Poetry Train

i wish for you

i wish for you
that every day could be
sunshine and lollipops
balloons and fun rides

i wish for you
that all the hurts
would be booboos
healed with kisses and bandaids

i wish for you
the sun and moon and stars
and if you want
i'll wish you rainbows too

i wish for you
that everyone you meet
will love you
as i do

some days

somedays i just want to stay in the warm, warm bed
the sheets smelling like my husband
the comfort of the blankets embracing me
long after he has left for work

somedays i just want to leave the dishes sitting
crusted with the remains of the meal
silent testimonial that i did cook dinner tonight
long after the food has been consumed

somedays i just want to leave the laundry sitting
piled on the floor or draped over the chair
quiet proof that i did get out of bed today
long after the alarm started buzzing

Manic Monday/ Poetry Train

my father had altzheimer's for many years before his death. this is a short poem describing the experience from my point of view.

The Killing Frost

It crept across the mind
Freezing the synapses,
Killing the memory
Like frost on the open field
Ruining the plants
Leaving a wasteland behind.

And so, what made the man,
The interests, the intelligence,
Was gone, as if it never were,
The body an empty shell
After the mind was stripped clean
Leaving a wasteland behind.

What book are you?

so i took this quiz lol

You're Watership Down!

by Richard Adams

Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you're
actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their
assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they
build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You'd
be recognized as such if you weren't always talking about talking rabbits.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Sigh.......

I got a phone call yesterday, the kind you hate to get, full of bad news and leaving you pretty much wanting to curl in a ball and cry.

I know a wonderful young man, BJ, who is eight years old, and blind as a result of a cancerous brain tumor present at birth. It's an extremely rare condition, as you can imagine. Several months ago, during his regular exam, they discovered that the brain tumor, which had been dormant for five years, had begun to grow. The decision was made to leave it alone for the time being, and monitor it closely. This was in part because the diagnosis came the same week of BJ's father's death from pancreatic cancer.

Now, however, it seems that the cancer has returned. The phone call I received yesterday was from my friend Karen, who is BJ's braillist at school. She says that he will be receiving two rounds of chemo, and has already begun the first round. They are apparently going to be very aggressive in treatment.

BJ is a bright, energetic nine year old boy who charms everyone he meets. He is one of the most loving, friendly, adorable kids I've ever known. I know that his prognosis is not a foregone conclusion, but I can't help imagining the possibilities.

I can only hope that his family have the strength left, after everything else they've gone through recently, to handle everything that will be coming their way.

Poetry Train

Fear


Insidious, it beats against me,
Drawing me into its darkness.
Against all rational thought-
The realities cannot survive the imagination.
It crawls through my consciousness
Pulsing through my bloodstream
A tingling in my hands and feet
Centering in my chest, a weight against my heart
Even as I know it is nothing but fear;
The worst I can imagine,
Not really happening,
Just swirling like the thickest fog
Sucking me in
Making me doubt myself and that I know to be truth.

Poetry Train

i'm sort of wussing out, and instead of making my brain work on a new poem, i'm posting a portion of a WIP.

Nightingales (working title)

Patrick had spent the afternoon wandering the small town of Wayne’s Trace. He’d found a decent motel and a quaint little diner to eat his dinner. To kill some more time, he’d nursed a last cup of coffee until the sun was near to setting. Perhaps he should’ve passed on the caffeine, as his nerves were pulled taught. He was pretty sure that if he looked, he’d find a fine tremor in his hands. Instead, he concentrated on the winding road that led him back to Nightingale Farms.

As he pulled into the lane, he admired the farm. The fences were obviously well mended, and the buildings he saw were also well-maintained. There were several horses in various paddocks as he made his way toward the house. Patrick once again was struck by the oddity of this innocent looking white clapboard house being the home of a vampire. The well-maintained grounds and well-kept landscaping seemed to belie the nature of its occupant. Of course, having never met a vampire before, who was he to judge?

He pulled the truck into the spot he’d occupied earlier. The place seemed deserted. Even the barn, which had been bustling with activity earlier, was quiet now. Patrick got out of the truck, unsure of where he should go. Then he saw the woman he’s spoken with standing on the wide porch surrounding the house. He moved toward her.

As he came up the steps, she smiled. “I wasn’t sure if you’d return. I didn’t even introduce myself when you were here. I’m Mia Moore.” She held out one small, seemingly delicate hand. As he grasped it, he realized how much strength she had hidden in her small, trim body.

“I’m Patrick Finnerty. It’s a pleasure.”

“I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Finnerty.”

“Please, call me Patrick.” How ordinary this all was.

Mia gestured toward the furniture grouped in front of the large picture window. “So, Patrick, would you care to tell me why you’re here?”

Patrick settled in a rocking chair. He took a deep breath, listening for a moment to the sounds of the farm settling for the coming night.

“I met a woman in Florida, Jeannette. She’s a voodoo priestess. I was consulting her on a cure for my wife.” Mia’s eyes seemed to draw the truth from him. It sounded so silly, searching a cure from a voodoo priestess. Surely no rational being would do that?

Mia watched him quietly, waiting for him to continue.

“Barbara, my wife, has Alzheimer’s. I’ve taken her to the best doctors I could find. And…there’s really nothing that can be done. Well, we’ve done everything that’s available, but none of it really works. It doesn’t stop the damn disease.” He looked down at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap. He stared at them for a moment, wondering when they’d become the hands of an old man. He was….how old? Oh, God…was his memory going too? Sixty-two…you’re sixty two you old fool. God only knew, he felt much older. This endless quest had taken its toll on him.

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Songs I Love:

1) Sunshine on Leith by the Proclaimers
2) Yellow Bedletter by Pearl Jam
3) Make it with You by Bread
4) Dancing Queen by Abba
5) Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce
6) Wild World by Cat Stevens
7) Killer Queen by Queen
8) Edible by Gran Bel Fisher
9) It's Not Over by Daughtry
10) Summerhouse by Better Than Ezra
11) Wash by Pearl Jam
12) Glycerine by Bush
13) Dont Let the Sun Go Down on Me by Elton John

Deaf Performing Artist Network Video

This is a very cool video someone sent me. It is done by members of the Deaf Performing Artist Network, set to John Mayer's song "Waiting on the World" This is just a marvelously done video, with an important message. Watch, think, enjoy.

DPN Video

Poetry Train/Manic Monday

I've been so caught up in gradschool that i havent been posting on here, or participating in the poetry train. i decided to give myself a few minutes to play, and post.

today is my mother's 82nd birthday. WOOOOOOOOT MAMA!!! :) in honor, i wrote this for her. a little background; my brother, sister and i are adopted. while getting a physical to prepare for her honeymoon abroad, the doctor discovered my mother had a uteran tumor. so, instead of leaving on her honeymoon the day after her wedding, she was admitted to the hospital and the day after, had a hysterectomy. can you imagine that sort of trauma during what is supposed to be the happiest time of your life? but she and my father had an amazing kind of love, and my father was the most accepting of people. when told they'd never have children, he said, "Well, of course we will. We'll just adopt." And that was the end of that.


So, here is my poem to celebrate my amazing mother, her courage, love, and life.

Life's veins

Love is thicker than water
For that runs quickly and clearly through streams
And blood means nothing as it runs through veins.
Water and blood sustain life.
But love nourishes the soul
For it is love that connects people
Man to woman, parent to child.
No need to look to blood for reason.
Love knows not the bounds of gene and cell.
It binds the heart and connects the soul
One to the other,
A stream carrying us all through life's veins.

Lets Do the Time Warp Again.....

This was a piece I had to write recently for a class I was taking. Its a personal narrative about my misspent youth.I think it turned out pretty well.

The Time Warp

Recently, I was instant messaging with a group of friends. My friend Darrie announced that he was once again a brunette, having been blonde for some time now. I commented that the last picture I’d seen of him had involved pink hair. In mock outrage, Darrie contradicted me. “It was magenta, I’ll have you know.” That sparked a memory of the character Magenta from Rocky Horror Picture Show. With a laugh, I broke into a round of, “Let’s do the time warp again…..” which is the refrain from the movie’s signature song, “The Time Warp.” Darrie immediately recognized the lyrics and exclaimed, “Lu, I love that movie.” We were off, quoting the song and movie, though Darrie was infinitely more adept at it than I. I’ve not seen the movie for years. But the conversation took me back to the first time I’d ever seen it.

I was sixteen, and attended a private girls’ school about a 45 minute drive from my home. I resented the drive, the isolation of where I lived, and the uniforms I was forced to wear; pretty much the entire experience. So I did what most malcontent teens do. I practiced passive aggressive guerrilla warfare. I cut my hair in what would now be referred to as a mullet, but was in those days called a Butch. The sides were shaved, the top was about an inch high and kept spiked, and the back portion was longer, down past my shoulders. I wore what was referred to as punk makeup, too. It consisted of electric colored eye shadow, heavy eyeliner and gobs of thick black mascara. This was complimented by streaks of hot pink blush across my cheek bones. It was, after all, the 80’s, and it was a popular look: everywhere except convent girls’ preparatory schools. My passive aggression didn’t limit itself to my hair and makeup. My left ear had seven piercings, my right ear had four. I wore one earring that reached down to my left shoulder, and an assortment of colored studs and hoops in the other holes. My clothes were outrageous as well. Needless to say I drew a lot of attention in those days. But it was my look and I wore it proudly.

I was also rebellious in my behavior, though I tended more towards the sneaking around than the outright defiance. So, when my girlfriend, Lucia suggested we go to see Rocky Horror Picture Show, I was all for it. The only theater showing it in Cincinnati was downtown, on the Skywalk, in a less than desirable section of town. And it was only shown at midnight. My parents, had they known, would have absolutely forbidden the adventure. Lucia’s mother was a lot more lenient. And of course, being teenagers, we took full advantage of that leniency.

Lucia’s mother dropped us off at the nearest entrance to the Skywalk, an elevated walkway connecting stores, theaters and restaurants. In those days, it ran around the perimeter of the Cincinnati business district. It was always crowded with people who wanted to avoid walking on the streets. Lucia and I, done up in our punk attire, made our way to the theater, excited about seeing the movie for the first time. We had heard enough about it from friends to have some idea of what was going to go on. We had come prepared with toast and rice to throw at the wedding scene, water guns for the rain scene, and various other trappings we’d been told were necessary for the full viewing experience.

What we weren’t prepared for was the costumes. The majority of people there were regular viewers. They came dressed as Frank N. Furter, Riff Raff, Magenta, even Janet and Brad. They looked at us, and exclaimed, “Love your costume! But, who are you?” To this day I laugh at that. Ever cheeky I replied, “Just me.” Perplexed, they couldn’t remember that character in the movie.

It was such a strange experience for me. I wasn’t quite sure how to deal with the fact that I was being accepted for my outrageous dress and behavior. Only, I was being accepted for the wrong reasons. My acceptance was based on a total misconception. It made me feel like an imposter, really. I was afraid that people thought I was trying to fit in, and had dressed that way to do so, even though I had obviously gotten it wrong. I didn’t match a single character in the film. Once again, I felt uncomfortable as a result of my attire, but in a whole new way.
Its odd how often that incident, 25 years later, comes to mind. I think about how odd a place I was in, emotionally, at that age. I wanted to be accepted, and yet I dressed and acted in a manner that pretty much guaranteed I wouldn’t be accepted, at least by those I typically came into contact with. Yet, that one magical night when I was embraced by a portion of the fringe of society, I resisted, feeling an imposter. I wanted that acceptance to be true and honest, not a mistake.

That incident comes to mind, I suppose, because even as an adult, I have those conflicted feelings. I want to be accepted, but by those who really understand me. I don’t want to change myself to fit in, but I don’t want to fit in because I’m perceived to be something other than what I am. When asked, “Who are you?”, as I was all those years ago, I want to answer honestly, “Just me.”

Manic Monday

i need to be free of

the tangle of my mind
the ache in my back
the list of chores on my desk
the incessant whine of the children
the dreams that taunt me with things i'll never be
the love that will never be returned
the guilt that it is i that cannot love

I've been TAGGED!

I've been tagged by Shanghi...so here goes!

Here are the rules:

1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
2. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
3. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
4. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

8 Random Facts/Habits About Me:
1. I'm adopted.
2. I love escargo, artichokes, and raw oysters.
3. My bellybutton freaks me out.
4. I have Barney Rubble feet....they look just like his, really.
5. My favorite color is green, any shade.
6. I love all watersports.....especially kayaking.
7. I am terrified of locked spaces.
8. I have a secret crush on Stephen Hawking :)

now to find 8 blogging buddies to tag, darnit lol i may have to come back round and add them when i figure out who i'm tagging.

Manic Monday

Manic Monday/Poetry Train

Ode to My Computer Friends

I sit for hours on this computer chair,
Typing here, typing there,
Sending words across the wire,
To city, hill, dale, and shire,
Keeping in touch with all I know,
Talking bout my favorite show
Or whats happened here at home,
Or abroad when I get to roam.
I tell my silly stories in poetry and prose,
Bout how my day started or how it will close.
I write the things that are in my head,
Wondering if they'll be read,
Making aquaintances, contacts and friends
Just by typing and hitting "Send"

Poetry Train

Mirror, Mirror

As I look in the mirror,
I wonder who that is staring back
That woman with the grey at her temples,
And the fine lines around her eyes and mouth.
Her eyes are green like mine,
But I wonder what is in her soul
That indefinable place that makes her, Her.
Who is that staring back at me?
That near stranger
Whose thoughts I try to escape,
Whose dreams keep me awake at night,
Whose hopes drive me,
Whose fears turn me inside out.
Who is that staring back at me,
From the eyeless soul in the mirror?

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Things About Art

1. i hate picasso...i just don't get it.
2. ruben had the right idea about women...theyre meant to be full figured and curvy, not a popsicle stick.
3. so what if georgia o'keefe's flowers are really female genitalia...that should be considered a beautiful body part.
4. i never see what anyone finds attractive about the mona lisa. she's jaundiced and needs a better hairdo.
5. art is anything that doesnt make you want to mow it over, paint it black, or send it to space on an exploratory UFO.
6. your art might be someone else's recycling materials.
7. beauty really is in the eye of the beholder. not everyone likes all eras, mediums, styles, etc. and thats why there's variety, and ITS the spice of life. :)
8. pencil drawings are my fave thing to do...i find them very relaxing, and a great way to de-stress.
9. Andrew Wyeth created some lovely pictures of both people and landscapes.
10. Arthur Rackham is an amazing painter. his illustrations of children's books are truly beautiful.
11. everyone is an artist; we just have different mediums...some of us are artists of people, bringing folks together and creating "social art"; others use traditional mediums.
12. all children should have art classes...everyone needs to draw, color, paint, explore.
and finally:
13. art is not just a skill you were born with...style and ability, like anything, are developed through use and practice. so, go be artsy! :)

more from my twisted mind

what lives in my dreams

Poetry Train/ Manic Monday

Graduate

You walked out, in line with your classmates,
Your red graduate's gown flowing as you moved.
And you were so handsome, a young man,
Not really my baby anymore.
Your shoulders were back with pride,
Your stride mature and dignified.
Then you saw me, and stretched out that big, gentle hand.
I placed my smaller hand in yours, and we walked together
Side by side, in view of all there,
But you weren't ashamed of walking with your mother.
You stopped in front of my aisle, and leaned over,
Kissing my forehead, and murmuring,
"I love you mommy." And I cried.
My tears streamed down my face
As I tried to find my place with the family.
And I realized, they were all crying too,
Out of love, and pride, of the man you have become.

All grown up

Today is Em's day!!!! YAY!!! Yes, I'm totally freaked out that my oldest is graduating from high school......I can NOT believe he's old enough, really. This is a pic of both of my kids, David Emmitt and Ann. He mostly goes by David, but "Em" has always been my special name for him. He's a bright, wonderful young man who makes all those around him smile....even as they're reaching for a blunt object to beat him with. lol. He's stubborn (hmmm family trait???) determined and knows what he wants in life. His goal is to graduate from Culinary School and get a job working in one of Emeril's restaurants. Emeril is one of his culinary role models, and Em would like to someday own his own restaurant and have a cooking show on the Food Network. He certainly has the personality for it. His sister says that he doesn't get in trouble half as often as she does because he charms his way out of it, or gets me laughing so hard I forget I was angry at him. Hmmmmm, she may be right.

So, I'll spend the day traumatized that my baby is graduating. And, I'll probably shed a few tears tonight, as well.