She had to stretch on tiptoes to kiss Prince Frog
He stood still, but his polka dots were quivering
He liked attention from sweet young girls
She thought it was an innocent kiss, and so did we
Not knowing at the time about the mean ways of some frogs
lecherous frogs with sad malicious selfish nasty ways
In some ways I wish we never had to warn our children
About these frogs, and I am conflicted
Is it better if they do not know
Or better if they know to run……
She was much prettier in death
than any day she had been alive
her mouth softly closed
eyes in gentle repose
no yelling
no grouching
no griping
no complaining
I saw her husband’s genuine smile
For the first time ever
at her funeral luncheon,
And I had lived next door to them for thirty-six years.
Where do these small-minded bigots go
Who have abused the meek and innocent
Beaten down a weak and wounded soul
Do they go to church where they repent
Or do they choose to slink deep into
Some slimy self-made hole of their own
Making, where supposed superiority rules
Where they are always the best of fools
Am I too unkind to these sick despicables
Should I attempt to be less abrasive
I shall state more clearly how I believe
All bullies make me want to heave!
Plush peacock king wears his crown with pride
Heralded as one of the features of his spring time park
Admired by thousands, refreshed daily and often
He is created from the prettiest flowers.
Majestic, regal, bold, he is but one of the masterpieces
Created by gardeners who have conquered flower-ologies.
Trussed up in the most vibrant posies at the end of each shift
Strutting his stuff, gloating at his poor brown queen of one color
She sits at the other edge of the garden, in her plainness.
Visited by almost no one, as she is as dull as he is colorful.
The meanness of nature; she understands how the mallard female feels
As she watches the two-leggeds flock oohing and ahhing around the king.
He started out overly solicitous and sweet.
After he captured his heart, he began to dictate.
In spite of his meanness she retained herself.
He secluded her away from her family friends
Taking away all support of any kind.
In spite of his meanness she retained herself.
She stayed eleven years and six days
Trying to become the person he needed, but finally left.
In spite of his meanness she retained herself.
When I was a young, enthusiastic student teacher
They assigned me to a woman who used to tear me down daily
When I said "Boys and girls" she would be behind me saying
"You are saying it wrong".
It was a traumatic experience, and I went home crying each day.
She gave no indication she was not going to sign off on me
Until two weeks before my last semester of my degree
Which meant I would have to re-do six weeks somewhere else
Which meant I would not graduate with my class.
I had thousands of notes on her meanness
My husband called the university and demanded a meeting
They decided to sign off for her
She never apologized and I have no idea if she is sorry
The impact on me however was pronounced.
I have been the supervisor for thirteen student school counselors
I have given them all direction, and guidance and raving reviews
I have gone overboard to be nice, I have allowed them freedom
I have never corrected them in front of children.
I am in touch with every single one of them,
And I still pray for her nightly, for I feel she is the saddest
Person I have ever met.
Unkindness is
My most powerful pet hate
Possibly my only one
This includes
meanness, unfairness, rape, murder,
cruelty to animals, impoliteness,
disrespect, theft, swearing and bad manners
Unless I am really in the swearing mood and no one is around.
I hear you laughing, my sworn enemy.
Oops! Was that unkind? Dhramn!
Disrespect, disdain, disregard, and disapproval
all fit under this umbrella.
Whipping children with yardsticks,
flyswatters, switches, and belts, and leaving
animals tied up outside to die also fit under there
Unkindness is my only pet hatred.
People who are hurting the most have
endured one unkindness or another
I am sorry I called you my sworn enemy
Can I now be your sworn friend? When you
laughed at me you hurt me.
This also told me that someone has been
unkind to you. Do you want to talk about it?
Poetry contest: It Really Gets me Going
Sponsor: Kevin Shaw
Written May 19, 2019
A horrid old woman, mean, word cantankerous would have been too nice.
Mrs. V. would have stolen your pocket book, more than once, maybe thrice.
She had no integrity, certainly no thoughts of anyone else.
She was an angry woman, who always thought only of herself.
If you had tripped, and fallen over a jagged, rusty, old stick.
She would have laughed hard. She would have made fun of you,
mean and so thick.
She would have kicked you while you were down,
perhaps punched you down the hall.
She would have slapped her knee to have seen you take that horrible fall.
Mrs. V’s funeral was held on a cloudy, bleak, let’s-all-go-to-hell day.
Six of us huddled together, trying to think of a reason to pray.
The perfect weather for her, the five said who resentfully attended.
Never nice, or kind, and certainly a newcomer she never befriended.
She was a relative, one I did not claim. Everyone knew her.
We all knew her name.
She was as mean as a bull. Being sour and dour and unhappy was her game.
The minister had met Mrs. V. once. Her language had turned his ears red.
He was one of us unhappy six who showed up just to make sure she was dead.
Faerie wing blessings for the believer girl who lives here
In the forest, inside a giant moss-covered hill, surrounded by
delicate mushrooms with dainty stems, and overgrown meat.
Faeries congregate to watch her sleep, through the tiny round
window she clawed out when she first arrived, escaping a mean
man, who was step-fathering her in an unloving way.
Faeries protect her softly, giving her inspiring dreams, and
hopeful poetry, to keep her safe, and to love her softly, and gently.
Leaving wild strawberries, and apples on her doorstep, showering her
with kindness.
Faerie wing blessings are given nightly for all of the innocents who are hurt or maimed or killed by stepfathers or stepmothers. Maybe not body-killed, but soul-killed, by selfishness and greed, or ignorance.
Faeries congregate to float hope and love and optimism into the windows of the gentle-hearted, to keep them dazzling innocent and pretty with their heart-souls, and to nurture them when no one else is doing this.
Faeries step aside quickly when angels are about, as they take over, and whisk the little souls back to the most nurturing place of all, loving them gently......
Caught in a web of mean folk, detained unmercifully
No escape, sticky situation, dangled for a while.
Tried to remain unseen.
Spidery thinking lures me back into the fray. Conversation I would rather
Not be a part of. But here I am. No way to exit gracefully.
Sneak away. Recaptured. Held hostage by social niceties for a bit.
Creep away in silence, practically tiptoeing. Hauled back for another round.
In hiding now, glad to have made my escape.
My boss comes around the corner. Mean folks gone yet?
My boss laughs.
You have such a rare uniqueness
Filling you up with such sweetness
There's not one bad or mean bone
In your body that you own
Your patience is off the charts
You show more restraint and heart
Than anyone on this earth
You were a special baby birth
That this world so badly needed
You accomplished and succeeded
To bring out the and show
How to have an inner glow
Helping those who need it most
Your heart light shines coast to coast
Spreading into souls and hearts
Your doing the biggest part
To make the world a better place
And bring smiles to the face
Of those who need a turn around
In your caring, this they found
Never let it slip away
This rare sweetness you display
Pushed by troubled waters
on the periphery;dream
interrupted, you start
coloring your nails differently.
A white moon was not that
white any more. You grow
overnight gray, becoming
older by decades.
Gravel was going for a coup.
Stones had upturned
the river.
Brutus, were you impeccable ?
I don’t want to travel
back to dark memories,
of a raccoon drowning
a little poor thing.
Satish Verma
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