My orgone pendant is missing. Child’s play
I surmise as I follow clues: dried clay
my gemstone necklaces all ajumble
the treasure boxes brim with stones tumbled
I mollify my neat freak’s worrying
relax and cease the anxious scurrying
past sticky chairs. Unexpected delight:
new fridge art, I count blessings in clear sight.
Dawn’s celestial music from the spheres
is kind of hard to hear. Flaps over ears
avoiding this bitter cold, low over face
a wooly hat cocoons me from the grace
of stars concealed by collapsed chem-trails
this simulated weather’s epic fails
and now my descendants medicated
propagandized cabal-educated
taught to worship fiat on cellphone streams
in cellblocks they call homes and schools. The memes
instruct them to resent and hate the aged
like puppet Joe and evil Nancy. Saged
wisdom is hidden and the slate wiped clean
dumbed down celebs rewriting history
what’s a grandmother to do in this scene?
The script so stale and tired and words demeaned
our pineal glands fluoride-calcified
til magic resides on the other side
reality is defined with bullhorns
wielded by ensorcelled fiends whose deep scorn
accelerates the fear stream. So I dwell
intuitively find ways to excel
mattering in imaginative ways
that nicely cancel evil’s featured daze
Inspired by: Collapse, Face, Feature and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt to use words with “cel.“
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.
“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.
“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.
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!
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.
Here she is in 1947:
And with a great grandchild helper in 2018:
Inspired by: Laundry and my dear, departed mother.
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.
Family Matters 