Equality

Equality I

Equality means
different things to
different people.
To me it is often
an overused buzz
word that can be
tossed into a speech
to achieve a particular
effect with an audience.
After all, who could
be against equality?
Clap your hands for
equality! Then ask your
neighbor what she is
clapping for.


Equality II
Equality is a myth, an illusion.
People are not equally intelligent,
equally creative, equally beautiful.
People do not have equal
opportunties.This would be
ideal, but ideal is not reality.


Equality III

We can legislate equality,
claim it for ourselves with pride:
Equal rights for men and women
equal rights for every race
equal rights for straight and gay
equal rights for every religion,
equal rights for young and old,
but legislation does not change
the hearts and minds of people.


Equality IV
Equality is experienced by young children
who do not see race, religion, economics, sex,
but only see whether another child wants to play.

The Field

Shared for Big Tent Poetry (..... "You get the picture, right? Childhood memories, king (queen) of the mountain, Tarzan and Jane fantasies, fear of heights …  "  )

The Field

Behind my house
there is a field
filled with tall, sticky weeds
rocks big enough to sit on
grasshoppers, crickets
and an occasional mouse.

The field is a baseball diamond
where nightly battles are waged
beneath the setting sun and awakening moon
with only mosquitoes as spectators.

The field is a teeming jungle
occupied by snakes and tigers
which we bravely fight against
with slingshots, squirt guns, and sticks.

Wars are waged in our field
beneath the scorching midday sun
with only the foxhole and apple tree
for protection from the evasive enemy.

The field is a peaceful graveyard
for dead dogs, birds, and squirrels.
Stick crosses are solemnly erected
only to be crushed during the evening ball game.

In our field we net the largest butterflies
dig the longest night crawlers
eat the juiciest apples
and rest in the most secluded spot.

But every August the man with his tractor comes
to mercilessly cut the field
as we watch in tearful silence
while our special place is destroyed.

We still play in the field after that
but it isn’t the same somehow.
It just isn’t the same.

Willow Ball - September 30

What fun to be attending the Willow Ball this evening.  Actually I didn't have to look hard for a date as Paul Newman asked ME.  Of course, I gave him a bit of a hard time (tease that I am) before accepting his most gracious invitation!  OOoooohhh those eyes!

For the ball, I decided to wear a black and white zebra print dress to bring out the animal in me (and Paul).  Oh, I am blushing now.

And along with the dress I chose this lovely diamond necklace.  I hoped it would not overpower the dress, but I decided to take the risk.  And I thought Paul would like it.

My shoes for the evening will be silver with ornamental jewels.  Oh dear, I hope my feet won't hurt in these.  But perhaps when Paul sweeps me off my feet, it will take away any pain.

In case the evening had a chill in the air, I decided on a black faux fur evening shawl.  Gentleman that he is, I know that Paul would willingly drape it around my shoulders.

My evening bag is jeweled, also with the zebra motif.

Paul promised that he would pick me up early, so we could take a spin in his Lamborghini Gallardo.  I am so excited!

What a wonderful evening it will be!  I can hardly wait to spend time with Paul and everyone else in attendance!  See you there!

Color Schemes

I wrote two poems for We Write Poetry.  The prompt was 'color schemes.'  In the first poem, I used many colors.  A bit of nostalgia.  Some of you may understand.  The second poem is monochromatic but me. Strongly me.  I might consider myself monochromatic, unashamedly.

#1

Hot Pants

Red and white hot pants
too short, but never mind,
sexy and oh so hot, forget
the day, it's night now.

No one will know, trust me,
your secret is safe.  Black boots
complete the outfit, uncomfortable
but shiny. Dance your heart out

beneath strob lights that pulsate
to the music. Sex. Strong.
The beat is important. Never
mind words. Blue, red, green,

lots of white. Everyone dances,
drinks, smiles, looks the same,
looks good on the dance floor
under artificial light.. Never

mind tomorrow if tomorrow
comes. Tonight is the night,
the only night.  Dance. It
is your only chance. Tonight.


#2

Blue

Blue dreams of sapphire out of reach,
mirrors the heavens beheld in prayer.
calms, but yearns, reaches high.

Blue cools, yet blue sky brings sun
so bright my aqua eyes must
be shielded. Blueberries so sweet.

Blue inspires poetry, calms,
is confident, benevolent. Blue ribbon
tops all, even the blues.

Blue is bliss, beach at Waikiki.
Blue jays, Blue bonnets, me.
Blue me. Bury me in blue jeans.

A Day in the Park

I wrote this poem for Writers' Island.   I wrote it in a whimsical way, ala Shel Silverstein, whom I absolutely adore.  I thought I had a book of his here, but I couldn't find it if I do.  Shel often wrote from the point of view of a child, so I wrote this from the point of view of my granddaughter.  I think Shel would approve.


A Day in the Park

Let's take a walk down the street today,
I'll push my babies so they can play.
You take the dog so she can come too,
we'll have fun together, me and you.

We'll go to the park, babies can slide,
then we'll take them to the swings for a ride.
You can hold one, I'll hold the other,
together we'll be the perfect mother.

Next we'll play on the merry-go-round,
I'll ride with babies, you push us around.
When babies are tired back home we'll go.
I think I'll be tired, we'll have to walk slow.

By then the babies will want a nap,
maybe they'll fall asleep on my lap.
I won't want to rest, I'll watch TV.
I don't like  to sleep, no not me.

A Walk in Autumn

This is a variation of the haibun form    Haibun Form     written for Big Tent Poetry September 24 and also submitted for Poets' United Thursday Think Tank, September 23.  A simple definition of a halibum (found if you follow the link above) is:   "Haibun is the Japanese name for 17th Century poet-monk Basho Matsuo's poetic-prose travel journals which were studded with haiku "   My poem is below.  I really like this style and think I will be using it often.

 

A Walk in Autumn

It is early morning. I walk along the forest trail with my dog. All around me I see the signs that fall approaches. Leaves turn orange. Some brown, already on the ground. They crackle beneath my feet. Flowers have dropped or are no longer fresh. Death is on the horizon. Chill is in the air. My dog sniffs the earth.


The strong maple tree
with leaves of orange and yellow
shades me as I walk

I see a deer. No, wait, there are three. Still as statues, they watch me as I pass. One is a fawn, so beautiful and gentle. Innocent in the wild, trusting its mother, the protector. I try not to make a sound. My dog does not bark. Amazing.

The fawn studies me
does not know if I am friend
or a foe to fear

I pass the small lake, the one that birthed pollywogs last spring. Now I don't even see frogs. Where do frogs go in autumn? The ducks must have have flown south, but the blue heron remains, glides on the water, awaiting the call to go. My dog stays with me, gladly.

So much life goes south
only hardy survive here
but all will return

Rules

This was written for We Write Poems.

Rules

Rules, rules, rules,
she believed in the
importance of rules.

She followed the rules
for bringing up children,
still they went astray.

She followed the rules
on the job, but a trickster
received the promotion.

She followed the rules
of marriage, but her
husband had an affair.

She followed the rules               
of the road but was hit
by a drunk driver.

She followed the rules
of healthy living but died
of a brain aneurism.

Rules, rules, rules
she believed in the
importance of rules.

Life

LIFE

Life is good
I am who I am
I am a good person
surrounded by good people.

I will enjoy each day
every experience I encounter
every person I meet
I meet for a reason

I will do what I can do
that is all I can do
I cannot do everything
but what I do I wil do well.

I will try to be patient
with myself and others
even when it is hard.
I will hold my tongue

if something upsets me
because  I know that
in the big picture
it is unimportant.

I will try to relax
try to slow down
accept what cannot change
live with what is.

I will live this moment
love this moment
it is all that I have.
Life is good.

Fishing With Dad

(This poem was written for Writers Island .)

Fishing With Dad

When I was a kid I loved fishing trips with Dad.
The night before we searched for night crawlers
in the backyard, with a hose a flashlight.
I used the flashlight. He pulled the worms.

The following morning we arose early, and Dad
drove us to the small lake. He rented a small boat,
attached his small outboard motor, and out we
went to find the right place to fish. He put the worm
on my hook.I didn't want to touch the worm.

I loved to watch my pole, loved it when I felt the tug
of a fish, loved pulling it in. Excited, I pulled it out
of the water. Then my dad took the fish off the hook.
I didn't want to touch the fish. Dad attached a new worm.

We fished for a few hours until the worms were gone.
Fish filled the small bucket. Dad carried the bucket of fish
we caught to the car. I carried the poles. No worms.
At home in our backyard he cleaned the fish .I didn't watch
They smelled, and I couldn't stand to look at the guts.

Mother fried the fish. I didn't like the smell that
permeated the house. I didn't eat any fish, had
hamburger instead, though my parents said they
were the best fish ever. I preferred breaded perch
served at VFW Friday night fish fries. But I hoped
Dad would fish again soon. It was so much fun.

Mortality

Above photo is Mya walking with her 'baby.' She is a good mother!


Mortality


Mortality is. It just is.
I used to not think about it.
Now I think about it a lot.
Today I played tea party with Mya
who does not think about mortality
or much beyond the moment.
She pretends so wonderfully,
but sometimes it all seems so real..
I get into pretending with her too.
Have another cup of tea, a cookie.
How about a cup of soup? Coffee?
I pretend I will live forever.
I pretend so will she.

Sometimes With a Child

The following poem is written with all of the words above.  It is a "wordle" for the Big Tent Poetry prompt this week. I am really not a big fan of wordles, as I think I / others end up with poems that really don't have a lot of substance; but I know some people really like them.   Anyway, here is my 'wordle' for this week.

Sometimes With a Child


Sometimes with a child
I prefer to skirt a difficult issue
even when the evidence is firm
I prefer to embellish the truth

in a positive way rather than
hurt a child with debris
of his own mistakes and
half-eaten sandwiches

best trashed, not mentioned.
He is a child, after all, and
will eventually have to answer
for himself when his ship

must dock in plain view and
his backbone is fully grown,
I want him to chant positives
not be overcome by a swarm

of temporary negatives. When
 he asks why, I will answer simply
I love you. I always will.

Arms of Love

(This poem was written today for a Poets United prompt.  I have worked through it a few times, but will undoubtedly find more work to do.  All true.  The art gallery opening I refer to was a week ago today.)


Arms of Love


They stand at the wall during the gallery opening.
a happy couple, married fifty years, lived a good life.
They smile, look comfortable, share this special time,
lean on one another. So much love shows in his eyes.
three children, all successful, and now grandchildren.
This time of their life should be such a special time.

My cousin is a retired executive for a multinational,
respected, ambitious, honest, tennis player, traveler,
church goer, opinionated yet kind, a good man..

His wife is a former concert pianist, opera singer,
outgoing, with beautiful clothes, perfect hair,  knows
the right thing to say, makes others feel comfortable.

I remember him, my cousin, from my childhood.
He babysat for me, played with me as no others did.
One morning when I was six years old, I awoke,
found him standing at the foot of my bed.
I said Where's Mom? and he said, At Grandma's.
Grandma died last night. I said, Why didn't she
wait until I could say good-bye?

He went to college, then into the army, was stationed
in Korea after the war, brought my half-Korean sister
home with him to my parents and me when his tour of
duty ended. I'll never forget that day long ago, when the
tall uniformed man left the plane carrying the little girl.
He carried her with the arms of love.

But now he stands next to the wall at the gallery
with his wife. I venture to talk with them, excited.
It had been a while since I saw them. Hello,
how are you? He holds his wife closer to him.
Hi Mary, so glad you're here. And then she begins
to speak. Her eyes lock with mine as she talks.

I try to say something. She talks over me. And fast.
Changes the subject. Her words don't make sense.
Her words have no bearing on today, reality, anything.
She knows who I am, I think, but cannot be sure.
She speaks in a voice of importance, then confiding.
I try to respond. It doesn't matter what I say. Her
words take yet another turn. I try to smile, talk to him.
Not possible. Her eyes still lock mine. Awkward.
Family has not acknowledged, so I keep up the facade.
I listen, smile, want to escape, don't wish to be rude,
but don't wish to be trapped like this either.

No rescuer appears. No one else approaches. Perhaps
everyone knows, avoids. His arm holds her close. I see
an almost imperceptible slight grimace cross his face
as she talks on yet another tangent. He is kind.
He loves her, doesn't want me to know. I do. I know
what he will not acknowledge, what no immediate family
member acknowledges. All smile. I am sad that his life,
her life took this turn. I say nothing important at all.

I have no words. I say good-bye, take my leave abruptly,
as there is no other way. And now I watch them together
across the room, his arm around her shoulder.
He smiles, holds his wife close with arms of love.

Never As It Seems

My poem (below the picture) was written for We Write Poems.  It uses a line from the lyrics of Fireflies by Owl City. 

Fireflies - Owl City - You Tube

The line I chose is:  "Everything is never as it seems." 

Never As It Seems

Everything is never as it seems when
what you think you'll find when you turn
the corner develops into something else
and the world turns topsy turvy right

before your eyes. The moustached man
with balloons rises above the trees,
squirrels converse with the butterflies,
and autumn leaves turn violet and blue

then disintegrate in a burst of white light
that returns to earth as shooting stars..
Dreams become reality, reality dreams.
people grow taller than trees, Wolves

are tame and peep, and chickens rule the forest
with their howls, yowls, and sharp teeth.
Stones transform to mushrooms, mushrooms
to stones, rivers swell upstream to mountains,

and waterfalls flow up. Snow falls in summer
never melts, turns to green grass but you
never need to mow and abnormal is normal
when everything is never as it seems.

I'd Like to Believe

This poem was written for We Write Poems. We had to take a line or lines from Fireflies by Owl City and start our poem with it.   The lines I chose were:   

"I'd like to make myself believe
that Planet Earth turns slowly."

You Tube - "Fireflies" - Owl City

To Believe

I'd like to make myself believe

...that Planet Earth turns slowly

and there will be ample time

to accomplish all I want.

...that I will live to an advanced age

with no illness and sound mind

until the moment I die in no pain.

...that peace is possible for

people of all races, religions,

in all countries and they could

really learn to get along.

...that best choices will be made,

good will triumph over evil,

right over wrong every step of the way.

I'd like to make myself believe.

Meltdown

              Meltdown


She asked me to help fasten her necklace
and I tried to do it, though it is so hard for me.
I made a mistake, somehow put latch in wrong
and all was twisted, and I could not take it out.

I thought I knew how to do it, but I did not.
I tried to push on the latch with a knife to release it.
It didn't work. She was angry. We had to leave,
and her necklace was twisted. I said she could

go to a jewelry store. They could fix it, but
there was little time. I don't get how to do
these things. I screamed Never ask me to
do this again. She said I never will.

I kept trying even though she didn't want me to.
I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong.
Maybe if I saw it when it was not stuck around
her neck. I was panicked. Helpless. Scared.

It was getting late. We needed to leave. I said
Maybe my daughter can fix it. She'll be here soon.
I was angry. She was angry too. I couldn't help.
I am not good with jewelry things. Hate clasps.

Meanwhile it was uncomfortable around her neck,
twisted, tight, wrong. The minutes were long,
heavy, tense until my daughter arrived and was
without any problem able to undue the clasp.

Easy! Fifteen seconds all fixed. Necklace on,
clasped correctly, comfortable, beautiful. Breathe.
She won't ask me to help with a necklace again.
Fine. Some things I'm not good at. I wish I were.

Conversation

(Written for Big Tent Poetry)

Conversation

He says --

My mother says I'm like my father,

lame, lazy, don't help with anything.

I say--

You're ambitious, not lame, work hard,

and you always help me when I ask.

He says--

But I don't help my mother

even when she asks.

I say--

Well then I guess you should.

There are many things you can do.

Let's think of them.

I think --

Please don't plant seeds he's like his father.

He's not, but if by your words you lead him

in that direction, that will be so wrong.

Safe Beds

Safe Beds

In warm beds in rooms with

white walls and ceilings we sleep

comfortable in safe homes

where we awake

each morning to a benign world

and say a prayer for our countrymen

who rest in sand beds across the ocean

rows of trucks as walls,

dusty sky as ceiling,

brave soldiers a sea away from home

who serve without complaint

surrounded by enemies on every side,

their sleep disturbed by

sporadic missiles, guns, gas, suicide

missions, those who wish

them dead as they dream

of family, a shower,

home cooked food, and

comfortable safe beds in

rooms with white walls.

Someday

Someday

(for We Write Poems)

There is no longer anything important
someone needs to know about me.
I am a nobody on a faceless sea.
I am on the downside of dreams,
try to hold on as long as I can,
pretend I can live forever, maybe I will.
But if I look beyond the clearing
I see the dense forest with gnarled trees,
know the forest will move closer with time.

And you? You are quite the same as me.
You may not acknowledge it yet. No one
likes to. You may think, as I once did,
you'll set the world on fire, make a mark.
Keep your dreams if you want to, no harm
done, but I know that you too are enroute
to the dense forest with gnarled trees.
We'll meet there like it or not. Someday.

The Littlest Swimmer

The Littlest Swimmer

Every day you swim with your pink arm floaties
or sometimes a noodle, You ride on a little raft,
then float on your back. Pool balls are your friends,
and kickboards are pizzas to deliver. You laugh,

splash, kick to propel yourself, chatter. We play
tag, ring around the rosy, and your big smile stays.
on your face as long as you are in the pool. When
you hang out at the pool ladder, hum a mindless

tune, I know it's time to leave the water for today.
Heartbroken, you sob. Tears run down your face.
Indignant, you sob I'm not tired. I'm not tired.
But I’m not convinced. I take off your Dora suit,

dry you as you cry. I put dry clothes on you,
tears line your face. I carry you, no longer crying,
upstairs, put you in your little bed. You sleep
soundly, swim without floaties in your dream.

Hope

                   Hope

She talked to me yesterday about her daughter.
She doesn't know where she lives, she has no job,
didn't come home for her son's second birthday,
the child she birthed but is incompetent to raise.

She cried about all she had experienced when
daughter was in high school, ran away, stole, was
hospitalized for mental illness. There's a warrant
for daughter's arrest, she sobbed with despair.

We shared stories about many troubled children
what parents went through, where children are now.
Some stories inspire, some do not. She prays for a
breakthrough. Hope and a grandson are all she has.

My Belief

My Belief

I believe in God,

that I am not God.

I believe God is

a loving God

yet He will judge.

I let judging

to God, just try

to be the best

I can be and

to love the

best I can.

End of Summer

End of Summer

The ground roses in pots are in full bloom.
I observe them from the pool I play in
with the children, but know it won't be long

until it will be closed for the winter, covered,
waiting for the ice and snow. I want to swim
every day now if I can. End of summer is near.

The beach ball is partially deflated. Is it worth
while it to inflate it this time of year? Why
bother. My grandson is already back in school,

but I will swim with my granddaughter if it is warm..
The hanging pots I can see are past their prime
but still look beautiful in the sun, must be watered

daily so they don't wither. The grill was used once
all summer. We used to grill often, now hardly grill
at all. The riverfront birch is already losing leaves.

The rose of sharon has beautiful blooms, and
the shrub roses are full and spectacular. I'm sad
about the end of summer. Beauty now but

coming to an end. In a blink of an eye the yard
will be blanketted in white. I wonder sometimes
how many more summers I will know. And weep.


The ground roses

Shrub Roses

 
Rose of Sharon
 

Chocolate

Chocolate

Chocolate

Chocolate cake

Chocolate pudding

Chocolate chip cookies

Chocolate ice cream

Chocolate muffins

Chocolate syrup

Chocolate éclairs

Chocolate kisses

Chocolate milk

Hot chocolate

So many ways

to indulge.

Only a Match

Only a Match

I will not set the world on fire.
or I would have achieved it by now.
I used to hope it would be possible
to at least be a visible flame.

But I've struggled to light a candle
in the ever blowing wind, and at the
moment I am hopeful it will light
A gust extinguishes it again.

I will have to settle for making an effort,
for a match that stays lit a moment or two.
There have been some valiant attempts,
brief visibility before extinction to a few