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 the very ones who don't 

celebrate themselves at all

while those who should tone it down, won't  

There's something very telling 

about someone who celebrates themselves

with great gusto and expects others 

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

those of us not celebrated

to have to honor the proud

it reinforces just  how low we rated

we already expected to honor 

everyone else at our own expense 

especially the already too puffed up

it's such hypocritical nonsense

 

The way to heal as I see it

is to see us all as God sees 

The proud and haughty he casts down

and exalts the meek and lowlies

So for my birthday this year

I'm giving myself permission to be

done with catering to big heads

I'm working on little ole me

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 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

folks forget that a lot 

We think we're the alpha and omega

on us God should attend

Like we're the.gods and goddesses

When this to Him out knees 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. 

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

Who do you say that i am?

Jesus asked his disciples

who do people say I am?

then he asked them again 

who do YOU say that I am?

Ostensibly he hoped to be

understood as the Messiah

unfortunately most people 

only saw him as a pariah

Was our Lord having an

identity crisis of some kind?

as in those dark hours

he struggled in his mind

I understand his pain

perhaps confusion too

it's hard to comprehend purpose

when everyone turns away from you

Who am i, I never wondered

it wasn't given me to ask

This was for others to decide

mine, the knuckling under task

So, I ask like Emmanuel

who do you say I'm supposed to be?

If Marilisa isn't good enough

You tell me then, who is she?

Is she just sister, daughter, slave?

Your minion, drudge or drone?

Evidently she's isn't meant to have

any kind of life to call her own. 

Selah. But wait...

it doesn't seem right to end 

this little ditty here

it's a pretty bleak assessment

but if I'm honest, also clear

It probably should have 

a big Halleluiah chord

some resolving great Amen

maybe that would that please the Lord?

cuz it ain't just me I don't know

I also have no idea of Him

we've talked of this before

in my odes so very grim

don't get me wrong, I'd love to end 

with promises and prayer emojis

gushy kisses and smiley hugs

but i'm fresh out of all of these 

I wish I could offer you

Vera Lynn and keep smilin thru

Dunkirk spirit and all that jazz

I'm trying to mend, and make do

I've packed up my troubles 

got me Lucifer and fag

but for all I've smiled at problems

they've worn clean thru me ole kit bag

And maybe you don't want it anyway

secret chords and cheery attitudes

maybe you don't like that kind of music

Maybe you and God hate cheezy platitudes 

if so, that's good to hear

can't we just admit it's such a bore

all i got's pukka real and honest

and honestly not much more

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: Enterprising alphabet Master Makes Extra Terrific Tableaus (some of them dance the can can)

Moses: Man Of STEM and Excavators and Snakes (good cook too)

Remus: Reaper and Eater of Mainly Underripe blueberry Specimens (and all around 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 pirate lover)

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

Lola: Lovely dancer Of baLlet Arabesque (and prima artiste)

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

Maximus: Madly And eXtremely Interested 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?

I'd rather just let them be

and sweet alyssum always makes 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 place to live life slow?

It's 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 folks 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 alone with my pain. 

To be united with our 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 way too 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

but the only that's flown is my courage 

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 load 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 shaming 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 man bossing me around, 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 back then was teasing or requests to copy your answers. I should have given them all the wrong answers. Plus there were others with better grades anyway. 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 anyway and my dad would have shat himself purple if I EVER listened to WLAV). I just liked their bubble gum sweet corny 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!) 

From 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 hakken-krakks do howl

and the tigers they will roar

my little light is shining

please hurry and find the door

through dark in the lightness

though the night she is blind

i'll shine in the darkness

with this little light of mind

Love always, mar

My road to Shambhala

I wanna go to Shambhala

I wanna wash away my pain

I need the healing Waters 

To cleanse me from this shame

Sister got the eyes with flowers

a shambhala state of mind

Won't you show me, brother?

where everyone is so kind? 

I gotta climb the Himalaya

but I can't go it on my own

I need a someone with me

so's I'm not so awful all alone

you say people there are helpful 

and there's always room for more

i need to find the entrance

so I can' open up hope's door

but the flowers they have blinded

Will you guide me, friend?

I got to find that peace

To make this grieving end

  

My little light is shining 

she's burning oh so bright 

If you'll go along with me 

We can end the endless 3 dog night

--thank you Three Dog Night for this song that gave  hope to a 9 year old girl (Photo courtesy of Dunhill Records - 45vinylvidivici.net)

Let justice roll down like tears

there is no peace on earth

that's a bill we've been sold

no justice this side of heaven

nothing like what we've been told

no closure definitely no righting 

no great leveler of scores

just ruins of smashed structures 

and endlessly slammed doors

no answers only more questions

no thing that makes any sense

no one gives a fat rat's 

nor cares a tinker's tuppence

it's never done, it's only over

nothing completed just all spent

finished puzzle never seen

pieces all busted up and bent

no winners only fields of losers

no awarding of  laurel wreath

no hearing job well done, love

only kicked square in the teeth

cuz everyone's a critic

they all want their pound of flesh

even death doesn't end them

they just tighten up the mesh

no solving nor even salving

your wounds and your pain

don't look here for a solution

maybe move on, try again?

there's no medicine in the cabinet

for what ails there's no pill 

you're much worse than we thought

and no drug for your kind of ill 

we have nothing to offer you

you're at the end of the rope

it's quite hopeless we fear

but don't you dare lose hope

clutch at all false promises

hang on to thin air

grasp at offered straws 

don't you kick away the chair 

it gets better we think

though we're never sure how

we've experienced nothing like it

we just know you'll manage

somehow

so look to the heavens

or look here or everywhere

if you find it hurrah

if not we really don't care

cry out to someone or no one

it don't matter, no one'll hear 

cry alone outside in the cold

you just don't matter my dear

that's what I always heard

but what they said was wrong

at least I hope they were

that's the burden of my song

"I look to the heavens from whence cometh my help." Psalm 121

"Surely I wait for the Lord who bends down to me and hears my cry." Psalm 40:2

 "Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream." Amos 5:24

Marilisa, Come Home

Marilisa has been long gone 

her life a lightless night

she's always been right here

but lost in plain sight

it's time for her

to come home now

long passed time in fact

but she doesn't know how

she knows outside looking in 

seeing not having, wishing to enter

but never any room

sorry we're full nothing for you

her mat read "Unwelcome" 

So she learned to keep small

to use the servant's entrance

do their  jobs, do them all

excluded, left out 

except for the work

nothing more than a tool 

left to rust in the yard

so she quit wishing then hoping

never wanting any more

when did wishing ever 

make them open the door?

she doesn't know where to enter

only where the exit is

she doesn't understand welcome  

let alone that she is

she got used to going solo

accustomed to hurt and scare

well ferberized,  left to fend

cries unheard, needs given no care

now she's never not worried 

so we have to tread with care

if we startle her, she'll bolt

and run off, all fears laid bare

but she really should  come in

we want her in here

it's well past her time

we must make her hear

maybe if we call real soft 

and leave the door ajar

she'll creep out and find it open,

and come in to where we are

Let's try and see if she'll answer 

she's ever so scared she may run away

but if we're gentle and patient

hopefully she just might stay

Softly now, "Marilisa, come home

it's safe and warm inside

we don't want you alone

it's bad and dangerous outside

you'll catch your death 

it's freezing there tonight

in this winter's bone cold

won't you come in to fire and light?

Come home, come in right now

this is your home too, my dear

no more unwelcome house of others

with no heat nor bed nor love near

There's plenty of room for you here

a loving and glad place to be

a Marilisa shaped space 

that nobody else can fill but thee

no angry adults to please 

you please us more than enough,

you're fine as you are, sweetie

time to quit sleeping rough

here it's right side round 

adults are grown up, they care for you

moms mother and dads father 

and kids are just kids here

you don't have to earn or pay

your money here's no good 

it's all freely given, little child

just as it always should 

come to your place at the table

fill a plate and take your seat

it's all for you and you're hungry

so hurry up, come and eat

Here's your bed soft and cozy

with Jo-Jo, blankie and bear

they're all waiting just for you

they've made a nest for you there

Your Jesus night light is on

no need to worry or fear

climb in, snuggle up it's okay

I'm always ready and near 

God, me and the angels 

will  keep watch as you sleep. 

float away to dreamland

and may your dreams always be sweet

We'll listen to hear if you wake

or cry out in the night

I'll run to comfort and soothe

so rest your head and sleep tight

Winter Wonder Wanders

"Time of Wonder" by Robert McClosky details his memories of a Maine island summer. My favorite times of wonder are spent in the dunes of the Big Lake in Michigan. Here's another Omi Ode to my beloved winter wander wonders by the lake. It's written from my 7-year-old self. At 60, all I can think of  is to stay warm in glacial cold winters. Back then, I'd have built a fort and lived outside, winter, spring, summer or fall. Picture is now.

summer wonder walks with grampa 

were warm and lake water wet

we walked through the dune woods 

and swam in the waves of the big lake

fall was for chilly forest tromps

collecting acorns, moss and leaves

smelling someone's campfire perfume

and watching animals ready for winter

winter was snowy white wonder wanders 

through the back dune woods 

with ruddy cold-chapped cheeks 

and lent hankies to wipe drippy noses 

of grampa's check-red coat

and ear-flap hat and 

grama scolding him 

to make me wear my scarf

of little kitten me losing mittens 

of hating itchy knit hats

to say nothing of long soggy scarves

or sweaty scratchy coats

of plastic bags in boots 

to keep my feet dry

and peanut butter kisses 

and wintergreen berries to snack on

trudging through wet snow

making the first and only

people footprints that day 

on tinsel-bright cake-frosting snow

lugging the old wooden toboggan

with gray mattress ticking seat

and cozy musty smell of attic

when snow was light enough to sled

me wanting a speedy saucer

but grampa said "try it like I did as and kid"

on Hollister hill in Grand Rapids

and so we did

sledding till we were starved

and cold and wet and tired

ready for braunschweiger sandwiches 

and a fire in the basement

walking back in the footprints 

we made on the way there

leaving nothing but those

taking only memories and 

some nifty driftwood back home