Cutting Edge

I eat my peas with honey. I’ve done it all my life. It makes the peas taste funny, but it keeps them on the knife.

I hang out with a six-year-old, discuss
cosmography and medicine and thus
expose the lies of our entrainment-ken
nonsensical theories we must defend

because it’s so. Unravel all I know:
a tapestry woven by clever foes
instilling false beliefs like pretty fluff
we carry unexamined off the cuff.

Segue to dark: grovel, beg my liver
release the arrows stored in your quiver
anger tips venom-coated deadly aimed
to take flight, fell the enemies I blamed

and claimed have caused the ills in this moment.
This sore throat’s yesterday’s hurt bestowment
and weapons I’ve created to take arms
I release. I will not cause myself harm.

Inspired by: Grovel, Pretty, Flight, Segue, and Moment.

Featured image: Honey medicine. A little goes a long, long way.

Greed State Indoctrinate

“Back in the classroom open you books
Gee but the teacher don’t know
How mean she looks.”~Chuck Berry

My grandson in first grade turns proper prim
no dishabille or cleavage shown. To him
this is a matter serious. Untied
neck blouses he proclaims cannot abide

when I arrive to help him in his class
he checks my zippered top and bold as brass
tells me he never wants to see it down.
I understand. I represent. I’m down

to follow as he seeks ways to control
in this wild and unruly hellish hole
he’s relegated to by the greed state
(which I predict will fall and free inmates.)

Inspired by Predict, Untie and Dishabille.

Featured image: The full moon set this morning was spectacular.

A Nefarious Plot

“You can drag my body to school but my spirit refuses to go.” – Bill Watterson

I have been attending the marketplace
where children’s souls, targeted, are debased
while harried parents rush and race heedless.
No fervid safeguards in that place, creedless

chaotic droning. In the overwhelm
some act out, others try to seize the helm
and gentle ones put down their heads and sigh
earn special prizes when they cease to cry.

My silver hair grants me an audience.
They bring such troubles. My euphonious
compassion as they seek to earn my praise
I give as freely as the sun’s fierce rays.

The children, our sweet future, imperiled
are staring at screens, hypnotized, sterile
while guardians jump ever higher hoops
away, oblivious, exploited, duped.

Inspired by: Market, Fervid, Safeguard, Audience and so much heartbreak in elementary school for an empath.

Featured image: Backyard mandala art with grandma.

First Grade Snafu

The abysmal ratio of teachers
one for over twenty first graders, each
child needy, lost, bored with the pace, subjects
confined and unattended, anchorless

all of his grief bottled up, the snafu
apparent in school: not enough staff who
watch over the classrooms. He’s singled out
as most egregious but I winkle out

the common theme. And so strategically
I bring wisdom to first grade so that he
under my guiding eye succeeds. Alas,
the covetous eyes of the kids in class

crave my attention, too. I glance and smile
and hug when they run up and all the while
I’m sending waves of balance through the field
the patient grounding we grandmothers wield.

Inspired by: Snafu, Covetous, Strategic, Bottle and recent visits to my grandson’s classroom.

Featured image: artwork by my six-year-old grandson. Oh, the passion with which he wielded his blue crayons!

Looks At God All Day

I walk into elementary school
waves of grief whelm, I attribute it to
the tremulous mouth of the troubled child
caged in the principal’s den, “acting wild”

his natural effervescence untamed
he can’t sit in a stiff chair unrestrained
and no one can look at the roots: the aim
to turn out obedient numbskulls shamed

and afraid, punished, bribed and extorted
til their birthright ambitions are thwarted
and they sink with a sigh into programs
solving old equations and anagrams

burying new insights and ideas
never realizing just who he is.
I take my grandson by the hand, we flee
to our beloved wise ancient oak tree

Inspired by: Tremulous, Elementary and Effervescence.

Title from the first poem I ever memorized, Trees by Joyce Kilmer.

Uniformly Molded

Outside main streams of narrative I see
the way to ruination. Sovereignty
birthright of children and expressed in fun
filched behind doors now that school has begun

first grade in the institution to form
good citizens. Uniforms aren’t orange
and the windows aren’t barred, not yet. This stage
to punish petulance and subdue rage

into a sober being who sits still
spellbound conceding freedom to the wills
capricious greedy rulers inhumane
like bulldozers crushing the young and sane.

Inspired by Concede, Petulant, Orange, Sober and the looming first day of school.

Featured image: Grandmothers and their grandchildren have always been one of my favorites to photograph, here with the floating filter.

Mosaic of Joy

All of the women grow more beautiful,
years drop away: the tone radiates, pulls
insistent and the reflection rings, rings
deep into unperceived layers it brings

the joy in right alignment pure, vibrant
–and not like the CGI-assisted
drivel spoon-fed saccharine though it tastes
bitter. I won’t dine here again mistake

an inner signal for a crave. This war
for my energy, my being: abhorred
and absurd. I’m not re-creating words
stale and obscene that blur now ’til birds

call and I fall back to this strange weather
geese are molting grandson collects feathers
scrubs them with my toothbrush–oops. So we learn.
We stop and breathe and begin to discern.

Featured selfie with grandson, mosaic filter.

Because Life Goes On

Sun glints through silken threads which designate
no-fly zones. Cottonwood fluff congregates

spinning while poised on the edge of a knife
razor-sharp I go hurtling through life

a plastic bag dances through the breeze. Trees
breathe me. Off to work, neighbor’s too busy
to pick up junk. Mourning dove five-note cries
a year ago at just this time Mom dies

I must peer into the darkest places
give audience to my worst disgraces

build toy spaceships with my grandson, create
elaborate adventures, celebrate

Inspired by: Junk, Toys and Audience.

Featured image: a large tub full of building blocks and two vivid imaginations make for a lovely day. My mom would have enjoyed every second of it.

My Lucky Day

A day with a grandchild is a blessing.

He stacks bloodstone agate chalcedony
in piles of powerful ceremony
on the window ledge. Requests baloney
and macaroni, but food that’s phony

has no place here. We munch apples, snow peas,
laugh and sing and paint ambidextrously.
Then he brings out the wooden figurines
and solves his mysteries in improv scenes.

Inspired by: Chalcedony, Ambidextrous and Macaroni.

Featured image: These wooden constellation figurines are my grandson’s favorite tools for his improv scenes.