Long Headband Poems
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When I was very young
All I really wanted
To be was an Indian.
My mother always read to me -
Stories of fairies and elves,
Of princesses and ogres, witches,
And brownies who did good deeds.
Poems, “Wynken, Blynken and Nod”,
“The Gingham Dog and the Calico Cat”,
And “The Sugar Plum Tree”.
Books, Alice in Wonderland,
The Little Colonel stories, and
The Five Little Peppers.
(I wonder if my grandchildren
Have ever heard of any of the
Old-fashioned stories and poems
Which were all magic to me.)
But, most of all, I loved
Longfellow’s poem Hiawatha.
“By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining deep sea water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis…”
I hear my mother almost singing
Those magical words from
“The Childhood of Hiawatha”.
I could see Hiawatha growing up
And learning Indian ways in
The woodlands of his youth.
I wanted to live in the woods,
To learn to talk with animals
And know their secrets.
I wanted to wear moccasins
And build a birch bark canoe!
One Christmas my brother got
A cowboy suit and hat and holsters,
But I, wonder of wonders,
Got a “real” Indian dress
With designs of tiny beads,
A fringe on the skirt,
And a headband with feathers!
I told my friends I was part Indian,
That my great grandmother
Was a real live Indian!
When it got back to my mother
She just said, “What stories you tell!”
Although I outgrew the dress,
The dream stayed with me
Throughout my childhood -
Sort of wishful thinking.
I always wanted to
Be close to nature.
Much of my childhood
I spent by myself, somewhat
Of a loner, climbing trees,
Making hideouts in the woods,
Walking in streams
To “cover my tracks”.
That “Indian child” I was
Still lives on in the
Recesses of my memory.
Maybe that’s why now, “grown up”,
I love walking in the woods
Or foraging by the ocean,
Why Stalking the Wild Asparagus
Is one of my favorite books,
Why I love picking wild blueberries
And grapes and making jam, or
Digging for clams and mussels.
Why I HAD to experiment with cooking
Slipper shells and making
Seaweed pudding and “Sumac-ade”.
Of course, I realize,
As well as anyone, that
The life of an Indian was not
As idyllic as I had once believed,
But, even now, after
All these years have passed,
It appears that
My “inner Indian”
Is alive and well and
Living on Martha’s Vineyard!
what happens in sleep,
stays in sleep, no?
you hope.
you do your best to
forget the places that
you’ve been & the
people with whom you
have done despicable
things.
you tiptoe through the
tulips, boundless & naked
sniffing, snorting, injecting,
taking in, breathing out,
licking, stroking, fighting,
resisting, surrendering,
lifting & stretching, opening,
holding, squeezing,
massaging, drifting,
imagining (within the realm
of the imagined), thinking,
tripping, delving, diving,
swimming, sucking, lapping
up everything, orgasming,
kissing, beating, oiling,
vibrating, shaking, quaking,
sticking, enveloping,
pulsating, pricking, smoking,
giggling, screaming, moaning,
cursing, cutting, abusing, losing,
bathing in the juices,
sweating with the animals,
eating with the carnivores,
bleeding with the tortured,
engaged like a prisoner,
questioned like one
ever
so
guilty,
out-killing every murderer that
you have ever dreamed to
utter the name of,
forcing them to pray to you,
forcing them to worship you,
forcing them to pleasure you,
forcing them to feed you their
own flesh,
forcing & thrusting & easing &
climaxing,
gushing & trusting---singling out
brand new
safe words---
&
you got
10 winks left
&
your eyelids start to shutter,
flick &
flutter---
you ride ride ride
with pride pride pride
your blood now 75% foreign substances in
binging &
cringing &
toking &
placing the
cid on the headband---
tying it tightly round your head,
on your knees with a guitar
that you can’t play when
awake.
you trip like you will never stop
falling & echo out the decent
with the loud fresh tunes of your
very own national anthem
being belted out by the steel strings
now being plucked & struck with
those precious digits that in the
past 30 winks, have done such
dirty, dirty things.
you’re running
and your muscles
spasm with bursting
eruptions---you shoot
& squirt your fluids
everywhere, all over
yourself---& they run down
your inner thighs and leave
you in a pool of stank &
cold sweat.
then the lightening strike of
pleasure & pain begins to
ebb.
someone is pulling the blinds
as the light comes blaring in
taking all your secret domain
away & you are a prisoner of
the real time war on freedom
that you call a life---again.
Let's applaud our
Adored Lord Broad
Fame and awards
Crossing swords &
Bossing visiting hordes
Name in the frame
On Lords boards
Cooing..wasn't it grand
Tanned boy with headband
Wooing the fanned stand
No wonder we're so fond
Of this towering..glowering
Powering flowering blonde
Plumping for knees pumping
Hearts a jumping
All a flutter
Tub thumping
Jaffas he's a scrumping
Utter bowling nutter
Batters in tatters
On the ropes
Slain with disdain
Hopes in vain
Dope tropes
Broad roared
Insane hurricane
Yet again
That strength of fine
Alright divine
Line and length
Vertiginous delight
Prodigious insight
Canny..crafty will
Log in to his noggin
Didactic tactic thrill
Found going round
Was gravy..on the money
Crowned genius genesis
Hefty lefty nemesis
Davy Warner..his bunny
Gladly listened to Hadlee
Took note of what
The Goat did float
Shorten your run son
Well must embellish
Relish to hone
To still cherish..own the throne
With Jimmy his friend
Found at their home grown ground
Got their own eponymous end
Game's pantomime dame
If everything else fails
Wrist twist of the bails
Burning beacon flame
What a gusto way to go
For our dearly loved maestro
Bravado even braggadocio
Willy Wonka winning ticket
Plucky...jammy...lucky
Hero cheerio double whammy
As Broad encored..
Last ball bowled..got a wicket
Last ball faced for 6 did flick it
Helluva a way
For our stellar fella
To say goodbye
To Test cricket
In to the future times, eons from now
My friends and I in newest time machine
We flew to reach a world, enchanting! Wow!
With rose thickets, meadows and lofty pines
No heat; no Sun, in there; a lone full Moon
Was smearing sandalwood balsam on us
Running bunnies and frolicking raccoons
Did run a riot, while bees honey hummed buzz
My friends were filled with joy and flair, new-found
One reined a dinosaur; one chased a hound
One painted white, a crow; one tamed a bear
One dressed a wounded deer and hugged with care
One ran for sweet honeys dripping from trees
With tongue outstretched and hit a black outcrop
Some climbed the trees and ate the fruits with glee
Some clung and swung to banyan’s hanging props
One raised a bough like a sword; displayed his brawn
And screamed, “I am the king of these realms green”
Adorned his wife with milky quills of swans
Her red headband and preened, “I am the Queen”
Went on and on my peoples’ prank and mirth
Till sounded time machine, “It’s time, it’s time”
We sprinted back to occupy our berths
And left that world of bliss with thoughts sublime
And back in my office; on broken chair
Below my screeching fan, with grim grimace
I sighed aloud and reached the open air
To find my friends drudging in Sun’s furnace
A wrenching feeling rudely swept my mind
“We live in neither future nor in past
To this Present alone we’re firmly chained
And breathe the breeze of this minute and last”
When truth unclothed had streaked before my eyes
Returned I sad and broke my truck of lies
Black Sheep
Her beleaguered parents, had it
with her.
That daughter and her mouth,
forever causing a mighty stir!
They went to downtown
Chicago,
To see Dr.Zhivago, hoping this
might quiet her.
But no, in their daughter, it was
more like an intellectual stir.
She stopped going to Mass
and left the Catholic Church.
Her Father weeping, he was
far more than hurt.
That spunky young woman
dropped out of college.
Then, in the dead of winter,
eloped to the West Coast in a
Midwest blizzard, she happily
left, without their knowledge.
Yes, she became part of the
50's Beat Generation.
And the "Tune In, Drop Out of
Work Nation."
Both parents, several years
later at a total loss, when she
sported a huge peace symbol!
And an Indian headband,such
a zany daughter, looking always
for a new struggle?
She finally settled down, moving
to the West Coast.
Where they found out, she was
having far more fun than most.
They wanted her back in the
boring Midwest!
Alas, she had fallen in love with
the gods of individuality and
wildness.
The Black Sheep found ultimate
happiness you see, in being
beholden to no one.
She, the Black Sheep, found her
home, heart, life and her love,
most assuredly!
Under the glorious, amber lights
of the Golden Gate Bridge on the
wings of a sea gull!
She, in her free and glorious state,
baptized him....poetry!
July 14,2019
10:30 pm
Entered in Anthony Slausin's Contest..
"Black Sheep"
My sister was horrified; you cannot give me that bucket,
She says, snottily as I try to hand her the renegade violets
She asked me to collect, complete with roots.
Why not?
There are dandelions in it. My husband hates dandelions.
Who hates dandelions?
I pull the dandelions out of the fray,
and plop them into a vase of water.
I have heard about a way to decorate a punch bowl with dandelions.
You put the head of a dandelion into each ice cube square of an ice cube tray,
Then you pour water in the tray and freeze.
Voila! Ice dandelions look lovely floating in a punchbowl.
I thought my sister was the only person in the world who disliked dandelions
Until I was trying to make fun of her at work, and other grown-ups agreed with her.
What kind of people hate dandelions?
They are pretty, they are the brightest yellow, they can be collected and made into faerie headbands,
Their stems are easy to link together.
I collect my secret box from inside the recesses of my biggest oak tree,
And put forty dandelions inside, to be linked later, when my sister leaves.
I will add a bit of fuzzy hot pink ribbon to complete my new headband.
But does she leave?
Heavens no.
She has to tell me why she hates clover now.
I am indignant, because
I planted that clover.
For my animals,
The wildest of the wild.
The bunnies, the deer, and the rabbits.
Submitted on 4/30/2018
To Jamie's Interesting Contest
“The I’ll Dance” was the father of a Mine’s good family friend.
In the main festivities of Navalmanzano, Segovia
And its pilgrimages
He did not dare to ask the girls to dance
Afraid that everyone would give him pumpkins.
-The mowers are coming
The housewives are coming
And the young women who came from Segovia and Madrid
They have gone to Mass.
-Dance “I’ll dance”.
-I don’t dance.
I have come to the pilgrimage not to dance
But to see the patting dance.
-Look, that girl you like
She has lost her headband.
-If she has lost the headband, let her lose it
It won't make me sad.
Besides, what less can a woman lose
In the dance?
I'll dance, you're afraid of falling in love
And let a female tell you that she loves you
And finally forget you.
-You are right; I fear climbing from her with her
She uphill, and down to the plain
To play with our sexes
Under the hazelnuts.
-But, that female you like
You can forget it now
Well, Secretary Melitón has passed through her
The local fool
And an outsider with a gift.
-With who?
-Yes, that gentleman from Haro, La Rioja
With whom she had a son
Born in the field.
-But, although I like happiness
Of that badly broken ass
I do not dance; another day i’ll dance
Knowing that loves and pains
Take away sleep
I, since I don't have these
I rest and sleep.
The little girl’s mom Tila,
worked hard to save enough money
It was her baby girl’s birthday,
how she loved her miel, her honey
She saw a Barbie doll that stood
in the window at Catarina’s Boutique
Wearing a traditional dress embroidered,
flowered details so unique
Sugar skulls glisten
a crown of marigolds adorn her hair
A Mexicana Barbie with long dark braids
nothing would compare
Complemented by a golden yellow flowery headband
The dolls face and body
a beautiful color of ochre, tanned
Spotted by the little girl
on their walk through the city
Calling out, que bonita!
Mamita she is really pretty
Maria Barbie printed on the box,
like hers, it was the same
She knew she had to have her,
when learned she shared her name
Tila rushed home to put the order in on the phone
The line went dead, there was a muted tone
She prayed the order went through that day
And hoped it would be received
on her daughter’s birthday
Because of the power outage in Pueblo,
a small town
The Barbie doll was gone,
lost and could not be found
Tila was sad when she told her miel
it was the last one of her kind
Don’t cry mamita, I already prayed another
little girl Barbie Maria will find
We planned a wedding, in a Unitarian Church to be,
and in excitement, we sent out invitations!
But I discovered, we would never live together happily in
blissful harmony, as do scented, peaceful carnations.
This was during the most contentious Viet Nam War!
I was wearing a leather peace symbol, which
made you massively irritated and sore.
You warned me,after, we were married, nothing to do
with peace, could ever grace our walls?
With me in Indian headband, and tie dyed dress, this
order was rather tall!
So, I bid you farewell, it was not a big loss....
Your brain was covered with thick,stubborn, moss.
I had marches to attend and yes, they were all quite
peaceful.
And the War did end, and my life went on to be more
than full and mirthful.
Indeed, I have changed in political positions and ways
of thinking.
But I had enough sense at that time to end, what would
turned out the be, a most unfortunate linking!
Life...so life a roller coaster, quite scary yey magical!
I have found it to be anything but diabolical.
The best of everything is yet to come.
Dancing in shadows, behind a magical,rainbow wall!
5/14/2021
~2~
A child yearned to play baseball today -
a million raindrops dashed the boy's luck.
Yet, espying an object upon the floor;
a moppet's imagination runs amuck.
The lad fantasized he was young David
and mighty Goliath was his foe.
Using his treasure as a slingshot,
he slew the giant with a single blow.
Next he was off to the wild, wild West -
pretending to be Chief Thunderdown!
He turned his friend into a headband -
sporting colored feathers 'round his crown.
Chief Thunderdown is injured in battle.
His arm dips like a clipped eagles’ wing.
The young lad acts as the town's doctor -
his treasure doubles as the chief's sling.
The child makes believe he's an archer;
alinging ten tin cans in a row.
A crayon transforms into an arrow -
his playmate will suffice as his bow.
The youngster is now a circus clown.
Under the Big-Top, he’ll giggle and dance!
Wriggling his playtoy around his waist;
his new found friend will hold up his pants!
Out of all the toys that adorn his room -
the small prize his dreams would expand?
A headdress, a belt and a slingshot are
brought to life by one boy’s rubberband.
Inspired by:
Trash or Treasure? Rhyming Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Karen Neary