Long Elmwood Poems
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Riding tricycles and swimming.
Bicycling madly on Chicago streets.
Ah, dear Lord, life was deliciously sweet!
Christmas time glowed in Elmwood Park.
That huge white flocked tree.
We all are here, but lost our fun-loving, Brucie!
Cheering for the Bears at great Soldier's Field,
Or the times at Cubs Park?
At night on swings in the warm, starry dark.
KiddieLand and Riverview, too.
The laughter and the endless joys.
We were truly good little girls and boys.
Now on my inner journey to a most blessed past.
The ongoing wonder of growing up to achieve.
But most significantly, we were taught to believe!
If a gardenia could only speak of our fragrant young days...
I am only here to tell you, I love you.
And each one, an invaluable soul,in my view!
Love and Merry Memories!
~ Cousin P ~
12-22-2020
A tribute to all my cousins.
Merry Christmas
Holiday Hugs
THE WOMAN WHO COULD EAT WOOD
Who defied science?
The Woman Who Could Eat Wood had.
How and why at first no doctor could say
to her mom and dad.
Years later the doctors had discovered that after a test
special micro-organisms helped the wood in her guts digest.
‘Perhaps B can survive off wood because of some unknown power,’ her father had said.
‘I agree 100% with your thought,’
her mother had said.
‘A superpower I don’t have
All I can do is eat wood. That’s good.
But no one gets saved!
So I’m not special,’ B had made understood.
Sometimes she worried like crazy
that she was different. Sometimes she didn’t worry that she was different like crazy.
At first the cruel media (and some did too on Oak Street) teased her, hated her,
was terrified this kind
of “natural ability” could occur in her.
Quickly they lost interest,
forgot about her.
At Elmwood Primary school some people
ate for lunch sandwiches and fruit.
She ate doors and drawer knobs
and the occasional wood flute.
Some people
in the beginning
were scared that her
bodily functions were strange and not prizewinning.
‘She c-can d-d-i-ig-g-ge-s-st-t-t w-w-woo-d. As b-b-beav-v-ers d-do!’ a classmate had said, not grinning.
‘Friends, Pleeaasssssssssse DON’T be scare of me!
You’ll soon come to understand me. You’ll see.’
‘And YES. I eat like a beaver.
But I don’t cut down trees with my teeth to build
lodges and dams. I don’t eat layers of tree bark.
It’s totally impressive how quick they can build.’
After a long while
most people just accepted she could eat wood. Sure there were a few meanies of guile
who teased her and her parents to tears
for awhile.
She made some friends
and she even had some boyfriends.
She actually loved the taste of wood
that’d make most sick. That she liked to admit.
'I have no choice but to,
I guess,’ she’d admit.
She never felt sick or put on any weight.
Skinny as a HB pencil she was, but not unfit.
Her poos were wood when she didn’t pig normal food when she asked for it.
In fact she preferred wood.
It was free and it
saved her parents a load of money and too,
saved on dentist bills because her teeth never split.
TO BE CONTINUED ... IN PART 2
Like wiping snow off a window
to feel and see the warmth of
a fireplace inside.
You use your glove and in an instant,
see your relatives and you
playing happily.
You remember the days when meat
was not a sin to eat.
And candy was OK too, imported
chocolates so fine, not a forbidden
treat.
The real and thick white flocked Christmas
tree with elegant pinknballs in crystal.
A warm tear swims into the crevice of your dimple!
For you remember, too well, when life was simple!
There was no huge television blaring~
just soft songs of the season.
You remember with gladness that
people talked to one another.
Not to cell phones constantly ringing.
Love and communication floated
in the Christmas air!
At midnight you went to Mass to
honor the birth of Jesus Christ.
Smells of frankincense and real
candles, filled your nostrils.
All these and more, divine and
spiritual catalysts
Ah,tragically.. exist now.
Only in memory's forgotten mist!
September 17,2019
*Inspired by my Cousin Maggie and Cousin Yolanda and my best friend Joanie with memories of Elmwood Park and the endless beauty we walked in.*
On the outskirts of a long-abandoned country town
beyond the crumbling headstones and elmwood trees
is mounted a dark dismal figure of what used to be
a scarecrow whose limbs flail in Autumn's breeze
Hung as if crucified, his death was never mourned
The creature decayed in the midst of a barren field
Fallow lies the ground he once so boldly protected
Nigh on twenty years since wheat crops gave yield
Poor beast, with innards of grayed moss and twigs
Tenebrous, the moldy growth on his stygian face
as fog encroaches to shield me in the shadows of night
He's a monolith of death, staked in this cursed place
Darkness saturates the clouds and shrouds the moon
Comes the North wind, and a caw... caw... cawing sound
A murder of crows take flight over the wretched scene
Where once reigned a Sovreign who was never crowned
So well loved by their children.
Our life coaches in how to play
this intricate game of life.
Cleverly guiding us on this highway
with directions.
Remember your Dad teaching you
to ride your bike?
A two wheeler gave my heart a strike.
That metallic green Schwinn was
top of the line.
He attached special lights and it's horn,
was one of a kind.
He ran behind me on the street,
Whilst,I with fear, like a drum in my chest,
drove from left to right.
Then stopped in fear, but he bade me to
try again.
I remember well going one half a block.
But something went terribly wrong.
It was garbage day in Elmwood Park, so
empty cans with no lids were waiting for me.
I would have preferred hitting a large tree.
But no!
I ended up with my butt in the bottom of
the can, legs toward the summer sky.
Poetess in a can!!
Dreamy Dad to the rescue came.
I was both embarrassed and ashamed.
He lifted me out, I was stuck!
Worse, urged me to ride yet again?
That's how Dads are, they do not
give up on you!
Though your world has just turned
upside down.
They stand there,entirely resolute.
To encourage, love and coach you,
all life through.
Tribute to my Father, Edward....
Thanks Daddy! Pangie
September 28, 2020
Noon PST
Pat the Vampire Bat Gets Evicted
Pat the Vampire Bat
lived on 12 Oak Street, Elmwood.
It was a big flat.
He was one year behind in his rent. He’d spent
all his $$ on chips and on decorations
for his Halloween event.
So the landlord roared, ‘You have ZERO days
to GET OUT FOR GOOD! ZERO DAYS!
His eyes were, of course, ablaze.
‘OH! OH! OH! Will you let me stay here
if I pay you back? I love it here!
I don’t have anywhere to go far or near.
The other bats hate me,’ said Pat with great fear.
‘NO! NO! NO!
You’ll NEVER pay me back! GO!
This is my place! GO! GO! GO!
And, guess what—I’ll be taking away
all your Halloween things today!
As Pat was tightening his belt,
he couldn’t believe how angry he felt.
‘How can this problem be
solved? How can I be
here for good, and have my Halloween party?’ he
mulled over
and over.
So early the next day, just before Mr Grimm
came to get rid of him
for good, Pat had, with great relief,
worked out how he could stay. 'Such a relief!'
As soon as smiley Mr Grimm
came through the door,
Pat, with his wing, slapped Mr Grimm (the bore!)
out cold to the floor. And then he tore him
into pieces. Then he ate him.
Later Pat was sadly so
so
sick he couldn’t go
to his own Halloween event 'OHHHHH!'
At 6
At 6 I could concentrate on
7 aspects of a
problem at
the same time. Irreversibility was
exceptional (award winning). I could
mentally undo
actions, even undo mentally all
actions of
people, objects alive, and
animals. I’d high telegraphic speech; leaving out
nonessential words was a
cinch. Syntax and vocabulary was
the envy of
the children in
the street, and
of course, the envy of
the children and teachers (parents too) at
Elmwood Primary. High focus span, countless items
remembered. Gender identity strong and
healthy. Gender roles
understood. Skipped over
imitation stage. Master of
observational learning. Poor parallel (side by
side) play. Not much interest in
cooperative play. Non interactive! Preferred to
be around
family.
Coaxed to Grow
Oh, how wonderfully innocent
and juvenile, 'twas for me.
You, scooting surreptitiously.
closer and closer to me.
Like a soft, gentle caterpillar,
slithering and smiling,
Making its way home in the
still of the night.
I clutched my lovely, flowered
handkerchief.
Then my gold cross with a
sparkling aqua gem upon it.
Really, wanting to not say, no.
My blue eyed Tommy boy.
In the Elmwood Park Spring we
were about to kiss.
Fireflies came to celebrate this
celebratory bliss.
When we were moving beyond
flirtation.
It was as though heaven were
sending particles of stars,
To bless the softness of this
sacred night.
Of huge elm tress, your strong
arms about me.
Finally, those soft, tender lips.
There in God's silent moonlight,
One of my first teenage kisses, did alight.
10/22/2020
Poem 4
Snot Man Blue
There was no skin and hair
on his lower and upper big round torso.
Instead, there was thick and blue snot. Some would go, ‘Oh what a distracting gross sideshow!’
‘Well, at least he has my ears,
and your big puffy nose,
and my eyes and your mouth and toes,’ his mother had remarked to his father who was holding a hose.
‘Positive you are always dear
but, like the doctors had explained in the hall,
“If you both hadn’t had too much snot in you both
your son wouldn’t have been born a snot boy at all”!’
Cried Snot Boy Blue’s parents did
for years and years indeed.
‘I’d rather have had a thoroughbred for a son.
At least he’d be of use. Indeed!
What use is a Snot Boy Blue
to the world!’ his father snapped with speed.
‘Don’t worry you two.
Even though I’m terribly blue and blue
I’ll never be the same – 100% human – like you two.
I promise one day I’ll do something you two,
something great to end our blue.’
When he was 22,
over legally a man’s age,
he got a job at Elmwood University
earning a minimum wage.
Was he a cleaner there?
No.
Was he as chef there?
No.
He worked in scientific research
for The Entomology Department there.
At night he stood in the gardens
and insects common and rare,
as they flew through, got stuck on his rubbery snot body that was sort of a snare.
The researchers had no doubt
they’d so many fascinating insects to learn about.
TO BE CONTINUED ... in Part 2
A Young Poetess and Her Christmas
A~ Ah, the angelic aromas!
B~ We, thinking of the Babe, born today.
C~ That scent of candlelit, candy canes.
D~ Those dashing, December decorations.
E~ Our first taste of excellent eggnog.
F~ My family and the warm fireplace flickered with joy.
G~Goodwill and glorious gifts.
H~The happiness of this holiday!
I~ Those illuminated icicles on windows dangled.
K~ Being with all my kith and kin.
H~A Happy Holiday to forever recall.
L~ Such love and uproarious laughter!
M~ Yes, mirth and mistletoe!
N~ Songs of Noel and the New Born Son!
O~ EVen the oldest, ogled at our optimism!
P~ Of poinsettia and pine, who can forget?
Q~ Mary,quiet, quinticessental ,queen of this day
R~ Our rejoicing was religious, on that you can bet!
S~ Though the night was silent, the children remained sleepless.
T~ Togetherness and traditions reigned triumphant.
U~ So understanding and upbeat were we!
V~ Thoughts of the Venerable Virgin and her new baby!
W~The wise, wondrous Three Kings with gifts for the King.
X~ In that winter xerophilous climate, where water is rare.
Y~ All our great Yuletide yearnings came true!
Z~ We all were zippy and zesty as can be, and did not want
to turn the lights off, on the magnificent tree.
12-20-2020
~Memoirs of Elmwood Park, IL~