It is quite common to kiss injuries on those wee.
At three, my son asked to have bath autonomy.
I tossed a washcloth, then stood where he could not see.
Soon, he called out words that amusingly shook me,
"Mom, it washed sore, come kiss ouchy on my pee-pee."
Shopping, strolling him down the grocery store aisle
where female hygiene products are sorted in piles,
my son, age four, earnestly said, "When I'm grown, I'll
buy all these things with flowers on them for my wife."
His words styled a smile in me that would last for life.
I used mild-applied wooden spoons for mood anchors.
This set me up for disgust from food cart flankers
when my son yelled, "Look Mom, a hole bag of spankers."
My child, four, eyed that, not the shelved Power Rangers?
I hoped no one would report child welfare dangers.
Once, when a minister summed up his sermon's span
asking "Who's the greatest force in the universe?",
my son, at five, stood up with some dramatic plan.
Lifting his toy hero as high as small ones can,
he enthusiastically declared, "Batman!"
Thoughts of vacation, developed my fav word pearl,
"How many times do I wake up before Disney World?"
Just received a message of love
From a dear sweet soul on the Soup
It blew me away brought a tear to my eye
To feel such love whatta a hoot
These friendships here are quite common
The Soup is a place of goodwill
Where all can express our deepest feelings
Where our dreams are all fulfilled
The day I joined, I had no idea
What was in store for this old codger
What a super delight it's turned out to be
Each day it's a real heart stopper
In my retirement years it's a real blessing
To have such a great group of friends
To connect and know that love is waiting
What a great way my hours to spend
All I can say is “long live the Soup!”
May it flourish for many years to come
To know there are so many adorable people
It's the greatest feeling bar none
Anastasia: a crazy name for an Irish woman,
but actually, quite common
in the long-buried book of Celtic Memories.
When she in a reverie came to me
- her 80 year old hair
flying on countless dove-gray moonbeams,
I sensed a pitter-pattering of soft rain
redolent of the green hills
of Connemara falling into my mind.
“I am not dead, and you are not dead.”
She said.
I should have been afraid
but fear takes much more energy
than I had at that moment.
I heard myself ask:
“Then you are alive”?
The soft rain continued to speak
in its gently lyrical brogue.
"The living have no beginning or end,"
she whispered over the raindrops,
"and the dead never were."
I thought about this for a while
as I watched her fly a slow silver sky
over her shoulders.
Then I, in much joy,
thanked her for being forever
my crazily named
aunt Anastasia.
a bit of nature
churning waves dark sea
angry clouds roll overhead
nor'easter rages
dampness without rain
upon trimmed lawns in morning
cool night air made dew
calling out warnings
perched on high in naked tree
blue black raven crows
from depths of winter
melting snow ever downward
so rivers meet seas
pushing through dark earth
sprout breaks free into sunlight
pulling in smooth warmth
silently eyeing
opportunity awaits
lynx sitting stone still
matter of degrees
makes the uncommon for me
quite common for you
Standing all alone, we watched
The winner of the gold,*
Who’d skated quite amazingly,
Her elegance extolled.
Her teammates sobbed and ranted
And the cameras caught it all
While the winner clutched a teddy bear
And listened to them bawl.
What should have been her moment
By her teammates was denied
And when asked her feelings, she described
“An emptiness inside.”
Disappointment in athletics
Is quite common to report,
But both doping and sore losing
Cast a shadow on the sport.
*In the women’s Olympic figure skating event
Acts, irrational facts
they really exist
despite all the harm they cause..
extraordinary
So evil is not...
It's quite common...
Its power comes from us
when ww let
it
Flow.. !
Just received a message of love
From a dear sweet soul on the Soup
It blew me away, brought a tear to my eye
To feel such love, whatta a hoot
These friendships here are quite common
The Soup is a place of goodwill
Where all can express our deepest feelings
Where our dreams are all fulfilled
The day I joined, I had no idea
What was in store for this old codger
What a super delight it's turned out to be
Each day it's a real heart stopper
In my retirement years, it's a real blessing
To have such a great group of friends
To connect and know that love is waiting
What a great way my hours to spend
All I can say is, “Long live the Soup!”
May it flourish for many years to come
To know there are so many adorable people
It's the greatest feeling, bar none
Spirits wander in and wander out
met usually with a painful shout
They give me chills but also wonder
are they real or tales from dark under?
This story is true, happened few years past.
We keep telling so memory lasts.
Four friends were at Joyce's house one day
when Niece Sue stopped by on her way.
Likes genealogy she says now;
found great-grandma with Ancestry's prow.
Her portrait is on my bookcase, Joyce notes.
We'll look before leaving, a friend votes.
She might have died in disgrace, Sue states:
abortion is what her obit relates.
Back in the year eighteen eighty-nine
quite common--birth control unrefined.
just then a loud crash in bookcase room--
sounds of glass breaking--impending doom!
All rushed in to find, faded and worn,
Grandma's portrait had been cut and torn.
No living creature was in that room
to push the portrait to final doom.
Her spirit may have disliked words said
she wants to leave that incident dead.
I believe spirits are here night and day,
rather not see them, if that's okay.
January 10, 2022
for Angela Tune's Ghost Story Contest
Momma was Nonoma, her daddy was Powhatan
Pocahontas married John Wolfe, a union not in fashion
Unheard of back then
Today quite common
Prejudice is defeated, um... well there's still a wee chasm
It was reported that she had died,
but I saw her
months after the obituary.
She came to me in a dream naturally,
the mind has to be as relaxed
as a three-toed-sloth
before it can report any intelligence to us.
I knew her, the way a distant relative
knows you from an old black and white photo.
Anastasia: a crazy name for an Irish woman,
but actually quite common
in the long buried book of Celtic Memories.
I was hanging-out under my eyelids,
the way a winter sun hangs under a winter tree,
or a sloth hangs from a moist lichen reverie
maybe.
When Anastasia - her 80 year old hair
flying on countless dove-gray moonbeams
came to me,
a pitter-pattering of soft rain
falling onto my big, round, brown,
dreaming eyes.
“I am not dead, and you are not dead.”
She said.
I should have been afraid
but fear takes much more energy
than I had at that moment.
I heard myself answer:
“Then you are alive”?
The soft rain continued to speak:
“Did I say that”?
That’s all I remember.
Later, just for we big thinkers,
I commenced to rummage
through the long buried book
of Celtic Memories.
It was then that, ever so slowly,
I remembered.
I was getting really restless,
The proverbial ANTS IN THE PANTS.
Feeling SORRY for myself;
My LIFE had no romance.
I went to see my doctor,
But he didn’t have a CLUE.
If there’s no OPERATION for it,
He doesn’t know what to do.
My days were a SEQUENCE of TRIVIAL PURSUITS;
Likewise my evenings and nights.
Always too timid to take a RISK,
How could I put things to rights?
And so I took a TICKET TO RIDE,
To visit a therapist.
And he was very quick to SPOT IT,
The condition my doctor had missed.
He judged my case to PERFECTION.
He hit the nail right on the head.
It seems I’m addicted to board games,
An illness quite common he said.
It seems I don’t have a MONOPOLY,
And he told me just what I should do.
I have to get out more, with lots of fresh air.
From now on board games are TABOO.
S ucculent forests now barren, almost dying
I n the hands of thieves hungry for fortune, while
G lobal warming crushes nature’s environ
N otwithstanding war’s incessant slaughter,
O ppressing a human's right to blessed life...
F ear sown on streets, power of crime --the law.
T hese are but only the pursuits of our new order, the
H unts consuming nations, a devious act of indignity, as
E very day we hear the wails from exiled children.
T ell me, shall the next generation inherit this bondage?
I s destruction of Mother Earth our 'noble' tribute?
M urderers are we licensed to plunder recklessly , an
E ntitlement quite common, snuffing hopes of a future,
S oiled by a culture of excessive barbarism!
John Hamilton's Sign Of The Times Contest
4/27/2018
Momma was Nonoma, her daddy was Powhatan
Pocahontas married John Wolfe, a union not in fashion
Unheard of back then
Today quite common
Prejudice is defeated, um... well there's still a wee chasm
It’s the thing that eats you up
The thing that makes you scared
The thing that dulls your flair
The thing that fills your head
The thing you haven’t dared.
It’s that feeling of numbness and dread.
That panic in your throat.
It’s the tears that once were shed.
It sometimes loses friends.
It sometimes makes you shake.
It sometimes blocks your path
And it always makes you ache.
It’s that voice in the back of your mind
It’s those frantic actions
That makes things hard to find.
It seems like a tiny little thing,
That you can barely see
But I guess it’s not that tiny
For someone like you and me.
This thing that seems so harmless,
That seems like a rarity,
Is actually quite common,
And its name is anxiety.
When I was young, my class was filled
With Lindas, Donnas, Sues.
Our parents mostly stuck to names
Quite common when they’d choose.
But each few years the choices change
And certain names just stick,
Becoming those that moms and dads
Will very likely pick.
The latest female moniker
I’ve heard, to my surprise,
Is Ruby and I’ve heard it thrice
And so I theorize…
That other gems might make the scene
Like Topaz, Jade or Pearl,
A glittering selection for
A brand-new baby girl.
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