Crimson Leaves

Crimson Leaves 

For the Baha'i prisoners in Iran - and for our beloved, Mona*

*http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQ-UxEbuPag

Crimson leaves ~ sacred

We stand before you naked,

imploring, the world to not ignore you
Imprisoned, shackled, you do not crack,

nor recant ~
instead you chant 

You bear though not alone

His Tablets tacked upon your soul,

older than our own.

You suffer for our existence,
carry love's persistence
Hate will never take you,

or break you

Hold our hearts in hand, bend our will forehand

Lend us strength again as you have done before
Open thou the door, O' Faithful ones ~
you who bore around your neck, the test
Lest, again they come to quench His flame,
flickering lights of The Greatest Name 
lead us back to Dawns unbroken,

lead us to the truth unspoken ~ 
by you in ringing tones, 
O prisoner captured, but not alone, 
our prayers will never leave you,
and for the world we grieve you,

Crimson leaves

ldn

*http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQ-UxEbuPag

It's Over

It's Over

where did it go?
I knew it would end but not this way

smack dab in the middle of me dying,

taking my last breath 

where is the rest ~ the part where you cry

I sigh…you beg me to stay,

just one more day, my star 
my Love, 
me gasping ~ no, I  must go away

then us lying close with one soul
pressed chest to chest, 
then know ~ where did it go.

ldn 

I am clay

I am clay

I form
I am the way
I stay still
I move
I am the tendon in the groove
Remove it at will
Detach it then spill
Rain on your sills
I am moss in your gills
I toss you
I play you
You can not fake me
Or make me your fantasy
I am real
I peel your skin
Collect it in nails thin
Dissect it
I see you flail on my wing
Flying
I know when you're lying
I am you crying
I am all things
I am in
I am

LDN

My Last Day

In commemoration of National Poetry Month ~ April first through April thirtieth

Dedicated to Mr. Gardner
http://djmistergardner.blogspot.com/


The Last Day
 
This is the last day of my life
as a challenged poet
I know it (now you do too)
I’ve not been bored
Have you?
I wore A-s and E-s on fingertips
Indexes (no more)
Okay, I admit, I hunt and peck
but what the heck ~ it’s worked for me
Poems (besides this one) ~ 73
I was challenged by my nephew, Mr. Gardner,
Teacher.  Poet.
He may not know it, but I bet he's sorry now
His monster created
(Monster is understated)
I sometimes overrated my pen
and the position I thought I was in
I berated myself ~ “No one will understand my hand or heart”
The part that twins me ~ and wins me over
to you
Eleven countries shared in this process
Views ~ thirty five hundred and seventy two
You're in this too, Baby
Complexity unyielding
Maybe
Whittling words in baskets,
woven loosely with strings of thoughts and things,
some stuff fell out of brain gaps
that should have been left inside
to die, perhaps
My therapist says I'm complex
or convex (one or the other)
It's all the same to me ~ so I’ll let it be
I know I don't walk a straight line (all the time)
Index fingers, flat on top
like crops of tulips lopped
Tulip Festival is ending by the way
along with my back bending ~ now in a crooked stay
suiting me all the same
on keyboards of dreams,
fantasizing joy and pain
Translating A-s and E-s
Tantalizing my brain with verses and rhymes
Forgive me, please ~
one more time

LDN  aka Aaron's Aunt

Buddha in a Bag

image: funnytimes.com

Buddha in a Bag

Buddha in a bag

Small, Medium, or Large?

Merchandising God

Magazine-ing Eastern thought on the drugstore shelf ~

$ 4.99 – “Think For Yourself”

I say it’s a pity,

and it’s not like Jesus was born in Wichita Kansas,

or came from New York City

It’s a new age thing for the 21^st Century patient

It's not new ~ it’s ancient

Maybe it's a mystery, and I’m not good at history
but it’s gotta be thousands of years

which brings me to crucifixes hanging from rearview mirrors,

sold and bought

Great Buys! Half off!

What’s gotten into you people?

Once sacred ~ covered by a steeple

is baby Jesus who Mary bore ~ sold in a Dollar Store!

Plastic wrapping Jesus ~ stacking Him in bins

China’s commerce is wearing thin

on me

I’m not prophysizing but India’s rising too

I’ve already been born again,
Thank you

Who do you think you are, prophet-ing

(Pun intended, of course)

Worse!

Krishna on a tin can of incense
I'm insensed

Who do you think I am?

and who said God was a man anyway?

Well, someone’s gotta pay,

for chocolate fish at Easter time sold at the five and dime

Not me

I’ve got my own philosophy,

and it doesn’t include (and I don’t mean to sound rude)

Brass bells and Gongs, calling sheep in throngs

to orange pocket Bibles at middle schools

Knock it off!

Kids Rule!

They need to think on their own

They’re not half grown for God’s sake

Give them a break

And maybe you wanna stop baptizing babies in dirty water

It’s an insult to the Father,

and the Son,

Who are actually One…okay I won’t get into that right now

But if you want a lesson on how,

and why Prophets came,

investigate truth for yourself,

not on a drugstore shelf,

By the way,

have you read the Koran?

or seen a photo of Muhammad framed?

No,

and I’m not using Muhammad's name in vain ~

just making a point, hoping to be heard,

just spreading the word

that Buddha in the back yard wouldn’t really like it if He returned,

Came back

and saw us praising His image, false gods, and all that ~ 

the ones who came from the East, at least

and I say it’s a pity

It's not like Jesus was born in Wichita, Kansas,

or came from New York City

ldn

Wireless Connections

photo: cartinafinland.fi


Wireless Connections

Cutting edge technology

Electronic lovers linger,

finger stuck on shift key

backspacing

erasing all memory

of words unspoken

Heart broken, they go on

It wasn’t a rift or anything that ended this romance

Wireless friends taking chances

Meeting again

Deleting as friends

Broken dreams on monitor screens

where once wore wireless connections

A new age phenomenon

Electronic lovers logging off ~ then on

 

LDN

Earning My Right

photo: iqim.org   Eastside Baha'i Center

Earning My Right*

I learned a lot from my dream last night

From its message I will now do it right

I won’t teach religion in a dirty house

or renounce God's truth by judging those who want to know

and I will always be prepared
having His word on hand to show

From this day forward and for the seeker’s sake,

I will be true to my Faith, not a fake

I will not ramble on ~ hook or crook

I’ll offer a book
(without wanting it returned)

The right to teach my Faith, I will earn

by being a sample ~ an example

I will forever teach

I will not preach

I will offer the Truth, then pray

It was a good dream in a way,

confusing until I awakened

talking in my sleep ~ shaken

Thank you, Spirit ~

From your message I now understand

to only trust in God

I lay all my affairs in Thy hand

LDN

*Without truthfulness, progress and success, in all the worlds of God, are impossible for any soul.
~  Abdu’l-Baha   http://www.bahai.us/

Window Screens and Doorstop Caps (for Mom)

photo: amazon.com

Window Sceens and Doorstop Caps (for Mom)*

When I was young and not yet wise,

and being poor my compromise

for a family rich in Love’s disguise,

I often dreamed the other side came with these things that I’ll describe:

window screens and doorstop caps,

corners bare without mousetraps,

tossing out the dinner scraps,

and my school lunch packed in brand new sacks,

noses wiped with facial tissue,

Britannica in latest issue,

store bought cards with pocket rhymes,

and our doorbell rung in singing chimes,

double sheets upon my bed, covered with a satin spread

(with a canapé above my head)

Now that I’m grown and so much wiser,

I left behind the compromiser,

but still I dream of what wealth brings ~

Little things,

like window screens and doorstop caps,

corners bare without mousetraps,

tossing out the dinner scraps,

and my school lunch packed in brand new sacks,

noses wiped with facial tissue,

Britannica in latest issue,

store bought cards with pocket rhymes,

and our doorbell rung in singing chimes,

double sheets upon my bed, covered with a satin spread

(with a canapé above my head)

Not under it

(Old joke)

Goodnight, I’m tired and going to bed.

Linda

*originally written in 1980 for my Mom who raised 9 children by herself

Baby Abandoned (in Iran)

photos: Mohammedreza Dehdari, Mehr News Agency

http://www.payvand.com/news/12/apr/1227.html
http://jahanezan.wordpress.com/2012/04/25/18338/

Baby Abandoned (in Iran)

Left on cracked cement
Not God’s intent when he lent us free will…
to spill it all over,
abandon His child with no one to hold her
Not just in Iran - it happens world over
(It’s pronounced, e-rawn)
It's important for words to be correctly pronounced
And to not renounce – The Creator
We do have a Creator (in case you were wondering)
Not a dictator
Believe it or not
And for those who believe,
the lesson ~ they got
from the story of Adam and Eve
Obey Me – or leave
They left bereft to the home they found
(below on the ground)
Not bound by God's Law
(above in His love)
It would have been easier if they'd stayed
and played in the Garden all day
Then again ~
looking at it from another perspective,
while trying to be objective with subjective intent,
perhaps the story of the Garden was sent
for His children to learn what it meant,
to not abandon His babies,
and leave them on cracked cement

LDN

Humanity at Stake

Humanity at Stake (for Baha'u'llah) *

Four months bound
One hundred pounds of chain around His neck
From lack of food and water - sick
Three flights down below the ground,
withstanding for humanity’s sake - pain
Understanding, He never complained
His feet beaten - bastinado on tender soles
Awake ~  day and night, rejoicing
His plight - prison
(His Prism)
God forbid this Hole!
The Black Pit as it is known
The Siyah-Chal
Breaker of the dawn ~ Baha’u’llah
Ankle deep in filth, infested
Arrested! ~ God’s Grace to man
Imagine it if you can - the stench,
attached to murderers and highway robbers,
together chained
Detached, He never complained
nor the friends who followed Him
to meet their death ~
to be tortured for (The One)
(The Father of the Son)
As promised, He came
But as it went before - the same,
ignored
Some heard ~ listened to the stories
of how He wore ~
one hundred pounds of chain around His neck,
from lack of food and water - sick
I (for One) will never forget
Baha’u’llah
Three flights down
├
├
├
Below the ground
I can still hear the sound of
Baha'u'llah with prisoners chained,
bound together
Two rows -- one row facing the other
deep in the Pit,
and yet ~
one row would chant,
God is sufficient unto me: He verily is the All-sufficing...
the other row echoing back ~
In Him let the trusting trust!
Verses ringing in the dust,
Baha'u'llah singing,
Oh, my God, Baha'u'llah singing ~
Let the trusting trust

Ya Baha'u'l-Abha!
Linda
*http://bahai-library.com/compilation_suffering_bahaullah#II

I am gaps

photo: vimeo.com (animation of a synapse, by mediafreaks)

I am gaps

I am gaps
(the synapse)
I connect time lapsed
Your chords when you speak
Your strength when you’re weak
I am the leak in your eye
(the lacrimal gland)
Not woman or man
I am the reason why
you inhale when you sigh,
you exhale when you die
I am the curve
(your nerve)
I hold you up when you stand
Stand firm when you fall
I am all
I am

LDN

Missing in Action

photo: flickr.com ( POW/MIA wall in Venice Beach, California)

Missing in Action (for a friend)

Missing in action
I guess that means dead somewhere
It wasn't like he was hiding under the couch or anything
The kids would have found him
They were always looking
They saw it on the news at Sears
It’s been several years
since he went missing
I wanted them to stop
But they searched every day
in the garage were he played
low, under his truck
and high, where he kept dangerous stuff
Enough is enough! I screamed
I lost it one day
They huddled in the closet, on his side
under suits barely used
wide eyed, hiding
from the mother they thought they knew
who, from her reaction
too, became missing  in action

I love you...

ldn 

Shattered Glass

photo: A.P. Vincenti

Shattered Glass

My dad saved these things, not me
I fell into glass jars on broken pipes, handled,
not grasped by strong fingers that touched me,
I lived in bottles rusted,
places where costume jewelry spoke to me
I was a skeleton key, in closets
I thought us not father, and son
but one stranger to another
It was my mother who wore shards on her skin
broken in 
hard from stubbled chin rubbing against all odds
I can not win his love
where glass jars on broken pipes 
in closets wearing his skeleton key
hang within.

ldn 

Airwaves (for Tony)

Airwaves (for Tony*)

Looks scary to me
Electric shock waves
Seas landing wireless connections on
airwaves blue
Lightning storms touching
pointed skies where
creatures
feature films

staring me and you

LDN

* My nephew, A.P. Vincenti, who collaborates with his images

Blurred

Blurred


Somewhere it got blurred,
science and fiction
Words heard
written on scrolls,
inked stories not told
to old saints who paint
ceilings on Michael Angelo
Picasso distorted,
drawings penciled in,
shaded in tales reported
by Poe to jaded fellow
with one ear to hear,
Vincent van Gogh
You know who I mean,
mouths that spill teeth out of
Twain, clear

LDN

Outside Within My Oxy-Moron

Outside Within My Oxy-Moron

Keep it down to a dull roar in peace wars open ended crash landing advanced basic military intelligence with wise fools accidentally intending near misses.
Good grief! Almost exactly a genuine imitation taped live of living dead alive with an open secret definitely maybe blind sighted in preliminary conclusions of open fusions.
Obsessively sloppy original copies found missing, Old Boy.
Complete limitation, like a tragic comedy seriously funny.
(One bunny)
Alone together with larger halves laughing tears.
Deafening silence clearly confused with newly used pretty ugly Hells Angels acting naturally in a virtual reality even at odds with one Gods.
Only choice.
Same difference.
Die alive in a minor crisis weakly strong, righteously wrong, or go silently screaming objective opinions from peacekeeper missiles living dead in Great Depressions with friendly enemies.
I'm inside out with my one quirk.
Microsoft Works.
No comment.

ldn

The Game

The Game

Baseball
Just kids
Trey – Catcher
Good hitter
Not a spitter
They won - Grandson
But, Oh, my God
There was this kid on the other team
He erred - I almost screamed
Kid fumbled
Coach grumbled
Bopped him on the side of the head - Hard
Whack! Crack!
Eyes fell – turned red
He had a helmet on, but all the same
Isn’t this a game
Boys 13
I almost screamed
Paced
Heart raced
Walked to his dugout
Dug out all right
Down to my core
Under breath, swore
Son of a Mother!
Fight or flight
One or the other
Grandma/Coach Fight
Undercover
Bit my tongue
Son of a gun
Run kid run

Grandma

Waiting on the Grater

photo:geekalerts.com

Waiting on the Grater


Where was I when you were looking for yourself
somewhere on top of the kitchen shelf,
stuck between the carrots and peas
Tell me please
How would I know that you were gone
Why is it me who’s always wrong
Tell me please
I’m waiting on the grater with your cheese
Where were you when I was checking out,
drowning in the sauerkraut
I have no doubt,
but tell me please
and put my mind at ease,
because I’m on hands and knees
waiting on the grater with your cheese

LDN

I am ripples

photo: humanityshealing.net


I am ripples


I am the dimple on your chin
The feathery part of your skin
I am everything
The ripple on the stone
I am thee Alone
The implication you wonder about
The indentation on your nipple,
when the infant spits it out
Your pout
The seed within your sprout
Your aspiration
Your inclination
Your fluctuation when in doubt
I am your soul intpretation
I am simple
I am love devout
Your shout
The indentation on your nipple,
when the infant spits it out
I am


LDN

I am threads

I am threads

I am the thread that holds
sheer cloth draping souls
I am the Grace that folds
where life hath bore its holes
I am the the ring that binds
hearts where love doth shine
I am the pupil in your eye
I am you and I
I am

LND

Untitled

image: bangitout.com

You can not jail a mocking bird
Hoping that he’ll fly
Drive a nail into your wrist
Bleed, then wonder why

LDN

The Pied Piper (for my Big Sister, Terri)

photo: tvtropes.org


The Pied Piper of Hamelin

My sister, Terri (also known as Angela)
Played once – The Pied Piper
Being the oldest she didn’t play much
(She was my mother’s crutch)
The Tale set in Hamelin, Germany
on the stage in our lives when big sisters left
(Nine children ~ one less)
Off to college ~ a school called Knapp
Sharing her chores now in our lap,
Kathys’ and mine ~ number 2 and 3 of 9
As the story went. . .
Hamelin was infested with rats
The children in danger
’til along came a stranger ~
a Piper, pied*
claiming to be a Rat Catcher
offered to keep the children alive,
and the townspeople happily there after
I’ll rid the rats for a sum of gold…
as the story is told
Following his musical pipe to the river ~
they drowned
The people rejoiced in Hamelin town,
until something awful went down. . .
He kept his promise ~ the children unscathed
but the Piper did not get paid
Seeking revenge - now dressed in green,
(Camouflaged to not be seen)
he posed as a hunter luring away. . .
the
children
to
a
cave
Only three were saved
One blind
One deaf
One lame
(The children who couldn’t follow)
Terri leaving was hard to swallow
I missed her when she left
Nine children – one less

I love you, Terri

Linda

* Pied: of two or more colors in blotches

Linda (paying the Piper)

Ken and Me

photo: Ridvan (Riz-Von) Celebration*1 ~ 168 B.E. (Baha'i Era)


Ken and Me

Spiritual Father and Spiritual Daughter
By the sea
He taught me,
Baha’i (Ba-ha-ee)
I’m forever grateful to him
Nineteen eighty one
Basking in the Sun
I called him by phone
He answered, Hello
(What do you know?)
Hello?
(Who is God?)
A mountain, a tree…
Under my breath, (Your God’s for me)
I can hear him contemplating,
I'm thinking this time (Your move, Big Guy)
Reiterating…do you want to know more?
(Sure)
Address please, I’ll send it by mail
(Well!)
Feeling trapped - about to hang up
Hello?
(1315 Cedar Lane)
Information came the very next day
Talk about air mail
(Well!)
I read it – declared
Scared
Met Mister and Mrs.
(I’m a Baha’i, now what do I do?)
They stare at each other
I hear Mrs. whisper to Mister (my new Brother)
You did the last one – let me do her
Scared again, I’m thinking (DO ME?)
You…..uh…..sign…
Mister (downhearted) whispers to Mrs. `o…………kay'
She kinda looks like my sister in a way
(Sign what?)
A declaration card
I let down my guard
(Whatever it takes – I’m in)
The day I declared my Faith in Baha’u’llah (Ba-ha-o-law)
January twenty first, Nineteen eighty one
Basking by the Sun

LDN
*1 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ridv%C3%A1n

London Bridges

photo: A.P. Vincenti


London Bridges

Can we pick ourselves up by our boot straps?
An impossible task?
I don’t know, why do you ask?
See the children who play
London Bridge is falling down
So are we ~ falling down, I mean
It can’t be that hard to act like children who play in the yard
Stand behind one another
Dance
Wait our turn
Clasp hands
Pray for sunnier days
Share an umbrella in the rain
Feel each others pain
Please explain
To the children in the circle dancing around
Why the London Bridge is falling down
Or play another game
Pick each other up ~ together
Stand behind the friend in front
As One,
lean low,
hold tight
All right~ now lift up his bootstraps
Rise up together, singing
Say. . .Say. . .Say,
Don’t you worry ~ I have your back
Or we could drop our boots on the children's lap

LDN

On a Tangent

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tangent#Tangent_line_to_a_curve


On a Tangent

My husband thinks I’m on a tangent
He’s right
Tangent meaning:
A contact on a straight line ~ or element
traveling the curve ~
I am then ~ on a tangent
Circling around a cylinder
up, then down, again and again
I am the single point that meets the curve
A calculus equation for which I need an explanation
Anyway, I’m the red dot
See diagram above
I mark the spot
and sometimes "I do" feel insane,
but I’m not
Let’s pretend for a moment (for what it’s worth)
that the Line is Time
Earth, the Dot
and the Curve is God
Who of course has no beginning or end
That’s what the Nuns taught me in school
I wanted to see for myself if it was true,
so I’d walk home from St. Mary’s,
every day,
lie under a tree,
(I was seven)
check on Nuns to be sure,
(who of course came from heaven)
I wonder why they wore black?
(Sister Mary, I take that back)
squint my eyes until they blurred,
go as far as I could into my head,
rather than taking their word for it instead
I wanted to see for myself
if the sky was really blue
and if God had no beginning or end
I questioned the Nuns time and again
(Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned)
A tangent I'm in

~ ȱ ~

ldn

Back to Santa Barbara

photo source:
http://www.independent.com/news/2009/nov/05/henry-bergmann-volleyball-legend-took-his-own-life/

Back To Santa Barbara*
(My Tribute to Henry Bergmann, 1944~2009)

I want to fly to Santa Barbara to see old friends
Not through detours,
to New York ~~ Alabama ~~ then back
(not to where I came from)
A slum of a mess, depressed
You guess the rest
It was Santa Barbara, never the less
Where purple trees bloom
Where Palms swoon over
Beach Rats wearing next to nothing
The Pit – Not, It
East Beach where white balls play
Staring down positions
Submissions facing off white squares
sun blinded by caramelized skin,
strolling down State
I don’t want to wait
I want to be where white balls attack
I'll never forget
Sitting on tan sand, beaching
Reaching, then saving
Running down waves
I want to go intact,
not through nets of detours
to New York ~~ Alabama ~~ then back

LDN

*(derived from Last Night’s Dream - never arriving in S.B.)

Francesca

photo source: undo.net (Francesca Woodman self portrait)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francesca_Woodman

For Francesca
Choices are not always clicked/switched to black and white
in time~lapsed photography with shutters bio/graphing
Francesca
in cheap shots of images framed
Whose fault is it anyway when lens collapse,
in on themselves and  die with hands tied
wristed and twisted?
Brilliance untitled, resilience unbridled
Barely seen ~ Francesca Woodman (Florentine Queen)
dead at 22
while art hounds pass judgment around,
whispering into deaf ears narrow perspectives,
passing subjective thought onto (one) shot
sold then bought, Francesca.

ldn

THE DOORS

Lyrics from - The Best Of The Doors

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a string of poems this morning
I jumped in my car
It was raining out,
slammed the door,
my pedal to the floor
BASS HIGH
FULL VOLUME

THE DOORS

Riders on the storm ~
into this house we’re born
and people are strange
Faces look ugly when you’re alone
Hello, I love you,
won’t you tell me your name
Hello I love you let me jump in your game
Love me two times, Babe
Love me twice today
Love me two times, Girl,
I’m going away
Break on through to the other side
Can you still recall the time we cried
Can’t you see that I am not afraid
I found an island in your arms
on the Crystal Ship
When the music’s over
turn out the light
and light my fire
Touch me five to one
Come on Baby, light my fire
until our love becomes a funeral fire,
then before you slip into unconscious
let me have another kiss
Try to set the night on fire
and break on through to the other side
Into this world we're thrown
like a dog without a bone
Let your children play
and keep your eyes on the road,
your hands upon the wheel,
with poetry in you eyes
What was that promise that you made ~
until the stars fall from the sky for you and I
I’m gonna love you until the heaven stops the rain,
L.A. Woman
Music is your only friend until the end
This is the end, my friend
The End
(Then, I had to turn around and come home because I left my purse behind)
There’s a killer on the road

LDN

Lois's Wheelchair

Lois’s Wheelchair
Her wheelchair is empty now
Sprits push it down avenues of light,
where night is day and day is night
I guess she had to go someday,
find her own way in reflections cast
on bright walls ~ down halls ~ past
naked lanterns lighting the way
on streets bricked with gold
weaving cobblestone paths ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It makes perfect sense that she would leave
She was old
Somehow I thought she’d be here tethered
forever in her wheelchair
The Clever one
on a bus leaving clues,
dropping strings in Nether Land
leading us back to our Home
with her in Forever Land
Her wheelchair is empty, now

LDN

Yellow Sweater

My Yellow Sweater

I miss you Yellow Sweater
but I know it’s for the better
this way,
in pink robe hunched over keyboard punching letters
Lunch spilled -
almond butter stuck between F and G
You were a friend,
the friend I saw through ~ me
Oh please, Yellow Sweater
Big Chief
Thief!
stealing dreams away,
making me pay
in trails of yarn in forms
worn too long,
How about Sister and Brother?
Old lover?
I’ll take you one way or the other
Yellow Sweater
Letters ripped away, stuck between F and G
Paying now for the choice I made,
tapping unsung songs,
wrapping loosely into balls of yarn,
My Yellow Sweater
Big Chief and me ~ gone

Squaw ~ aka LDN

Cat Trapped

Cat Trapped

It’s not hard to figure out if you give it enough thought
If you trap a cat – the cat is caught
If it runs away – it is not
We trapped one the other day – Mr. Gray
The Menace
Last week I took my Cat Census
One, Two, Three
One, not mine
One, who steals Two’s food most of the time
Pees on our door
Creeps low to the floor
Yells, AW - OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
One's in! - Two bristle
Slap each other, not Him
So I took my position
One cat’s omission
Rent a cat trap
I did
Two cats hid
One did not
[Cat trapped]
Took him to the shelter - We can’t take him
What!
I go helter-skelter
My heart is racing
Cat is pacing
He’s feral, Ma’am
There are other places (if you’re willing to drive)
Called from my cell
Two Choices
Drive and Euthanize
Or take him home and let him roam
I chose the latter
It’s not hard to figure out if you give it enough thought
If you trap a cat - the cat is caught
If you let it go - it is not
When I took the empty cat trap back
I let them have it – and more . . .
Why do you rent traps for cats?
and I’ll have you know I took him back
To Breed?
This is all I need!
We rent them to people to trap their own cats - and raccoons
With brows twisted,
the next retort I resisted
I drove home and wondered,
where do raccoons go after they’re caught,
to Raccoon Homes
Or are they shot by the Trapper –
who later returns cages
with bars bent from time spent
[Trapped]
Shoot! Ma’am, I did not catch the Whippersnapper
Like the cat I caught who now is not
Who roams
AW - OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
at home

LDN

Under Her Pepper Tree

photo: ag.arizona.ed

Under Her Pepper Tree (for Barbara Cummings and Bruce Shipley)


Barbara and Bruce were my best friends in fourth grade
Barbara was very (very) slow,
Bruce too
They both had special needs, like me
Bruce wore braces attached to his shoes
I had fat knees
Bruce was perfect with legs bent
Barbara was retarded, whatever that meant
I walked her home from school every day ~
up the hill ↑ to the end → turn right
...under her Pepper Tree swinging like kites
eating JELL-O straight from the box
Me in a ponytail, her wearing locks (thin in the wind,)
blotched skin pale. . .
UNTIL!
Big-Sister yelled -
Go Home! All right!
I thought it was something about the JELL-O
pried open with knives from the branches we made
There were no strings attached to the kites when we played
NOT SO, said Big-Sister
I had to go home
I cried the next day, watching her walk ↑ up the hill, alone
Two girls in pain
Was I really to blame?
For weeks I was lonely ~
so was she, under her Pepper Tree
with no best friend ~ me
Then there was Bruce ├ ┤ a class act
wearing shiny splinters wrapped around his legs
(They kind of looked like pegs)
Off to the playground we’d walk slow
I lifted him up when he fell
Because I was crippled, as well
Other kids giggled
Not me
I had fat knees
Did God do this to His Creation?
I need an explanation
I didn't learn it in fourth grade
and I missed the part of the Golden Rule
where it says:
Be like all the rest
Don’t do your best
and never look like a fool
hanging out with special needs kids in school
I try to find the answer from where I sit
(Barbara) (Bruce) and (Me)
on my chair,
at my keyboard ~
under her Pepper Tree

Linda

Agates

photo: bccottages.fatcow.com

Agates

Microcrystalline silica
It’s Greek to me*1
except when I find them on our rocky shore
by our house in front of the sea
My husband corrects me,
It’s called ~ The Sound
It still sounds Greek to me
Whatever – I’m going down . . .
Are you coming?
Before he can answer –
I run tripping
slipping beach glass into my pocket
It doesn’t take rocket science to chase down beach glass
rubbed raw from the sea (The Sound)
creating soft wedges where once wore sharp edges
Bottles broken – jars thrown over boats
a token from the Sea, excuse me – The Sound
He gloats!
With his Agate, the prize
He’s got better eyes
My excuse for running ahead
Impatient with rocks in my head
He strolls ~ finds another
I watch him (my rock-head undercover)
Down in my Hood*2
And I won’t admit he’s good
or that I envy him,
the way he slips in and out weaving driftwood on the shore
I just need to learn not run anymore
He gives them to me ~
a present from his Presence
Down ~
on the shore in front of the Sea
I mean, The Sound

LDN
* 1 "It's Greek to me": It may have been a direct translation of a similar phrase in Latin: "Graecum est; non legitur" ("it is Greek, [therefore] it cannot be read"). This phrase was increasingly used by monk scribes in the Middle Ages, as knowledge of the Greek alphabet and language was dwindling among those who were copying manuscripts in monastic libraries.
* 2 Hood: slang for Neighborhood: and often implies to a ghetto or urban community. Also short for hoodlum.

Frankie and Johnny

photo: amoeba.com

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VtxyjOFLXSg&feature=g-upl&context=G2f46283AUAAAAA

Frankie and Johnny
(for Tony and his advisor, David)

I had a man named Johnny
He done me wrong
So on rainy days I play this song
That Johnny done me wrong
Nothing I can do now
but learn my lesson well
Don’t mess around with Johnny
Don't ever ring his bell
That Johnny done me wrong
playing the same old song
And never again will I fall
↓
in love again, and again
with the two-timing man named Johnny
like I did back then
That Johnny done me wrong
playing the same old song
It’s raining cats and dogs
So I sit here once again,
singing the blues for Johnny,
playing the same old song
That Johnny ~ done me wrong
That Johnny

Frankie aka LDN

Sixes and Sevens

photo: quickmeme.com (Hi, Baha'i Brother, Dwight)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/At_sixes_and_sevens


Sixes and Sevens ~ (a lesson learned from my Mother)

The Feast of Corpus Christie
An ancient dispute over precedence
To Feast or not to Feast, and when?
Companies fighting over power and wealth
First in sixth
or Second in seventh (of Twelve)
No one wants to end up in second place
Merchant Taylor nor Skinner Livery
Lord Mayer by special delivery ended the race
Settled it once and for all
(Trade off - and Feast in each other’s Hall)
It paid off - still practiced today
Proving trade-offs pay
It took a century or more - this duel to Feast First
But worse –
The Companies were destroyed in The War (not in the First)
Second, of course
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To be at Sixes and Sevens
Or “to set on sinc or six”
(A French idiom)
for a way of being fixed,
in state of confusion or ‘disarray’
Playing “Grand Hazard” – ly
Rolling Dice in a game of strategy
Kinda like playing Craps today
Someone’s gotta pay
Risking one’s life on Sixes and Sevens
Numbers found in the riddle of Life ~
solving strife in the middle
Better to not align yourself with one side / or the other
Or get fixated on games of power and wealth
A lesson I learned by myself
in an expression I heard from my Mother
in a Crap Game I try to resist
Being set on cinq or six

LDN

Patti's House

photo: 123rf.com

Patti's House

I don’t live in the house anymore
with no exception except to clean it now and then,
when I can dig deep, wade through dust bunnies who play again
on baseboards that tend now to be covered with webs,
where scary creatures live on floors ~ the ones I allowed to creep through doors
I have a new perception of how to live inside my annex ~
the extension of myself I found on the other side,
of the walkway that bridges me to my soul
It’s not always fun working so hard,
but my appreciation comes with the cleansing,
dispensing what I’ve outgrown
on thin veneer splitting me from my heart ~
my cover around stained walls,
separating me from the part I can’t live in anymore
where moss grows it’s tentacles in thick piles on bricks ~ the ones I laid
It never paid in the long run to ignore the dirt, the silt
not for long anyway in the house I built,
where plaster chipped with memories hurt
I steam cleaned everything this time where old growth grew thick
In hunched positions I survive because I thrive when I clean
My wisdom gleaned from scrubbing,
rubbing myself against new places,
truths now I can face in slow but even paces
When I’m done I will live as one
But for now I’m working on the stuff I have gathered ~
shoes, dresses, skirts ~ and some wounds I wore,
rather than in the house where I don’t live anymore

I love you,

Linda