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. 

Looking for Lady Serenity

To heal the pain in me

Easy does it does it best.

after years of hurry hurry

it's time for me to rest

But it's a struggle for me

to let hypervigilance go

to stop the all the catering

and go with my own flow

Years of abuse by narcissists

how I despise that word

their shaming and mocking

they're all so bloody absurd

cruel words and dirty deeds

going round in my head

like a record player still skipping

they don't even hush when they're dead

too lazy, selfish and disobedient

when I gave up my life for them all

oh and oversensitive to their "jokes"

how my childish breasts were too small

So now rest don't come easy 

it's difficult to ease my barmy brain

sleep only comes with nightmares

Which just perpetuate the old pain

Whatever this means, I'm trying

to let tranquility be my guide

the proverbial haystack needle

there's very little peace inside

Searching for Lady Serenity 

so my long-lost sister can lead

hoping that together we two

can plant fresh mind seed. 

If he was my dad instead of my husband

What if he was my dad

instead of my spouse? 

I would have had a home

not just lived in their house

I would have had a bedroom

and a cozy-soft warm bed

with pretty pink gingham sheets 

and a fluffy pillow for my head

He would have known and cared

what I was doing, where and when

not ignored and left me wandering alone

He would be a worried mother hen

If I was left unsupervised 

or let wander too far away

he'd be livid with those who did

and send them on their way

He'd watch and keep me near 

And if I went away

he wouldn't rest until

I was home to stay

He'd vet people with wary distrust

He'd ban creep, perv and lout

He'd protect me from weirdos

instead of seeking them out

We'd have tea parties 

with Raggedy Ann and Bear Bears

with popcorn and juice treats

we'd sit on tiny wobbly chairs

He'd cut hotdog pennies 

for my siblings and me 

with toothpick kebabs 

and baloney triangles for tea

He would have held me

proudly on his lap

he'd tuck me in at night

And always bless my nap

he'd have read me stories

and fallen asleep with me in his arms

He'd shield me against evil 

and any and all harms

He would patiently brush and comb 

my Lady Godiva brown hair

He'd have left it grow long

Not chopped it thread bare

he'd paint me piggy toes

with polish of poolside blue

he'd hoik me into my tights 

and kiss my knee booboo

He'd have made sure I knew

and that I'd never forget

I was loved and special

not something to regret

He wouldn't be perfect 

because no parent is

but I wouldn't care 

cuz I knew I was his

I would be wanted, treasured 

whatever I was would be fine

he'd love my imperfections 

even more because they were mine

The Sloop Jack D, my grandaddy and me

A 45's spinning round my head 

My father sang it to me

and now the record is skipping

that ole' Sloop John B

(I feel so done in, I wanna go home

why don't you let me go home, yayay

but I don't know the way)

there was a time long ago

my grandaddy, dog and me

around Michigan town we did roam

I miss you Sloop Jack D

but those crazy tunes only I hear

they all got into a fight

my Irish crying and drinking songs

kept me awake all night

So hoist up the Jack D sails

see how her mainsail sets

what a beautiful boat is she

this is as good as life gets

But captain my captain got drunk

broke into my memory trunk

he took away all my joy

left me with a bunch of junk

where was my grandaddy then?

when his loony son got the fits

when he ate up all my soul

and stole all of my wits?

Get outa my head damn songs

why don't you let me alone?

Can't you see I'm broke up

and I wanna go home

But the Jack D sails are torn

the home I had is gone

the mainsail she's done bust

This is the worst trip I've ever been on. 

Pink uffies and Pooh bears for broken hearts

My youngest daughter had a pink checked blanket called Pink Uffy (softy) that was a well-loved (to the point of threadbare) friend. The eldest Molly had Beeepee, an old soft cloth diaper, well washed don't judge. Also threadbare. She still has it in her Santa bear from Boppa S. Little Albert had a vintage Pooh Bear with a lopsided smile because half the stitching came off and a new nose provided by a friendly veterinarian. Jakey had a succession of Mr New FurFurs known also as new Durdur. 

My husband had Andy Panda and Bear Bear who sit chumily on our bookshelf now in their dotage, secure in the knowledge that they were loved. I did not have a cuddle toy or at least the ones I had somehow disappeared long before I was ready to part with them. In fact a lot, no wait all, of my possessions from childhood to young adulthood, disappeared. Either no one cared enough to keep them for me or maybe they were stolen and sold to buy toys for themselves or their other people.  Or given to "more deserving" kids? One way or the other, none of my things exist anymore except a doll my grandma saved for me. So when the violent, malevolent storms of dark tetrad parents hit, I had nothing to comfort me.

A day late and a dollar short, at 60,  I'm creating a playlist of pink uffys, Pooh Bears, Beepees and Mr. New FurFurs. Hopefully little Marilisa you will feel their belated comfort. All for you, sweetheart. Ain't nobody going to take these not no way not no how.

--Family to be for you but you never had. A loving husband, delightful children and their delightful spouses and partners, and a dozen (count them!) gorgeous baby grands. None of them would be there without you, sweet girl. 

--Annoying and adorable kitty boys and girls, many over the years. And a grand pup and kitten. 

--Enormous, king size gushy soft blankets. Let them wrap you in the love you never felt.

--A big cozy soft bed for sharing, this time by choice. To make up for all the couchsurfing. 

--A ramshackle blue House in need of a lot of repairs but overflowing with love. Let that shelter you and your out-in-the-cold, outside-looking-in houseless homeless memories. 

--Plenty. Of food, nourishment. No expense spared by the now people. No more empty fridges, no more food for others but not for you. You're a priority now. 

--Time. To sleep in. To lay around. No more harsh, demanding lazy people to serve. Now you work with people at your own pace on your own volition, not for them at their command. 

--Beloved books of childhood, shelves and shelves of them from ceiling to floor. All the old friends and more. 

--Toys rediscovered. Reunited, so to speak. Raggedy Ann and her Andy. Forest Friends. Music boxes. 

These can't fix the past. That hurt's there to stay, in a corner of your heart where no key can open. But the now is good enough for now. Would I trade a better then for a worse now? Not on  my life. But it would have been nice...

Of Rainy-Soft SunDays and Pickle Teas

sunny days are fine and dandy

for times of toil and strain

but for days of labors' ease 

I love the Sundays of rain

Can't work on those soggy days

it's too wet, what's the use

so to rest the weary self

One has the perfect excuse

Sundays that are sunny

seem somehow a little wrong

they feel busy and hectic like workdays

we should be singing a quieter song

And on this business of naming

I'll digress a bit if I may 

if it's inclement on the Sabbath

why do we call them Sun day?

but then, what shall I call them

these Sundays of moisty dark gray?

my never-poetic-but-once dad

dubbed them, nicely, a soft day

I had a shadow colored cat

she was invisible in soft day rain

and she only reappeared 

when the sun came out again

my sweet soft day cat

by the name of Misty Blue

in her little coat of fog

camouflaged by cloud and dew

foggy dew cat went to heaven 

as so many dear pets do

my dad is there with her

now I have folks and cats anew

My now people love soft days too

from the tallest to the small

to wonder talk on a wander walk 

might be our favoritest time of all

down drizzly dunewood trails

with notes of sand, fir and pine

we're tented from the rain

in our evergreen tree shrine

Soft days are also for read-alouds 

such as Paddle to the Sea

around an old Formica table

with a gallon of pickles for tea 

Or in cellar with chocolate chips

reading Sherlock Holmes Devil's Foot 

not sure if kids had lost the plot

or if the point of reading it was moot

When on pausing to inquire Re: above

eight saucer eyes and O-mouths agreed 

though each was terrified witless

the children demanded  "MOM READ!"

Such are my soft day memories  

of dills and tramps of many a mile

such joy in our shabby-happy home

when time kindly halts for us awhile

From the desks of Moishe and Mordecai

 
Meet my two black cats 

<--Moishe and Mordecai

two funny little fellows

to describe them I will try

They're quite entitled

so cocky, furry and sleek

They think we are their staff

They're not so very meek! 

But yanno I wouldn't have 

them any other way

even their naughty antics

honestly make my day

when from the shelter they came

one fine October day

they never once looked back

and never went astray

Oh sure they get the zoomies

and occasional urges to roam

Moishe wandered a bit

but he quickly came back home

it's true that Mord's a stinker

in fact he's a thieving brat

but still for all we love him

this light-pawed little cat

you always know where he is

by noises of things crashing 

as he pushes stuff off the counter

he partial to sounds of glass smashing 

and then there's us yelling

as he thuds to the floor

he somehow gets the treats

while we get the cleanup chore

he has zero conscience

we've concluded with defeat

without at least one cat-astrophe

his day is not complete

Moishe is loud and bossy

when to the basement he goes 

But he makes up for it with 

all the affection that he shows 

I've learned quite a lot

from my two kitty boys

to take my pleasures where I can

and celebrate the simple joys

So what's one jar among friends?

what's one stinky pickle-y mess?

not such a big hairy deal

if it gives them such  happiness

Mord, this is no excuse for breaking 

and at you we will still exclaim

Moishe, you'll get a scold too

as you profit from his ill-gotten gain

But it's also a lesson on battles

those worth fighting and those that are not

what counts is loved ones including cats

and we're thankful for who we got