She is a sop to insanity, a foreign minister that sounds off like a gong.' With such alien love
She is imbued, of all things strange.' And imported shoes..' all the time she's been around, we've watched living Aussies driven into the ground' hope assailed and
Men denigrated, women disenfranchised
My nerves; are by now raw grated, i've known cross-eyed mongrels, with a better view; of
Aussie values, ya-know? just things true blue..Like safe streets. And parks' like beaches and lakes, instead its
The chop-suey
Only; menu..Or an empty plate, I'll swear she trading noodles, for spaghetti sticks
As albo, creams of millions..
Its sick sick sick.' And things really won't
get better.' All the time this
Wong one, keeps.' Sending off; all
those loaded red letters.'
Henrietta Hitch had done it again
I know because I am one of her kin
we all ran over to try to shake her awake
it took an army of relatives and an earthquake
You hypnotized yourself again, her mother chided her
Henrietta came around suddenly, the cauldron gave a purr
we all turned around to see that it was doing a spell by itself
You need to retire that thing, her mother said. Put it back on a shelf.
What none of us knew in that magical witch-like dell,
Was that Henrietta was completely under the cauldron’s spell
The cauldron was waiting for Henrietta to do her bidding.
She sent us packing, saying “I’m not kidding!”
one day God said: "I'm gonna go lie down for awhile, take care of things for Me."
If men want to change the world,
they must do it while they're single,
because once they get married,
their chances really dwindle!
Speaking from experience,
you guys will quickly find
a husband's often not allowed
to even change his mind!
Because the important thing to realize,
in this crazy world of strife,
is to remember these four words:
"happy wife, happy life"!
She should be ashamed, he should be ashamed, they should be ashamed
Nasari grew up hearing these daily chastises from her mother
She knew that she also should be ashamed
And yet she did not know the why of it yet
Shame was a theme in her life, at an early age
She was ashamed in kindergarten, second grade, sixth grade
Her cheeks were flushed, for everything was her fault
If someone else dropped the Playdough, she took responsibility
Not only was she in charge of herself
She was in charge of the rest of the world
What they did was her shame
She took it all on
With guilty feelings
For her mother had drummed this into her psyche
At an early age
My heart cried
Please loved him no more.
It hurt more and more than before.
My brain questioned
Why did you keep on thinking of him for?
You should practise
"Out of sight, out of mind"
My eyes pleaded
Where has he been all these days?
I wanted to see him just one more time.
Why was he so hard to find?
Made me wondering days and nights,
Would he still be sitting at the same place?
At the desk to surf on the internet as always.
My nose sniffed:
He had strange odour, but it was quite unique.
At the corners of my lips,
My round dimples tipped
He also had two but elongated in shape,
And they appeared each time he grinned.
His face was almost perfect,
Except a calculus on the buccul of his tooth.
By now my hairs proudly tousled,
I kept your neck warm in winter
And gave you shades in summer.
But he had none what so ever.
My legs were short and stout,
His legs were long but could not play
The swings in the play ground.
Has my brain teased or cheered my heart?
When and will he mend my broken heart?
No words to describe his eyes,
I hardly looked at them due to being shy.
Poetry is moody, she can be pouty and sad.
She can be vibrant, dancing the chicken dance.
I allow her freedom to be herself.
It does me no good to feel I am the boss.
Poetry is a chameleon. He is flexible.
He wakes me up in the night with an end rhyme.
What the heck!
Poetry is a teaser.
Poetry is not just a he or a she.
They is also a we, an us, a them, collaborating.
Going off in directions I could not outguess.
Doing what I never knew they could do.
Poetry slides onto a page with loops and whorls.
Laughing at my consternation.
Taking me totally unserious.
Poetry does not listen.
Sometimes I have this weird feeling I am in charge.
Poetry laughs
Pokes fun at me
Smacks me upside the head
Flies out the window with a hamster on her back.
Reminding me who is in charge.
They do the swing and sling dance someone said
About my friend Charlotte and her buddy Ted
It is the Lindy Hop, and it is looks rather wild
They asked me to try it, but I am a non-dancing child
I used to love to dance and kick and twist and shout
But a torn ACL and injured leg bone had struck me out
Now I barely skip, never hop, and sometimes limp along
After becoming my age, my body has yelled “this is wrong!”
I have arthritis in my ankles, so how could I swirl?
A bunion on my foot would not help me in a whirl.
Here is my advice, young woman, and young man too.
Do all the living you can while your body keeps up with you.
daily I went to Roldan' bakery
task that I performed with mastery
it rained the bag of bread wet...
to solve it I doffed my shirt
bread safe... was applauded for bravery
shall allow you to march
Please forgive me
Always guide thee
Help us see
Our value beneath
Through the greatness you possess
You help us to progress
Keeping us safe
You help us be brave
Our Lord Embassy
Rose from our destiny
Jesus Christ
Forged our lives
Refined us to be great
Many you have saved
Sent us from above
To deliver the world your love
You know us better than anyone else
Guard us from all else
Spread our Lord love reciprocated
Blessed the reason we were created
WHO’s in charge
Everybody has the right to everything that everybody has…wouldn’t want to referee that.
11/30/2021
I float along on top of the balmy, warm, Floridian saltwater
Enjoying the sun, expecting the best of the day
time creeps up slowly, turns my mood
My feelings are not as grand now
I hide inside to console myself
Licking my wounds, feeling hurt and sad
Time shakes me up and spits me out
Smearing me onto a wall in the form of a streak
I have no desire to continue, but time has other plans for me.
I grab onto her coattail when she refuses to leave me alone
We travel the universe; she as a volatile witch with magic spells
I as a black cat, holding on to a sliver of her broom with my nails.
Life flies by, the saying goes.
Ridiculous, I cringe,It was right
under your nose!
We forgot we created our lives.
It slipped through our fingers!
Like soft butter on a warm knife!
Easy to blame anyone as to what
went wrong.
But that seems to be humanity's
love song.
Whatever our age, we are still in
charge.
You will remain free,it's your duty,
happily, most large!
5/6/2021
~3~
Children correct adults now
That never happened before.
We knew better.
We’d have been slapped onto the floor.
Children say “No” now.
Like they have some say
That never happened
Back in our day.
Cougar’s growl shakes me awake in the worst of ways
Her realism prances forth in my mind; I am disoriented.
The last line of a poem waffles through my brain,
And my eyes are not fully open yet. Poetry already?
I grab a piece of paper and take it with me to the bathroom.
Sitting, I jot down six phrases, and a poem begins to write herself.
She flings herself onto the page in dots, lines, and dashes.
I find myself writing seven poems before breakfast.
Without any energy at all and little conscious effort, it is a poetry day.
Who decides? Which muse is about in my head today?
Is she going to distract me from my morning drive?
I turn my I-phone’s tape recorder on, as I get into my car.
There are no more ideas for a day and a half. Then a full writing day.
Thirty six poems in twelve hours, my new record!
I am gob smacked, consternated, confused.
Where do these days come from? Who is in charge? Apparently not me.
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