The Sucker Punch Sweet By and By

What I would write on a postcard from Lake Michigan in fall...

had a fine pine time

with the evergreen queen

and the fir campfire

prettiest ever seen

went a walkin' we

amid the spruce and loon

sung us a juniper jolly  

Michigander tune

waved to the seagulls

settled on the beach

lined up in squadrons

to weather out the storm

nibbled wintergreen berries

that taste of  Clark's gum

us TV age kids don't know

the fruit came first, by gum

we went inside a teepee 

that Mr. Edlund made 

Whitey was his name 

makin wood stuff was his trade

collected flotsom bits and bobs

from God and from man

the good stuff was God's

the litter was from man 

got me a nice rock

wanted some black sand

but with rock and a feather

it wouldn't fit in my hand

he wouldn't carry it

though his pockets were deep

I don't blame him

it probably wouldn't keep

fine, inky silica

of quartz and hematite 

mining waste he said

I call it magic magnetite 

He did carry home

some driftwood we found

small for the rock shelf

the big on the ground

climbed the dune staircase

then a quick rest to take  

watched from a bench

our melted glacier lake 

more fine Whitey products

what a good soul was he

but then I recalled how

he and gramp fooled me 

Had me pee over the bench

when I had to go potty

said it was a special toilet

grama said they were both dotty

(But then she stayed home and would not have wanted to use the woods "convenience" if she had come and wouldn't have known where to take me either. So I guess all's well that ends with relief. Grampa was severely chastised by me when I caught on. But in truth, I'd not have had a better idea. Ah such are memories. Dear God why do those honeyed arugula aches still glow so dull and strong? And I wouldn't write this next on a postcard. 

while benched, we wondered

about Ice Age and Indian

did they walk our same trails

these native folk back when?

talked of ships big and small

boats being favorites of mine

of frigates, canoes and Chris craft

a Greatest of Lakes timeline

one subject led to another

as talks with Opi should do

so much to say, so little time

I think our grandkids get this too

Who's Opi? It's gramp and Omi

is grama in Dutch (that's me!) 

we're all a big part of this

this thing called family tree! 

I call my grandparents theirs (the grands)

and list the greats so they see

that who is who has a place 

on their beautiful family tree 

I know mine would like

being known as Opi and Omi

when my next gen ask why

I say cuz it's YOUR family

But back to my bench (toilet)

so many moons ago

to bring then and now full circle

so that they will all know

I'm  61 now (how did that happen)

I want them to meet little me

when I was still sitting (maybe not that part)

and peeing over my bit of tree

I want to take them all back

all 12 of them if they could but see

how joyous it was for us then 

God, I can't even make me see 

(key change sexy riff)

It's an Irish thing to be lavish

and I'd give all I owned 

to be with Omi and Omi (og)

does nothing else rhyme but stoned??

and it really doesn't matter 

cuz they'd scoff at the expense

they couldn't imagine how I'd give 

life's wages to see them past tense

Oh he liked how we pondered

for a few footsteps in time

we were part of a great march

of mankind and maritime. 

And grama played her part

in my longing for yore

it hurts so much that I 

can hardly bear to open the door

(Is this a retake on Carrickfergus?? Jesus I can hear that damn Van Morrison version playing as I read this. No wonder they added the line about needing a drink!  It fits! Hallelujah I'm Irish, pass the booze. The only part I resonate with. Not really. Why did I say that? I hate that they're called Irish Car Bombs. Bobby Sands??? Pour me another. So less Irish than originally TOLD BY 23andme. But hey, never believed the stats anyway. How could a girl with one Irish granda on the distaff side be 43%, yeah, no. Unless that girl's Dutch relative somewhere...no too tired to figure that one out. Wait till you hear what 23andme says about my Andulsian and Maltese roots after amending their stats in some long hair nonsense I  don't understand. NOW I'm not 43% but only 20% Irish WITH Scots and Welsh WTactual? Well easy Eire easy go. And I like being mostly Netherlander anyway, so, where were we? Sorry... this part is serious and you should be too so.)

I've only just managed to 

hush my O's during sleep 

their dear sweet voices calling 

nearly sent me over the deep

Such a lost little girl was I

so lonesome, lonely and alone

they were my world my all

theirs was the only home 

Jesus it hurts so much to recall

the sucker punch sweet by and by

I could easily drown in memory

it wouldn't be the worst way to die

But I won't because I remember

that I'm a wife, mom and Omi too

and I owe to all my loved ones 

their day in Lake Michigan blue

So let's pause to raise a glass

to the Opis and Omis gone before

thank you for the wonderful days

spent leaving footprints on the shore

 

Trust the toast and the Aqua Velva Man

There's a sense I should rely on

my useful ability to sniff

our noses can teach us much

if we would just take a whiff

The messages in certain smells 

both the vile and very nice

I like how nice ones linger on

while nasties are gone in a thrice

But on the subject of trusting

our noses always know

who can and who can't be 

and to me will always show

when I met my forever him

he was a lovely scented bloke 

of minty breath and Aqua Velva 

and leathery tobacco smoke

I've an addiction to smelling

and to that I must fess up

I study men's odors and read them

like tea leaves in a cup

I judge a man by his fragrance

can't help this kneejerk habit 

it's not his cologne nor perfume

those just confuse or disquise it

there is a je ne sais quoi in

how the air smells around him

I can't explain how nor why 

it's vague but not a whim

Some smell in ways that feel

like a cozy, safe protector

of campfire, printer's ink or toast

or a Super 8 movie projector 

And then some smell of things 

that hit memory blindside

like Old Spice or Basic H

And I want to run and hide

it sounds superstitious, I know

my horoscope of smells

but my nose is uncannily

accurate about what it foretells

morning coffee and Coast soap

and his Aqua Velva blue

Say he's kindly and cares

if not he'll reek of that too

it's not that they stink exactly 

but it's potent just the same

it jars me to places most scary

too scary to give a name

bullies give off in their smells

a loud danger pheromone

warning me to get out

and leave them very much alone

like a snake's marking tells

if he sports red against black

he's not a safe fellow 

you should stay away from Jack

My ken goes below human sense

this instinctive alarm in me

I  guess like a dog I'm wired 

when smell-sirens sound to flee

Then some smells misled me 

Made me think I could trust 

Jean Nate and boiled dinner

found too late they were bust

I didn't heed them before 

much to my hurt and dismay

I didn't run when I should have 

I was taught to heel and stay

But I'm learning to scent read 

the writing on the wall

to get to safer high ground 

before the levies fall

The safe scents were there

But I didn't trust what I should

not that I even knew how

or that I actually could

So I'm learning to smell

peace in the coffee can 

to trust the toast and toothpaste

and the Aqua Velva Man 

 

Ode to oodles of poodle puddles and other nonsense

oodles of poodle puddles

we whispered together with glee

then hooted a gaggle of giggles

my very best friend and me

under the bundle of blankets

all higgledy piggledy pie

we giggly wiggledied

my dearest love and I 

over and over we repeated

our ding-dong dilly sound rhymes

we laughed so hard we choked 

such willy nilly silly billy times

then we'd stop a bit when we had

to be very adult and grave

but one would look at the other

and that'd set off a hoot-howl wave

Scolding to grow up made it worse

Tsk-tsking for childishness is the worst

we tried hard to be grownup but only

managed to cackle till we burst

To the intense ire of old people 

whom we actually are too

we don't intend irreverence but

to stop laughing, just how do you?

our goofies annoyed our teens

which tell the truth was such fun

a leveler of ancient scores

sweet payback for irking they'd done

we tried pulling faces long

biting cheeks did not help

covering our mouths just ended 

in a blasting snort-honk-yelp

we never laugh at other people 

we never mock or ridicule

we've been the butt of mean jokes

that are not funny and only cruel

we laugh at innocent reminisces

the same ones through the years

they bring such joy and mirth 

even sprinkled with some tears

so if you see two grown adults 

wailing and clutching their side 

don't judge us too harshly 

our joie de vivre just won't hide

I spent my whole life having 

to be too serious and mature

to go back to those black days

I could not and would not endure

The pendulum swung too far

to the bleak and gloomy side

now to find balance it must 

in other direction swing wide

Maybe someday we'll quell 

and discover staid sobriety 

for now I'm utterly enjoying 

the good health in hilarity 

Sing an evensong of fog

night fog is my friend

in her grey coat of rain

I'm in her and she's in me

It's then that I feel no pain

Just two gray girls

to us the rain feels fine

actually preferring dark wet

to the bright sunshine

Fog to the benighted 

is dull, ugly and plain

colors all washed out 

to grayscale by the rain

Even the synonyms 

Get us grey girls wrong

so harsh and judgmental

misunderstood is our song

Gray they say is soul-less

passionless, dull and pale

insipid, wan, lifeless 

used up, worn and stale

I say they're short-sighted

the ones without the soul

the boring and the limited

half ones who're never whole

They're not lacking vision

They just refuse to see 

They've blinded themselves 

so they only view in 2D 

They're soldiers not thinkers

tippling the Kool-Aid

being only what they're told 

gullible and well-played

I feel sorry for the poor

dimmed and sightless eye

that leaves without living 

never even able to cry 

Come to the dark blue side 

it's gloaming out right now

we'll meander the dark'ning path

I'll be glad to show you how

For the nicest dreamings

look past the color scale

go beyond the Kodachrome

to the many shades of pale

They're not obvious but

commoner than you think

like fairies, you only miss them

if you turn away or blink

gloom isn't a bad word

as many folks attest

it speaks of quiet settling

ours minds down to rest 

But before we go to sleep

let's take a little peep 

if lovely is what you're after

night is where to seek

beauty in deep woods

silver, purple pearl night

silhouettes of fiddler fern

skeletal in dark light

A shadow box of figures

like bones in an x-ray 

a negative in fogged shroud 

the evening creatures at play

a living zoetrope outside

What larks, Pip, have we

nature's own kaleidoscope

no admission, it's all free

Quick don't miss this

shadow and light trance

the flora and fauna waltz

in their after-hours dance

And the only way to view

is to sit with fog of night

I promise you'll never see

such a magical play of light

Strip down all day colors

past reds, verde and blues

to muted opaque tones

misty-moon and twilight hues

listen to our windchimes

as on the breeze they twing

a private little evensong

hear the faraway bowls sing 

this is the language of the dark

the symphony of bell and chime

the distant wail of night trains

lovely woodland lullaby time

So are you ready to leave

the chromatic world behind?

Just for a short while to

find that foggy state of mind?

Then tell your charcoal story

use words, ink and pen

if you don't like it no worry

you can start all over again

The shadows will still be there

when the colors have gone away

because deep dusk and gloaming 

is always here with us to stay.

Hallelujah, let's be dreamers. 

Happy Birthday to me

Let me preface this poem by saying that while I do appreciate the kind things my now family has done for my birthday, I don't really care for big deals made of it. My family of origin wasn't either. They were more interested in themselves and their other kids. So I'm not used to or comfortable with being the center of attention, especially for a birthday which everyone has one a year. I do,  however, find it a good time to pause, bookmark and consider. 

Why is it some people make 

such a big deal of their day of birth

as if they had accomplished 

some huge feat of priceless worth?

Why do they act so arrogant 

and entitled to crowns worn

instead of just recognizing 

all they did was to be born?

There are probably a lot of reasons

some of arrogance and pride

while others over celebrate

because as kids they had to hide

But strangely the hidden ones

are often the ones who don't 

celebrate themselves at all

while those who should cut back, won't  

There's something very telling 

about someone who celebrates themselves

with great gusto while expecting us  

to behave like their helper elves

It says they see themselves 

as exalted and on a higher plane

it's quite awkward to behold 

when a person is so vain

It's even more difficult for us

who were not celebrated

having to honor too high fliers 

reinforces just  how low we rated

we're already expected to honor 

everyone else at our own expense 

especially the already too puffed up

it's such hypocritical nonsense

Once I got a little boy's toy 

some birthday gift for a girl teen

then expected to share with tots

a free sitter is how I was seen

their birthdays were holy days 

of obligation and I must attend

with costly gifts I couldn't afford

they were so damned easy to offend

A $.25  stinky used shirt 

was good enough for me

they made sure I felt shunned

giving daughter two a new PC

Maybe my rant about birthdays

now makes a little more sense

their greed demanded big bucks

while begrudging me a few cents

gaslighting that I was transactional

it's not just about what we spend

but when I was doing the giving 

I'd better shell out without end

my birthday was a time for them

to humiliate, hurt and shame

I'm just happier to avoid

their crazy and cruel game

The way to heal as I see it

is to see us all as God sees 

The proud and haughty he casts down

while exalting the meek and lowlies

So for my birthday this year

I'm giving myself permission to be

done with catering to big heads

and work on enjoying being me

I'll give if it makes me feel good

but if giving hurts I will not 

the beggars can just keep begging

I've nothing more for that lot. 

God bless the moon and God bless we

I love our earth moon

she shines with ambient light

her job is to guide us to sleep

with her quiet night bright

In daytime we need our star sun

Her energy and broad day light

but come the evening dusk

we need dear moon's twilight

I'm a child of dark light

being a lunar girl suits me

calming souls in darkness

is my own true destiny

I'd rather be reflective 

I'm happy to immerse

I'm just a little satellite

not center of the universe

(thank God)

we each have a light that's true

we can choose to shine or not

but it comes from a higher power

we tend to forget that a lot 

We think we're the alpha and omega

on us God should attend

Like we're gods and goddesses

When it's to Him we should bend

We let delusions blot our light

we get into mischief of all kinds

When we hog the glory and 

get too big in our own minds

when God is in charge

the source, power and light

when we stop blocking him

he gets the job done right

my grandad loved a song

about letting the lower lights burn

so sinking sailors can find hope 

when to that light they turn

God is the lighthouse 

he's the mighty Fresnel lens

But our job's to light the shore

so boats find happy ends

I'm working to keep my 

little birthday candle bright

It's better to start a spark

than curse the dark of night

The moon and me are pals

we each know our place

I'm happy to be the shadow

I'll let the sun light up space

Being a shadow is not bad

unless you're expected to be

just a reflection of other people 

or a piece of property

I'll be moon to God's son

all day and all night

but I'll be damned if let them

alevet again douse my fire light

So that's a contradiction

do I reflect or do I shine?

Well I think it's a bit of both

God's the big light and the little one's mine

Remember Stellaluna the bat?

her names explains the plight

Like her we all are

both moon and starlight

"Let the Lower Lights Be Burning" (Paul Phillip Bliss, sung by Tennessee Ernie Ford)

"I see the moon and the moon sees me" Meredith Wilson

Stellaluna Janell Cannon

I've been to the mountains in a place with no name

I've been to the mountains 

in a place with no name

with faceless, nameless people 

Alone with all my pain

Left behind and out by parents

from wherever it was that they went

a scared little six year old

her mind all busted and bent 

no one said where they went or why

not my known names and faces 

nor unknowns on whom I was dumped

left with strangers in strange places 

they just left without me

without even waving goodbye

in a hurry to be gone

I literally wanted to die

They did this quite often

as I now adult recall

The first time was the worst

I really hit a stone wall

In a place called "camp" 

1000s of miles from home

with no ones and nothings

no number or people to phone

How would I survive

What I'd eat, how I'd sleep or where

that was not their concern

I didn't have anything to wear

no answers were given 

knowing nothing but fright

Didn't even know what to ask 

in the darkest dark night

like nightmares only real

the OG free range kid

who would help I knew not

mostly I just cried and hid

I had a bunk it turns out

But I wasn't to know

no one took time to explain

in their big rush to go

I was the youngest kid by far

The older kids knew what to do

I had no grown up to help

So I hadn't a clue

I have little memory of much

But a pile of logs in the cabin

I thought we could stand them in a circle

and all of us sing inside them 

then kids were buying candy 

from canteen they called it

but parents left me no money

when outta there they lit

a lady found me wandering

and asked why I was sad

I didn't know how to explain

I thought she was mad

Then she understood 

that I wanted candy too

she gave me a dime and a nickel

So I wouldn't be so blue

I don't remember parents 

just being left behind 

and I can't remember her face

just that the lady was kind

Later I was left again

I do remember that place name

the Island of Metlakatla

but the facelessness was the same

No one said why not ever

still haven't to this day

why it was so all fired important

for them to go away

Alaska was supposed to be 

a place to missionary

seems they forgot their first mission

was to poor little ole me 

I would have liked to help

I'd of been a good missionary

But since they didn't take me along

I assumed the problem was me

What terrible thing must I have done

to make them not love nor care

what kind of child is left alone

not knowing with whom, why or where?

Now he's dead so I can't ask

what the hell went wrong

And all she does is lie

and change the words to the song 

Looking back I see it was habit

the camp was not the first when

they abandoned their kid to her fate

it happened again and again

In fact it happened so often

it came as no surprise to me

when they showed up at all

was the biggest shock to see

Wandering alone was the usual 

with no adults to be found

from age four not knowing where

or even if they were around.