Better Free Your Mind Instead

You tell me that it’s evolution, well, you know ~ John Lennon

He chants, magical, Magical,
MAGICAL in his carseat while
I drive, enthralled by his fluency.
I’m not sure what his spell entails.
We sail through the chockablock roads
laughing and irreverent,
thumbing our noses as time
wields the whip on all these
frantic commuters.

A bashful goldfinch perches
sunlit orange beak, bright yellow
head. He’s hanging upside down and
pecking, checking first to track
my wrist, the pen slowing but I
can’t stop and my vulgar scratching
finally frightens him to flight.

What would I give to be
trustworthy and tolerated?
Every part of me surges an
answer and requires my deep
commitment: believe in me.
Prove your love with dedicated
practice, simple daily steps.

When I rise, surprised molecules
scatter in response to my
expanded state. And just like that
—out loud—I sing my newfound
immensity. This container
shifts and I fill every nook and
cranny, engage the places
who long lay dormant. Not today!

The rain has eased, the light kiss
golden, finessing every
yellow between the blue lake and
the green green summer green
on this cloudless glorious
morning of my new beginning.

Inspired by: Vulgar, Bashful, Irreverent and Finesse.

Blame Game

I’m carmelizing veggies while
I sip this hot concoction: old-

style tisane of elder, pepper-
mint and yarrow, ginger, clove and

licorice, rose hip and hyssop,
cinnamon and honey. Bleary-

eyed in this damp morning, rain
and still more rain to come.

My grandson’s teenaged sibling’s chain
a gift, he brought this link to me.

This tardy attempt to nourish
since my efforts to admonish

cover your mouth, wash your hands
betrayed by a sneeze–bless you

–right in my face. He’s three, he’s
innocent, if we must label

our intentions. I’m emptying
a kleenex box, clearing my throat

and coughing, heavy sighs as I
negotiate my breath. And this

just in: my father is choking
from the garlic I am roasting,

past and future generations’
circling irritations, try to

name the source of pain: here, we claim,
it started here, it’s all your fault.

Inspired by: Admonish, Nourish, Label, Betray and Sibling.

Beyond Our Ken

What do we toss aside as interesting but largely meaningless incongruities? ~ David McGowan

How do we stay awake, moments
and days choked by the woven

pattern which tempts us
to dream? We ignore strong

clues–coincidental anomalies–
for that comfortable snooze.

When I told my doctor that
I healed my fatal illness,

he never asked me how.
He called me noncompliant,

told me never to return.
I bounced past the ashen

patients in his waiting room.
Magic pills destroying them

(I tossed mine away and my
data left the mainstream so busy

counting cadavers.) Yesterday
my grandson stopped midplay,

running to cling to my legs.
Ghosts had claimed the room,

he needed me to sort it out
with my eclectic skills. I praise

the ancestors, investigate the
shadows. Openings at every step

if only we dare to be
present in this uncanny world.

Inspired by: Tempt, Dream and Eclectic.

Tuned In

The plangent roar of my grief

reaches my grandson’s heart

far off, past

my deluded belief that my 

sadness is encased

—rolling like a stone apart,

downriver, erased

from the field, a paltry sliver—

illuminated with his simple words:

I want to live with you.

I rise up dripping from the stream,

still able to find my footing,

for love is true.  My college friends derided

babymaking, they decided

not to breed cogs for this unholy

wheel, no children for the American

dream, the improbable scheme

looking too much like hell.

But I chose differently and now

it doesn’t matter that my heart

is set to shatter, or that I am tired,

so tired.  I recognize this young place

once again disgraced, her hopeless

grip threatens my trip to

watch comedy under palm trees. 

The remedy: I’ll laugh anyway.

I’ll find the strength 

to make it one more day.

Inspired by: Comedy, Plangent, Anyway and River.

May The Fourth

We all delight in mouthing
May the Fourth be with you, cheers
for David in his battle
with Goliath—taming stars
with ships and blasters—not the
kids in Palestine armed with
only rocks and fears. (Movies
more explicit carpet floors
of cutting rooms.) Here we watch

five goslings, newly hatched, swim
the lake longways tucked in their
parents’ honking wake, and fleur
de lis and lilac take turns
tantalizing. And this white
flowering crabtree, bridal-
lush luxuriance a pledge
any starstruck love would swear.
(This flicker visiting the
empty suet cage tut-tuts.)

The swallow’s iridescent
vigil from her nest, diving
into the rain. Alert like
the baby years past watching
for her cue—enter squalling—
I’m still born in May, the stars
portents of wild green greening.

This critical voice has had
free rein. Saddling women
I should be, riding hard right
out of here into that tired
tomorrow. I cannot find
fresh eyes until my grandson
calls—he’s sobbing, will you be
my best friend? (not a ghost to
guide in dreams)—morning hope springs.

Inspired by: Battle, May, Force and Delight.

XP Extended Play

Eight bright new colors now

a muddy brown with occasional stripes

of pink, and a green splot.  There’s

joy and emerging command,

precise purpose and such

absorbed fascination.

He holds it to his nose,

I wuv this smell.  First time

for everything and I am here

sitting on my hands so I don’t

rush him into the advanced menu.

This is squeeze and mold with the

occasional palms-rubbing worm

and have I ever had so much fun?


Inspired by Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt: xp.  (stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.)