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 clumsy and fat

I shoulda taught at Bank Street

in the village of Greenwich

I'd of walked alongside giants

Maybe even found my niche

Behind the Iron Curtain

is where I longed to be

Don'ts, can'ts and prohibitions 

just made it more enticing for 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, was said

better just stay where you are

you're too this and not enough that

stay a moon, forget the 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 others 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

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 bit 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

and pin my flower to the wall

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

than 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. I trimmed my trousers in tartan and rolled them up to show off argyll  socks I'd gotten for Christmas from Grama L. 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. His constant disdain of me. Run me down if you will but DON'T YOU tread on my Scotch plaid shoes! 

I wasn't looking for a father figure. 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. 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 little light 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

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 alone

you say people are helpful 

and there's always room for more

i need to find the entrance

and open the hope door

but the flowers they have blinded

Will you guide me, friend?

I gotta 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 such comfort to an 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

it just is, so we've been told

no closure and no righting 

no leveler of scores

just ruins of smashed structures 

and endlessly slammed doors

no answers only 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 just over

nothing completed just all spent

finished puzzle is never seen

pieces all busted up and bent

no winners only fields of losers

no awarding of the laurel wreath

no hearing job well done, love

only kicked square in the teeth

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 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 false promises

hang on to thin air

grasp at offered straws 

don't kick away the chair 

it gets better we think

though we're not 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 in the cold

you don't matter my dear

"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 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 

of 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 feet dry

and peanut butter kisses 

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 we did as kids"

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