I Wanted To Say: For Andrea

I wanted to say
that you inspire me
to speak the truth
I wanted to say
that you are so strong
and brave
that you make me feel
strong and brave too
I wanted to say
that I admire
your forthrightness
and your total lack of bullshit
I wanted to say
that your words
are beautiful
and sad
and uncomfortable
and challenging
and meaningful
I wanted to say
that you have opened my mind
and my heart
I wanted to say
that I'm a 50 year-old straight woman
wife and mother
who has a wicked crush on you
I wanted to say
that you look a little thin, sweetie
and I'd love to invite you to my place
for pasta and homemade sauce
(bring your adorable dog too!)
I wanted to say
thank you
for reminding me
that words matter
and that poetry is powerful
I wanted to say all that
and more
but when I saw you in person
all I could say was
"Can I give you a hug?"
Thank you
for saying "yes."

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Jewish Christmas Haiku

Oy vey, it's Christmas!

Let's do a movie and then

We'll get some Chinese!

submitted (late) for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Words Count with MZ,

Merry Christmas!

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY 2014!!!

Angel

photo by MyBlackPrince

Her mama called her Angel

even though she was conceived in sin

Never knew her daddy

Her mother never saw him again

She was the prettiest baby in town

Never cried when mama brought the men around

She just looked out her window

and listened to the city's sounds

How can angels fly

when they're born with a weight on their wings?

The closest Angel got to Heaven

was when she heard her mama sing

a sad song about flying away

They'd go together some day

Until then, be a good girl

Be an angel

Angel went to school

but she didn't have too many friends

Couldn't bring them home 'cause

she never knew her mama's plans

Sometimes she found a man behind the door

or her mama passed out on the kitchen floor

Angel saw the worst of Hell

and quickly learned to ignore

How can angels fly

when they're born with a weight on their wings?

The closest Angel got to Heaven

was when she heard the radio sing

a sad song about running away

Someone would take her one day

Until then, she'd just pretend

There were angels

Angel was sixteen 

when she saw the guy on her street

He told her she was pretty

talked to her so low and sweet

Angel thought he'd give her a new life

She didn't know that he already had a wife

He gave her some cash then

told her to forget his name

How can angels fly

when they're born with a weight on their wings?

The closest Angel got to Heaven

was when she heard the church bells ring

She prayed forgiveness for her sin

Sometimes you end up right where you begin

Angel had a daughter

who never knew her daddy's name.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, FB Friday, Calling All Angels

A Very Fine W(h)ine

It tastes like cherries and sadness
With just a hint of despair
The plum notes contain certain madness
that releases when it breathes the air

The body is quite melancholy
It lingers with a pronounced dread
To drink it would be total folly
Let it age well like any good red

When you try it, I'm sure you'll agree
It has a distinctive bouquet
that tickles the nose with ennui
from terroir with a subtle dismay

Grown on a most morose vine
These grapes make a very fine w(h)ine.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Challenge, All In the Family in which we were to ask for a poetic first line from a family member and then write the rest of the poem. This first line came from my daughter, Baby Mouse (17).

The Seventh Crow

Seven Crows by Merlyn-Gabriel

One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told.

 I am

the frenzied heartbeat

the whispered gossip you can almost hear

the gibbering beggar on your corner

I am

the madman in your basement

the lady with vulgarly smeared lipstick

the lunatic in your attic

I am

the eleventh toe

the devil in the details

the feather in your pillow that pokes your dreams

I am

the frayed wire

the kink in the system

the unaverted catastrophe

I am

the sinkhole of irrationality into which you slide

bit by bit

180 degrees from okay.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Get Listed with FB

Eskimo

Did you know
that there are over 100 words
for "outsider?"
Each word 
conveys a subtlely different meaning
from every other word

Take "nigger," for instance
This word and "cracker"
both refer to skin color
However, each is a different shade
of hate

Then we have "kike" and "hebe"
I've had both terms
applied to myself,
my religion
I've flinched
in a slightly different way
when each was said

Since this is a poem,
let's rhyme -
"Dyke" rhymes with "kike"
You could even call someone
a "kike dyke"
This would refer
to a particular type of lesbian,
should you be a particular type of bigot

As long as we're discussing
sexual orientations,
how about "fag," "queer," or "tranny?"
So many labels for "different" and "unacceptable"

Let's not forget
"wop," "chink," "wetback," "camel jockey," "frog"
So many ways to say
"You are not one of us."

Isn't language wonderfully fascinating?
And did you know
that the Eskimos have
over 100 words for....?

submitted with apologies if I offended anyone's sense of decorum to Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Out of Standard with Izy, Eskimo

Ribbons of Red

Ribbons of red to celebrate

the holidays, good times ahead

We wish, count down the days, and wait

Ribbons of red

I'm thinking of you, instead

How your numbers are of late

Hope you're well on the new meds

Whether chance or whether fate

connected us with life's fine thread

To you, my prayers I dedicate

Ribbons of red.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Challenge, A Birthday in December, Christina Rossetti

Our Town

source

Meagan could still feel her Daddy's hands

touching her, she couldn't understand

Smelled the stale beer on his lips

Any place is better than this

Lives behind the Safeway with her friend

Sally used to work hard as a cook

til she threw her back out and she took

pills her doctor gave to her

Kept on needing more and more

Lost her job, her house, and still she's hooked

Lindsay locked herself inside the john

Her daughter cried and pounded for her mom

When her friends knocked down the door

Lindsay lay blue on the floor

Needle still was stuck in her left arm

Nicky always looking for a mark

Hooked up with his friend outside the park

Later on he stole his car

Didn't make it very far

Cuffs around his wrists 'fore it got dark

Camille called her mom this Sunday past

Said she needed just a little cash

Promised her she'd pay it back

Found her man and bought some smack

Father said that girl was always trash

Under every town's pretty facade

The underbelly's waiting to be prod

Take a peek, the edge is frayed

Out where the outliers strayed

Dying 'neath the gaze of a flawed god.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Music: Gratitude Edition, A Walk on the Wild Side

White on White

source

Black and white

held up to the light

As I wait, biting

what's left of my nails

Black or white

Yes or no

Clean or not

Stay or go 

Black and white

but something's not right

The evil could hide

in plain sight when

there's not enough night

to contrast with the day

on the x-ray 

White on white

Cotton in snow

doesn't quite show

so how do I know?

Fifty-fifty chance

they miss a spot,

report that it's not

and then, what?

Black and white

And I sit tight

trying to fight my fears

All of these years

Being told I'm clear

but all may not be

as it appears.

Poet's Comment: I don't usually explain my poems, but this is about early breast cancer detection and it's important. Did you know that breast density influences the accuracy of a mammogram? Dense breast tissue is comprised of less fat and more glandular tissue. On a mammogram, dense tissue appears white and cancerous tumors also appear white, making it nearly impossible to "see" the tumor. While mammogram can find about 98% of cancers in women with fatty breast tissue, it finds only about 48% of cancers in women with dense breast tissue. If you have dense breasts, you may want to get an ultrasound or MRI in addition to a routine mammogram. Some states now mandate that information about breast density be included on a mammogram report. Find out. Check out this site for more info.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Kerry's Wed. Challenge, Black and White

'Tis the Season

'Tis the season to be marginalized
'Cuz the Christian majority can't realize
that holidays come in more than one size
Or maybe they're not celebrated at all
Not everybody decks the halls
or hangs those colored Christmas lights
Yeah, that's my menorrah shining bright
for eight nights, oy vey!
Not all gifts come on a sleigh
Though every year, the same old scene
My eyes assaulted with red and green
as the stores roll out the Christmas machine
And what about the rest of us?
Always there to make a fuss
when we protest the nativity
in a public space for festivity
or ask for a kinara too
or a Star of David in white and blue
(isn't that just like a Jew?)
to try and make us all rephrase
"Merry Christmas" to "Happy Holidays?"
But would it really kill the mirth
to have a little peace on earth?
To acknowledge and embrace
those of more than just one faith?
So while you defend your Christmas cheer
Remember there are others here.





submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Challenge, Woodie Gurthrie (protest poem)

Kitsune

source

They say that cats have nine lives
I have only one life but
nine tails!
With each year, I gain wisdom,
power,
cunning
Poor kitties!
To die eight times over
To be reborn ignorant and small
Watch me grow older and better!



submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Words Count With MZ, Sleepover Edition 

Kitsune is the Japanese word for fox.  Kitsune are a type of yokai, or spirit, believed to possess supreme intelligence, long life, and magical powers. Kitsune may have as many as nine tails. Generally, a greater number of tails indicates an older and more powerful fox. Some folktales say that a fox will only grow additional tails after it has lived 100 years.

November Swan Song

 

 One of my boys, Puck <3

Mist over the moon

Early morning cricket song

Just me and the dogs

Leaves crunch beneath our ten feet

November sighs quietly

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

A Toad's Favourite: Rita Dove

"I believe even 5-year-olds can get something from a Shakespearean sonnet…as long as you DON’T tell them, ‘This is really hard.’”  -Rita Dove

Rita Dove was born in Akron, Ohio in 1952.  She received her B.A. from Miami University of Ohio in 1973 and her M.F.A. from the University of Iowa in 1977. She served as Poet Laureate of the United States from 1993 to 1995 and Poet Laureate of the Commonwealth of Virginia from 2004 to 2006.  She has received many academic and literary honors, including the 1987 Pulitzer Prize in Poetry and the 1996 National Humanities Medal from President Clinton. In 2011, President Barack Obama presented Ms. Dove with the National Medal of Arts, which made her the only poet to have received both medals. 

Author of nine poetry collections, a book of short stories, a novel, essays, and a play, Rita Dove is currently Chair of Commonwealth Professor of English at the University of Virginia (where I, lolamouse, attended grad school!) She currently lives in Charlottesville, Virginia with her husband, the writer Fred Viebahn. She has one adult daughter.  The Rita Dove HomePage has extensive biographical information as well as photos, readings, videos, and interviews. 

Rita Dove is one of my favourite poets, and I had a difficult time narrowing down her extensive writings to even a few of my very favourite poems.  Dove’s writing encompasses political, historical, and personal  themes. Although I find her writing quite accessible and forthright, I always come away with something new to think about or a new way of looking at the familiar. 

When I was a new mom, struggling with the demands of a difficult baby, Dove’s poem “Daystar” was an epiphany. It is from a collection of poems, Thomas and Beulah (1986) based on Dove’s grandparents. When I first read it, I felt that someone understood my mixed feelings about becoming a mother, the loss of privacy and identity that comes with having a child. I clipped that poem from our newspaper and kept it tucked in my dresser drawer to read whenever I felt overwhelmed and unappreciated. It is still there today.

Daystar

She wanted a little room for thinking:
but she saw diapers steaming on the line,
a doll slumped behind the door.

So she lugged a chair behind the garage
to sit out the children’s naps…

For complete poem, see link at Poet's Choice from the Washington Post, 1/23/2000

Here is a video of Rita Dove reading her poem:

Rita Dove reads 'Daystar' from BillMoyers.com on Vimeo.

Another favourite poem, "Teach Us To Number Our Days," takes its title from Psalm 90 but speaks to cultural and political issues of today. It begins

In the old neighborhood, each funeral parlor

is more elaborate than the last.

The alleys smell of cops, pistols bumping their thighs,

each chamber steeled with a slim blue bullet…

For complete poem, see the Poetry Foundation website

    Rita Dove is quoted as saying, “I prefer to explore the most intimate moments, the smaller, crystallized details we all hinge our lives on.” I think this is one of the reasons I love her poetry so much. She takes the personal and makes it universal and the universal and makes it personal. She is able to focus a light on those quotidian moments we all have and, with her words, elevate them to things of lasting beauty. Read and enjoy.

That Kind of Storm

Photo by Peggy Goetz

The rain

pelts the window glass

like thousands of tiny fists

in impotent fury

The sound

does not soothe or

amuse me

as it did earlier when the rain

pinged upon car hoods

with the sloppy rhythm of popping corn

or

rat-a-tatted

like little bird feet tapdancing

on the roof

This storm

sounds serious

The wind

howls like a feral ghost dog

in the night

and sends my own dog,

a cocky Maltese,

under the bed quivering

Me,

I make a strong cup of tea

It's a teakettle kind of storm

The nagging beep

of the microwave just won't do

I want to listen

to the whistle, brave

and persistent

I hold

the china mug between my palms

It warms my hands

and wards off the demons. 

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Wednesday With Peggy

Poet's Corner

Mike Worrall, Poets Corner, oil on linen, 122x155cm, 2002

I walked the labyrinth until my feet were sore

Discovered that bliss and blisters do not happily coexist

I sat and meditated until my ass went numb

Emerged no more enlightened than when I first began

I prayed to God, the saints, the Devil, the muses, and Jesus

It was the religious equivalent of mixing ammonia and bleach -

Yet here I am, still dumb as a bag of rocks

and empty as a Halloween pumpkin in the head

The music I create is birthed between my legs

Oh well, at least it makes you happy to sing along.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Challenge, featuring Mike Worrall

Peace By Peace

Peace by peace we make things right

When we can talk instead of fight

When understanding counters hate

Our differences are not so great

An open heart lets in the light

Not everything is black or white

The shades of grey enrich our sight

Let’s join together, share the weight

Peace by peace

There is no day without the night

Two sides to stories we may write

When we listen, we create

A bridge to connect and relate

Those once opposed some day unite

Peace by peace.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday, BlogBlast4Peace -Dona Nobis Pacem