It’s All About Perspective
How would you feel,
If you went home today
To find a strange creature
Had entered your cave
While you were away?
You would you feel,
If you looked in your bed
To find sleeping there soundly
A wee human head?
Would you be angry?
Would you see red?
How would you feel,
If some golden-haired brat
Had gobbled your supper
And shattered the chair where you always sat?
What would you do?
How would you handle that?
How would you feel,
If the door to your cave
Had been kicked in by a kid
Who just could not behave?
Would you rumble and roar
Or just rant and rave?
No one would blame you,
If you got really mad
With a dimpled-faced terror who destroyed all that you had.
That’s how many would feel, but
Isn’t it sad
That no one had taught her
How not to be bad?
How we grew to be bears
in each other arms,
we don't believe
in fairy-tales
but our skin upon
skin & our breathes,
when I am upon
or you flip me......
My God lays in
the blue lagoon
of your flesh,
I swim in,
like a tadpole
to a story
never told.
A woman
made flesh,
I give my respects
God,
if it was you....
(Goldilocks)
One bear - two bears- baby makes three,
Mommy making hot berry tea and brie.
Soup is way too hot,
No sleep on a soft cot.
New home and not needing to flee.
(Little Red Riding hood)
Mommy gave me good advice,
maybe I should have listened twice.
A wolf I did find,
lost my love and mind
Now pregnant paying the price.
(The Three Little Pigs)
We are three of a family kind,
except one got caught in the wind.
One got caught by the fire,
he was in a house fryer.
Wanting new homes space aged designed.
Hiding from rain
Lies a slick raven
That old wisdom retains
Loves shades of loneliness
Traps all stirs of sounds
Bears mounts of pains
I thought a polar bear was the size of a grizzly or brown bear
Yesterday at a museum I was surprised to see a stuffed one there
He was enormous, his teeth had me quaking at my knees
Mouth opened wide, I was intimidated, glad he could not be freed
He is a Goliath, bigger than any colossus t-rex I could imagine I am sure
His fur was not amazingly white, more yellowish, kind of unpure
I was sorry he was a statue now, for I bet he was something in his day.
This does not mean I would stay to play if I saw him coming my way.
David "Davy" Crockett,
wore a coonskin cap not a pretty flowery locket.
Was he the "King of the Wild Frontier"?
The bears would hide from him in fear.
In 1834, David "Davy" Crockett published an autobiography, A Narrative of the Life of David Crockett of the State of Tennessee. Many have written about him.
I have become a TV groupie
I like it better than attending a concert
The volume can be controlled by me
I don’t have to listen to other people
I can wear my pajamas
go to the bathroom whenever I want
do not have to wait in any lines
my snacks are free
best of all, I can watch the toilet paper commercials
I especially like the bears “enjoying the go”.
the bus was driving as sporadically as possible that day
Screeching around the corner, that twenty-second of May
It’s on two wheels, the mamas said, irritated at the driver, Gus
But he had been plucked out; by bears, who were steering the bus.
Where are our children? Asked the mamas all concerned now.
The bears gave them a paw up as the bus drove toward a cow.
The principal called to let them know their kids were still at school.
Driver Gus was never found, and the bus ended up in a pool.
Proudly I used to sell season's tickets for the Chicago Bears
~ These days salesmen sneak down the back stairs
A gentle care bear drifts on a cotton sky,
Where imagination fans its wings so high.
In soft dream, he cruises past starry streams,
Lost in sweet reverie, where wonder gleams.
With playful whimsy, clouds become his throne,
A castle where he laughs, all on his own.
Through misty halls of hallucination, bright,
His visualization , a magic in pale light.
The bear floats on, heart open and free,
A silent hug in that cloud-land fantasy—
Where every child can drift and see,
A world from words, alive in reverie.
Goldilocks and the three bears,
The story is a classic.
But one idea came to mind,
What if she was made of plastic?
With lips so swollen
And cheeks so bloated
She was red and shiny
And was very coated.
The bears that came saw the porridge,
They searched and found Goldilocks.
Screaming and fearful, they ran away
Because she had a very scary Botox.
Bears Emerge from Dens
suet feeders in danger
On this gangrenous planet, where the sky bears the scars of time gone by,
we should refrain from weaving plans from threads of illusions and hopes,
yet we continue to craft them with an optimism that pulses deep within our veins,
like a reflex of the dying seeking light in the final darkness of the day.
We cling to dreams like pale stars barely shining,
in a universe that hides its future under a veil of uncertainty and silence,
but even in the face of a world decomposing under the weight of its own mistakes,
we dare to hope, to plan, to weave stories from the ashes of the present.
Perhaps this optimism is merely a flickering flame in the cold wind of reality,
but within it, we find the strength to dream, to rise from the ruins of a shattered past,
and in every plan we make, in every hope we keep alive,
we discover fragments of light, echoes of a possibility for rebirth.
And so, on this ailing planet, where time counts its heartbeats,
we build our future from fragments of optimism, like alchemists of the dream,
seeking magic amidst despair and sunrises in the midst of perpetual night,
for even on the edge of the abyss, we remain seekers of miracles and lights.
Thickened and scarred, my mask bears the burden of time,
Torn, stained, this tough shell silently unravels,
And yet, somehow, it continues to keep me alive, to protect me from the world,
It was never a shining armor, just my mask,
Trying to compensate for all that I could not be.
Sensitivity and tenderness were sacrificed on the altar of necessity,
To become my shield against the sharp and merciless wind,
My mask has burned, boiled, swelled under the relentless sun,
I treated it harshly, underestimating its silent and constant value,
Wearing it reluctantly through this sad, often unforgiving life.
I made it suffer more than it should have, under my weight,
Never acknowledging its silent and priceless sacrifice,
It, my mask, was there when I was not,
Remaining behind me, a testament to all the battles fought,
A story written in scars and burns, in its trenches of pain and silence.
Will I ever learn to truly value it, to appreciate
This mask that has borne my burdens with dignity,
To understand that it is not just a covering, but part of who I am,
A testament to my resilience, a map of survival,
That continues to defend me, despite all my mistakes?
Black Bears
Black bears can
Be a sight to
Behold.
But they can also
Be a real nuisance, destroying
Bird feeders and
Bee hives. Charmin commercials not withstanding
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