none singled out.  Was not my experience at all. 

Signs to cover what's private. To protect the kids was the purpose of those. What I had was rules for me, not thee. I wore funny dresses, she donned the hooker clothes. 

(so maybe this will be in verse)

So no, not covet. I'm not jealous of the orthodox, as such. I don't want to take what they've got. I just wish I had had as much. 

It isn't about them, it's the family circle. I would have liked to be part of a chain.  A vital, important and loved Not kicked out and left in the rain. 

To be united with out  arms linked. To be kept safe within the loop. Enfolded, enclosed, connected. Part of, not separated from the group. 

It would have been so nice to look out the window, to be sheltered from the rain. I bet it was warm inside peering out. I know it was cold outside, pressing my face to the pane. 

A dialogue for one voice and chorus

there was a song that I recall

how can we keep from singing? 

about a God and love and a rock

to which they all were clinging

well I don't know the words

Or to what I should cling

I don't know this God they speak of

so of what am I supposed to sing?

Of all God's love and mercy

for you he's done a lot

he's redeemed and saved you

you miserable, ungrateful clot

I do give thanks, I promise

I do sing or at least I try

but whenever I open my mouth

nothing comes out but a cry

tsk, we sing like angels 

to our God above

with pure and perfect pitch

about his wonderous love

you croak like a sleep talker

you must be insincere

only a fraud would fail 

our God's sweet voice to hear

I'm trying to hear like you

but proud voices drown the sound

You're so very loudly singing

it makes my poor head pound

what are you talking about?

you make no kind of sense

we all understand God perfectly

it must be Satan makes you so dense?

I know you're righteously certain

you never question or doubt

but then you've never had to fear  

for no reason being kicked out

Well you've just admitted 

And that just proves us right

your fear overcomes your faith

while our virtue is shiny bright

(sexy guitar riff)

it wasn't a rock that saved me

I have no idea what did

there was never any rock there

and the lifelines all were hid

oh don't be so melodramatic

It couldn't have been that bad

you're too sensitive and showing off

just ignoring all the good you had

If this is what admitting gets me

maybe I should keep it hid 

if asking for help gets shame

maybe it would be better if I did

yes please do, it's pathetic

or better yet admit you're wrong

This isn't shame that is speaking

it's deserved guilt choking your song

but where and why and how

what exactly have I done?

If I knew, I'd gladly admit

whatever terrible thing I'll shun

You should have read your bible

our precious Lord will show

all your wretched vile and bile

he'll make damned sure you know

But I've gone to the word, I cried

I found no malice nor comfort there

only love he had for some people

apparently none of whom were Mar

and before you ask I went

to mountain, desert and dell

I couldn't find my friend there either

have I missed him again, please tell?

If you don't get it yet, we're done

we've reached the end of our rope

you're stubborn, stupid and blind 

of teaching you we have no hope

Oh please don't give up

though shaming you all are

you're all I have to guide

please don't pull away the spar

Tell me of this God you know

help me find him  oh please

I am seeking and not finding 

I'm cold and starting to freeze

Good grief, it's not rocket science

unless he is hiding from you ?

wait, what did you do to offend him

what awful thing did you do?

I try to see him, I do

I look and I call and I pray

but whenever I think I see him

he just seems to slip away

You don't pray enough then

if his face you cannot find

since we can always see him 

it's you who must be blind

perhaps you're right, it's me

the story is always the same

I must have failed him too

I'm the problem, fault and blame

Now you have us confused

fix us another drink

you accept the fault and yet

we still don't know what to think

I just meant I really didn't hide

if you'll just listen you'll see

Like I said, I didn't turn on him

he was always hidden from me

(loud, slightly tipsy chorus voices)

Okay now we're seriously pissed

both the angry AND drunk kind

hidden, oh please, just stop

we're losing our collective tiny mind

(in child tone, sotto voce)

My friend was hidden by them

yet I think he wanted me to see

they all tried to block him

to keep me from him and him from me

(fading light on voice) 

(growing light on chorus as if in rising anger)

oh don't you dare frame others

when you're the one to blame

You must have done something wrong

else why would you feel this shame?

(chorus, in increasingly slurred speech)

how can you ashk such things

such wickedness and shin

how dare you turn your back

and schnub your nose at Him?

(meanwhile, voice has left the building)

(chorus slightly sobering up)

if no one feels ashamed 

and everyone claims to see

then no one has hid him from you

what a fekkin liar you've proved to be

you'll go to hell, you freak

that's all that's left to do

you've abandoned God 

now he has no use for you! 

(chorus, realizing voice had gone) 

Moron! idiot! come back

don't you walk outta here

we're the ones to who'll be walking 

out on you, my dear

we don't know you nor want to

we've no wish to be tainted

we've closed ranks and you're stuck

in this hellhole corner you've painted

(chorus fades out in mumbled, drunken meanderings)

(spotlight on voice, rising again)

Hello, It's me still drowning

to quote another song

still apparently feathered and tarred

still apparently wrong

my ship is sinking fast

faster than I ever thought it could

none of them came to rescue

did I ever think they would?

but as I go to earth 

may I attempt one last stand

If I can't convince the hakken-krakks

can I at least make you understand?

So bear with me as I ponder

it's just starting to coalesce

maybe I got it all wrong ( I hope)

maybe I was enough, not less

perhaps it wasn't God I saw (and missed)

an imposter played his part

someone pretending to be him

to fool me from the start

when all you've known of parent

is a mother distant and cold

when papa doesn't love you 

there's no heavenly father to behold

Could it be, I couldn't know God?

Cuz they said he was wrong side right

Was I  fooled by the wrong one?

So's I'd never feel His warming light

maybe it wasn't the real God 

that was pushing me away

now I come to recall someone 

was always blocking my way

the more I think, I think

the more I see, I see 

the God who loves those people 

might, in point of fact, love me? 

 

Oui, je regrette beaucoup

all I mightof done and been

if not for the fear and pain

flying monkeys in my hoofd

coulda, woulda, shoulda's my refrain

I coulda danced with Bolshoi

who says I can't dream that?

but no one would dream with me

and I was so clumsy and also very fat

I shoulda taught at Bank Street

in the village of Greenwich

I'd of walked alongside giants

Maybe even found my long-sought niche

Behind Iron Curtain with commies 

is where I longed to be

all the don'ts, can'ts and prohibitions 

just made it that much more enticing to me

I wanted to pilot an aeroplane

into the blue yonder to fly

now all my courage has fled me

I'll never take to the sky

but all these dreams and ambitions

were mine and mine alone

they only met with scorn by those

who'd never even tried their own

You lack what it takes, they said

better just stay where you are

you're too this, not of enough that

stay a moon, forget Quixote's unreachable star

You'll never cut it

the airborne primates jeered

I wonder what I'd have accomplished

if just one monkey had cheered? 

Why did I let them limit me?

with their nasty slurs and dissing

they didn't care so why should I?

but I let 'em take what I was missing

What was I so afraid of?

Goodness knows I'd failed before

or so they they always told me

the fool and motley on the floor

I had brains and drive in droves

and chutzpah with a smidge of sass

so what I might have failed 

and fallen on my ass?

At least I could say I tried

and if I missed that ring of brass?

It's better than wishing I had

at least my reach exceeded my grasp

Don't tell me not to try cuz 

you've never come to my aid

it's me that'll fall not you

so don't you whizz on my parade

If I'd only gone to Bank Street

If only I'd made an attempt

Now I live with if-onlys 

and a lot of self-contempt

And if I didn't hit the heights

At least I could enjoy the dance

Who knows I mighta flown to Russia

If Id'a let myself take the chance.

I let their shame keep me small

I let it pin my flower to the wall

I wish I'd been a tried-but-failed

instead of a never-tried at all

Oui, je regrette beaucoup...

My rock-n-roll love letter to the Bay City Rollers

This isn't going to be a poem but more of an essay on my obsession with pop band, the Bay City Rollers. When I was about 11 and for a brief period of about 3 years, I was madly, deeply devoted to the tartan lads from Scotland. And I think I'm beginning to see why. I think it was more than just fangirl obsession or puppy love. I think I needed them to give me something I was missing. 

If I'd had a healthier, happier childhood, if in fact, I had a childhood and not an always-adulthood, it would have been like any other crush, here today gone in a week. But my rollermania was enduring. I kissed their pictures when I went to bed like saying my prayers. I got up in the morning with them and they were never far from my thoughts. I waited for each issue of Tiger Beat like a papal encyclical. I learned about how mail ordering overseas works when I bought their UK-release only albums. I named my cat after drummer Derek's dog. I made scones (badly) from their recipe. 

I wasn't known for much in my junior high except my Bay City Roller passion. They were my forte and signature. I wore plaid every day. I didn't have, but longed for, a pair  of high top All-Stars. (Now I have some fake-verse plaid- wannabe low tops, such is life and thank you husband. I go down often  that rabbit hole of memory lane. Slanite.) But I didn't have those amazingly 3M plaid (If-you're-American-and-and-my age-you know-what-I'm talking-about) shoes. 

But plaid converse notwithstanding, I trimmed my trousers in tartan and rolled them up to show off argyll  socks I'd gotten for Christmas from Grama L (forward thinking of her) Until my dad said I looked stupid and to roll them back down. I did but only till he was out of sight. It's the one thing I kind of defied him on. And that's part of what drove me to do it. His constant disdain of me. Run me down if you will but DON'T YOU tread on my Scotch plaid shoes! So what's it all about? ( I feel there's  a Stones song here, like Mother's Little Helper...)

I wasn't looking for a father figure. FER SHUR! They were too young and it would be creepy. I didn't need another dad, having two already. I wasn't looking to belong either. I kind of liked sticking out like a red, blue and green checked thumb. I enjoyed the reputation of being west Michigan's leading authority on the Edinburgh boys, the girl most likely to faint hearing "Shang-a-lang!" Maybe what I wanted was to be different. To have my thing I excelled at. 

There it is. I felt like a failure most of the time. And was made to feel that. I was too clumsy for sports (actually from spinal damage but who cared). My singing voice was choir grade only. And my dad said it was showing off to sing. I was miserable failure at art. My grades were excellent but all that got you in my day was teasing. And there were others with better. But you can't really fail with cult devotion, can you? 

As I look back, their music wasn't really that iconic or great. When bestie Heather suggested that to me, I hissed at her.  With teeth bared. Really! But she is right. It didn't really matter to me that they weren't a Led Zepplin or Jethro Tull. (like I had a radio and my dad would have shat himself if I EVER listened to WLAV anyway). I just liked their bubble gum sweet songs, end of. 

I will say that if they'd played more native songs like "Flower of Scotland" I'd have loved them even more. But I suppose dumbing down roots was more financially correct and folk songs had gone out of vogue by then. Fat lot of good that did them when their manager stole it all anyway. And Anyway, where am I going with this? 

In one of my college lectures we watched a series of talks by sociologist  Morris Massey who posited that "what you are is where you were, when." With Texan televangelist like zeal, he asserts that, simply,  terroir matters. Things that resonate, do so because of your personal time and place. I think that the Bay City Rollers came to me, to misquote Randy VanWarmer, "just when I needed them most." They stayed to help me through some dark nights and when I left without closing the door, they didn't stand in my way. 

Finis. 

(with XXXXXs, OOOOs and thanks to Alan Longmuir (RIP), Les Mckeown (RIP) Stuart  "Woody" Wood, Eric Faulkner, Ian Mitchell (RIP), Pat McGlynn and of course, my beloved Derek Longmuir. You'll never know how much  you meant this girl, many moon ago. I'm not too far from Bay City, Michigan so if you're ever visiting, stop by for some poorly-baked scones!) 

A dark in the lightness, a light for the blind

Let your light so shine

i was told and so i did

i put it on a lampstand

my lil light was never hid

for anyone who was blind

i shone for all to see

anyone who was cold 

could get their warm from me

but my light was covered 

again and yet again

by bushel baskets of dark ladies 

and the darkness of angry men

i don't know why they hid it

perhaps it hurt their eyes?

it was so very bright

for one so small in size

and yet i kept it burning

my lighthouse on the wave

a sinking someone to rescue

some poor lost ship to save

it burns so hot it hurts me

but i'll have to let it scar

i dare not put it out

for it must travel so far

should it be snuffed out

anyone might trip or fall

there are so many in need

and i must reach them all

so come the dark and drear

come the night and fear

come the angry creatures

my light is still here

the terrors they may howl

the tigers they will roar

my little light is shining

hurry and find the door

through dark in the lightness

though the night be blind

i'll shine in the darkness

with this little light of mine

Love always, mar