Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.231

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

When I was a child my utmost dream was to be recognized, famous.
I determined that it is rather a curse, not a joy, for it impedes freedom.
Being a hippie I relish my seclusion and communal time; I revere it.
If photographers were hopping all over my house I could not bear it.

I allowed my childhood fame dream to float casually down the brook,
Knowing that I can forever write my truth without public criticism.
I paint my canvases and keep them safely hidden from the Status No.
Weird how swiftly I put down my mantra of wanting recognition actually.

When I was about eight I had an epic dream that continued for a year.
I was rich and famous. Anyone who had a newspaper knew of me.
I had an orphanage, an animal shelter, a home for unwed mothers.
How in the world I knew about unwed mothers is nobody’s guess.

This was in the early 1960’s when no eight year old knew of them.
Yet, somehow, I did. Giving credence to reincarnation in my mind
As my mother shared nothing with us kids, not even her grocery list.
A secretive time; I could not wait to go to sleep to dream of my fame.

I added a movie theater, basketball court, playground and tennis court.
I could not wait to get to sleep, for the orphans fawned all over me.
The dogs and the cats did too for I had added a cat shelter.
When the dream stopped, I was shocked, willing it back, disappointed.

Now that I am grown I wear a mumu with paint stains on it, 
I draw my pictures, paint them, dance in my garden, raise flowers,
Take care of dogs and cats, play with my ten grand children
I am never bothered by photographers or reporters I am happy to say!

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required