Category: grandma

Love’s Reach

To reason, Love can only say
this way is barred,
you can’t pass through,
but to the lover
it offers a hundred blessings.~Rumi

Filled with life’s promise, you dance ahead
disseminate joy’s exuberance.
The fracas in my head left behind.
Love calls us in vivid fleeting hues
we cannot miss, spinning, jocular
journey together. Lead on, sweet child,
this path through the wilderness alit
with every color on the earth.

Inspired by: Fracas, Disseminate, Jocular, Promise and the OctPoWriMo Day 28 prompt Journey (Path, Trail, Decision, Choices), and Mirabai Ceiba setting my favorite Rumi poem to music. And my four-year-old grandson telling his mother, “We went hiking and we saw every color on the planet!”

Walking Into The Sun

The hoarding is over now
we run naked gleeful
into the sun.

My grandson cries, “Nobody doesn’t love
me,” and I feel the outcast energy

rising ancestral tide of shame-tinged blame
and it’s a game we play with passionate

abandon: can you tune in, emote so 
deep a doggy comes to sniff and lick in 

sweet compassion?  Sendings so true, alive
imaginations limitless.  We find

when duress fills our sails, we flee across
the teeming ocean, no time to ponder

why there’s no rhyme today perhaps divine
intervention or an armor-shined knight

will play at slaying dragons—we can’t wait
throw down our Vorpal swords, befriend peril

I look up every weighted word until
in our wild power we must invent new

Soundcloud recording here.

Inspired by: Sails, Ponder, Duress, Divine the Stream of Saturday Consciousness prompt to use a word I have to look up (I look up nearly every word before allowing it into a poem, feeling into the weight of etymology) and the OctPoWriMo Day 17 prompt my wild rhythm.

Translating Space

My grandson greets me gregarious
GRO CHAKA MEES HI-YO-TA
I answer in kind as we FaceTime
our fresh living language just wrote, ah.

His passion loosed, he starts a haka
fierce dances and chest pounding
As we FaceTime, I answer in kind
his mother can’t tape this astounding

abandoning rules and creating
BA JUNG-A-LO MA-ZUCKUS
I answer in kind as we FaceTime
the vitriol atrocious ruckus

and the pique we release in our play
stamping feet, rhythmic shouting
as we FaceTime, I answer in kind
then, laughing, throw kisses, undoubting.

Soundcloud recording here.

Inspired by: Pique, Ruckus, Atrocious, Vitriol and the OctPoWriMo Day 12 prompt, having fun in the process (Playful, Childlike, Silly) in the new-to-me Zanila Rhyme.

Creative Depths

A dragon wriggles from the squiggles
red-eyelashed coquetry sailing blue
seas in a yellow sky, giggles
and jiggles, a jaunt crossing right through

imagination—emerging wise
and wonderful to urge: paint more soon!
Not to bully, just expand the size
of reality—outside lampoons

elites have honeyfuggled so sweet
distractions praising someone else’s
created world—gasp—necktie tight. Meet
me in space, though they call it selfish

and disparage our superpowers.
We throw off the leash and find that we
rise majestic moving paint.  Hours
wild and free defeat powers that be.

Inspired by: Jaunt, Honeyfuggle, Lampoon and Bully. And painting squiggles with my grandson.

Beloved Sage

In the shower a long line of silver-
haired stunningly fierce missing faces.  Clear
this week for an ancient karmic river
with a window in time to enter here

if you’ll receive your distant missing parts
to meet, to dance, legacy integrate.
And I’m all in, this slow allow as hearts
sincerely no longer insinuate.

Reminded, tales entrance, means of control
differed each time, still, locked up and caged
and on through the ages. Once writ on scrolls,
the story’s old, alive.  Well met, dear sage.

Inspired by: Reminded, Missing, Legacy and Insinuate.

I’m In Tune

There’s a symphony that I hear in your heart, sets my head a’reeling.~Pete Townshend

Balanced here now she’s tuned right in on you
and I am entranced. I wish to sing my
own dance in the angel’s grace she’s imbued
with. If she doesn’t have wings, no doubt she sighs

over feathers birds drop at her feet. Strength
and clarity. She’s sure in her being,
pausing–as I assume he says, Don’t blink.
That’s good. She stills. He captures harmony.

Inspired by: Wish, Feathers, Assume and Balance. Featured image is a faded photograph of my best friend’s ancestress. When I saw it this morning, I heard The Who singing Getting In Tune, in response to the Stream of Consciousness Saturday’s prompt to look at a photograph, seize the first tune that pops into your consciousness, and write about that.  

Sing With The Power

What if, while waiting for hummingbirds we
noted the young oak leaf blown apropos
of a theme this grandma teaches simply:
nature gives what is needed, even though

it may not be what you want. Compensate
for limited vision. Look with your heart.
Blooming rainbows, singing flights, we create
with Gaia. Now I’m leaving out these parts:

butterflies, clouds, the trees and the ground, birds
and the cars on the street, this easel-art
celebrations of bugs. Fumbling words
to convey the moan of that train: a start.

Inspired by: what if, theme, apropos, compensate and a curious four-year-old grandson who insisted on including all the parts I’d left out of my morning poem. As I write this, he is singing, “Sing with me, sing with me!”

Dream The New

Our future calls us into now where we create miracles.

My grandson wants to build a spaceship; he’s
dictated a list of supplies for ease
in construction. He’s been talking all week
about his newly inspired desire. Bring
me your impossible ideas, please
create the improbable. Run and seek
the stars to illuminate the slime, green
and glowing, meaning zilch to what’s been seen.
It costs a pittance in the world that’s been
to shine with power and imagine when
the world’s aflame. We’re asked to honor dreams.
Remember, none of this is what it seems.

Inspired by Slime, Zilch, Newly and Pittance.

Nature’s Privilege

Birdsong glory-listening this morning
front porch, choosing love, calling to mourning
doves, our hearts aflame and voices tender
soft–magic–daily practice aborning

it’s like a wizards’ school, cue each other
special powers granted by earth mother
we face our anger and our fears with light
touches and words, deep presence gifts t’other

we clean the places we call home, we send
such strong assurance, blessed by nature, mend
the broken bridges. We cannot inure
we open to delight in the twist-end.

He’s four and powerful, his spirals drawn
and golden suns with green rays, oh, praise dawn
when with a light touch he urges me, wake,
our teachers gather, come before they’re gone!

Inspired by Golden, Inure, Twist and Privilege.

Featured image drawn by my four-year-old grandson this morning. “The Sun.”