Long Notoriously Poems
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She was the best teacher ever born in our county, a tiny woman with a giant adventurous soul.
Miss Fizzle from Magic School bus was probably designed after someone met Miss Raggletoots.
Okay it is not her real name but I cannot give you the true name of this scallywag, for it
would be notoriously rude to tell the truth, and the truth is what we need here
For the sheer fun of it, and the faster moving along of this tale, I must let you know that
I was in the sixth grade, in a small, boring, eight-nine percent uptight, rule-following, Iowa farm town when I met Mrs. Raggletoots.
She was a science teacher which may sound boring to those who have not met her,
But she was a
Scoundrel,
A knave,
A rogue,
And she did nothing by the book, did not attend church, did not wave to mean people, did not respect bullies, did not adhere to social norms of any kind, and cared in no way about laws or rules.
Under her jurisdiction, we blew up toys, we blew up chairs, and we learned the ways of a wood chopper, We happy sixth graders chopped up umbrellas, and flower boxes, and books – especially non-fiction books about etiquette, and women’s places and stuff.
The only books we did not chop were the science books, as by this time we were all falling in love with science.
And we did all kinds of other renegade stuff,
Because she wanted to show us
How science could be fun.
You are a rapscallion, the principal
said, yelling at her with a mean face.
Two of us were worried, and we told our parents, but
They assured us that he would probably not get rid of
The favorite-est science teacher we have ever had because of our track record.
He did not dare fire her,
Because although
She was a scoundrel,
Dorothy is notoriously late
Because she wants to make an entrance?
Heck no.
Relatives lie to her and tell her things start an hour earlier
So she will be almost on time, and she still gets there late.
Smirking inside to herself.
Dorothy is not trying for attention
She does not like people even if they are related
Maybe especially if they are related
She only shows up to dissuade Diamond, her obnoxious sister
If she did not show, Diamond might come to her home to get her.
Heavens to bits that would happen!
Diamond works for the Health department.
She might blow the whistle on Dorothy’s comfortable hoarder house nest.
Worse, she might take away her six dogs and twenty-nine hundred cats.
Dorothy sighs, knowing she had better show.
Witches in my gardens, blessing them.
Using their notoriously generous green thumbs to help repot the plants snatched out by gray wind yesterday.
Witches, welcome! So grateful you have arrived!
Thank you for showing me the old one’s ways to grow the best thyme and basil possible.
The magic you bestow upon my garden, humbles me, and my daughters, and my daughters’ daughters.
To no one do harm, your motto, your creed. I know you in no way resemble the tales of
Witches in faerie tales, rather, mother earth faeries who got a bad rap because you followed
Your dreams and went your own ways in a patriarchal society. Scaring women who were afraid of your
Unseemly ways.
I am honored you chose my garden, bestowing your experience and your wizen ways
Upon my plants. Thank you, Witch sisters! Welcome!
Alone within emotional wilderness
(mine) biding leisure time
January 19th, 2020
without reason nor rhyme,
yet woke with sublime
pained acute awareness,
how once prime
merrily rightful autochthonous occupants
their land stole equivalent value
not much more'n dime.
Simple man dwells admiring
mother nature's architrave
home of the free land of the brave
usurped with exacting vengeance
aboriginal happy hunting grounds,
yours truly cloistered within man cave
small medium at large eremite doth crave
indigenous tribes Europeans
did wantonly annihilate
and/or make deprave
viciously slaughtering Native Americans
nsync brutality wrecking
their idyllic enclave
foreigners forcibly corralling
subsequently did enslave
ruthlessly employing sacrilegious travesty
scattered smite stricken survivors
formidable invaders (countless
demoniacal explorers) rendered desolate
pristine unbroken woodland
deceit, guile, iniquitous
jawboning flavor flav,
whether or not ancestors (mine)
even tangentially linkedin
egregious mockery, travesty
yours truly never forgave
horrendous genocide early settlers
wrought onto indigenous peoples
hoodwinked, notoriously
thrashed "noble savage"
feigning burying hatchet until
last proud redman buried in his grave.
Similar saga countless instances played across
four corners of globe,
white man self anointed himself boss
subsequently slaying innocent lives
all in name of Christ crucified on cross
denying original rightful inhabitants
their preexisting misnamed
new found lands
invaders justified execrable massacres
on par with clearing away dross
trumpeting art of the deal (albeit) gross
and unfair, whereat decimated loss
lovely bones long since
covered over with moss.
The striped Tom from the land of the river
Was hired by Channel Ten; the rule was, he’d better deliver.
In fog and sun, in heat that others could not abide.
That Tom came out, he did not hide.
He did the reporting of news every day.
He did not quiver, quake, or sway.
His fans were felines frisky and proud.
He’s on TV! They would purr real loud.
The beauty shop soon turned all their TVs on Ten,
For he was a cute Tom, virile, and loved by all of them.
In dreary weather, or the light of a very late moon.
Old Tom Cat would have those felines in a giant big swoon.
He was such a cock of the walk, so to speak
He was notoriously handsome, and he made felines squeak
He was all of that, and maybe even a bit more.
Until he returned home at night, at his mother’s front door.
On the boat
Swaying and tossing
Waves and ripples
Hands together
Hearts together
Land in sight
Yet miles away.
Paddles broken
Yet flapping
No stopping
At slapping
The silvery surface.
A course chartered for rough waters
The boat image
Divine inspiration
Fires the activists
A tedious delve
Into life and teachings
Of the Master.
Billows of prayerful reflection
The journey is on
A sturdy boat
In mixed weather
Knees to knees
Legs to legs
Notoriously unpredictable.
A head-wind approaches
The boat sways
Bales of water
Swept out
Leaky but unsinkable.
Our choice unchanged
To remain on the boat
We take our chances
An inexhaustible mystery of faith
Snip-snaw lambasted me today.
Misunderstood initially,
Practically undiscovered
Until I remembered the stories of
Some others.
Zeke and Sam’s horrible, vivid scary
Stories of unkind deeds the snip-snaw had
Caused them to do, against their
Best judgement, immobilized me
To my bed for an extra hour,
Weighted blanket over my head.
Terrified burgundy hair stood up notoriously tall.
Goosebumps on my scalp,
I felt uncomfortably threatened, as I
Shook louder than a twenty-eight year old
Unbalanced washer on spin.
Yes, snip-snaw happened to me today,
I will speak of it no more,
But it was even more terrible and
Horrifyingly scary as I had ever
Had the audacity to believe.
Over the hill past the wizened hollow tree with wild bats
Lives a renowned crazed witch with six notoriously ugly cats
She eats lean meats. Her felines eat their left-over fats.
On Halloween eve they dine on sixty-seven chosen sewer rats.
Sautéing them in fabulous thick gravy, steamed in bubbling vats.
You want to know more? Come let’s have one of my cozy chats.
I know all about the witch and her gloriously gloomy ugly cats.
I hear they all dress in tuxedos, and wear shiny polished spats.
They are crabby and cranky, and shove skeletons down on mats.
I am not afraid to tell you, for I have heard the rumors at the flats.
I am pulled apart by my crazed emotions
Half blown up and backwards
My desperation and depression is tied in a knot
And there is only one working hand left
Indignation took the other one years ago
I am frustrated now because I can no longer clap for you
My mood is foul
I revel in the stench of mediocrity
I feel notoriously lopsided and naked
Exposed, anxious, a laughing stock.
I have to say this now....
I hate all of you!
Which side should I share?
No side at all. I will keep myself to myself.
I am in a foul mood, angry and saddened.
Yes, you put me here. I take no blame for
my attitude, my feelings or my persona.
Look at yourself closely, oh, masses
You show me magazines
To prove my neck is too thick for my small head.
You are thorns, mongrel dogs, baddies.
I hate all of you. Every single last one.
You know who you are.
When you build a house you get to choose stuff
Light fixtures, countertops, outlet covers,
How many windows go in the living room.
We have built three houses, my husband and I.
Always a super challenge as
We notoriously argue about almost every little thing.
Do you like this? No. I hate it.
What about that?
Gag me with a fork.
It is a miracle when we agree on a counter top, or a sink.
I let him have a toilet he wanted once.
We build in baby steps.
More arguments, loud, ridiculous.
By the time we are finished, my husband is exhausted
And I am triumphant
Because I am the mean one.