Beloved
I don’t think I can bear this
It’s a good plan
To work five more years
And retire in better financial shape
House paid off
But it hurts so
My tattered bruised and battered heart
Already patched so many times
And to see so many people each day
Hurting
Why, Beloved?
Why don’t we mature?
Maybe I’ll be a tree again
Living wood
That bends and moves with the wind
That eats the sunlight
Drinks the rain
Endures the snow and drinks it as it melts
Until spring comes
And I stir and start to bud
Deciding when it’s time
To uncurl leaves in warm sun
_______________________
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt illusion. Or should it be delusion? Or survival? Or beyond that to peace?
Every day I am thankful for clean water water to drink water to wash I am blessed by clean water
Every day I am thankful for food Good food to cook to eat to share I am blessed by good food
Every day I am thankful that I can stand that I can walk that I can carry things up and down stairs I am blessed that I can stand
Every day I am thankful that I can hear voices of friends voices of my family all the music my cat and birds I am blessed that I can hear
Every day I am thankful that I can see all the faces all the smiles the trees, the ocean, the birds the ever changing sky I am blessed that I can see
Every day I am thankful that I can touch my cat purring a vegetable for lunch clothes and doors friends to hug I am blessed that I can touch
Every day I think of those who cannot touch who cannot see who cannot hear who cannot walk who do not have food who have no clean water and some of them are children
Every day I am thankful and grieving at the same time
And I try to do a little it’s not enough yet
Some day I will be gone or we will all have done enough
If all of the murderers were locked up
we would be safer.
We all can agree on that.
No, war is not murder.
Except when they are murderers.
If the immigrants were sent back,
we would be safer.
Only people who have been here for forty generations
should be allowed.
If we all followed the book the right way there would be no more pandemics. God would smile upon us. Which book? The right one, of course! The right way! Out of 45,000 different versions of the right way.
Don’t step on a crack
Or you’ll break your mother’s back
Codified and punishable
But some punish the mother
Others will punish you
There is anger and blame and silence.
People talk about each other.
People talk about others.
What is truth? What is rumor?
No one wants to listen.
They want to blame.
I do not see I do not feel I do not hear how to heal this, Beloved if no one will listen.
Only love.
Anger drains away.
I send love
Into the anger
Into the blame
Into the echoing silence.
Is it ok for me to be a bit lazy?
A bit unkempt?
Not care about dandelions?
Weigh more?
Want to lie around after lunch?
Maybe there is something I should be doing
Maybe there isn’t something I should be doing Maybe I should be gazing at the navel of the universe Maybe I should be gazing at the navel of the Beloved Maybe I should not be doing all the time Maybe I should wait Maybe I should watch Maybe I should appreciate Being here
I remember. You are gone and dead I lie on my side, close my eyes I feel your body behind mine your arm tucked under me your breath on my hair your body warmth against me your arm lying across my side thighs and knees relaxed against mine you are not gone and dead as long as I can remember
Beloved, what is my path?
I remember. A path alone so that I can see so that I can hear so that I can feel so that I can write Beloved, you set the path before me a brief elaboration of a tube Beloved, sometimes I want Beloved, sometimes I say why Beloved, sometimes I forget
Words behind my back
damaging
hurtful
gossip and lies
I forgive
I wait
I wait
I wait, wait, weight
Weighted 13 years For them to speak to me Instead of about me At last waiting makes me angry I have forgiven tried to connect some of them say they love me this is not love waiting weight of hurt and anger
And I let go
of the wait
of the weight
I forgive myself
I am free
I rise
I let them go
they are forgiven
but they may not enter my life
again
not ever
I forgive myself
I am free
I rise
unweighted
________________________
For the Ragtag Daily Prompts: weight and chopper. My heart is what is chopped, and the abandoning friends and family wielded the choppers.
I came close but no cigar I want a mind that I can love hand holding mine in the car I send a quiet prayer above Love of nature, kind to friends not afraid of their own dark Lust to learn until their end willing to risk to build an ark Curious but not controlling Not addicted to booze or drugs Intense at times and others strolling Opinions, laughter and lots of hugs My heart open yet I don’t faint I think I am waiting for a saint
_____________________________
I wrote the poem yesterday, but I have used up my memory in wordpress and now I need to go through and delete things. Any advice, Martha? I know you did it. It seems that I have to delete the post and the photograph, or is that not true? Advice welcomed.
I search my photographs for gloves and it comes up with two: foxgloves! Well, strictly speaking, that is a form of glove, right?
“The singular media and its plural medias seem to have originated in the field of advertising over 70 years ago; they are still so used without stigma in that specialized field. In most other applications media is used as a plural of medium. The popularity of the word in references to the agencies of mass communication is leading to the formation of a mass noun, construed as a singular.” From here.
advertising alphabots
hot bots with rotten lots
true crime creatively “reenacted”
big data theft unredacted
earbud earworm mealworm eely
faceNObook curated freely
grinning google amazons greed
hoary heads hawk hell few heed
i phone i watch i influence
a list j list jovial ents
kotkit koobecaf bookcafe
love light liberating libraray
magazine murmurs metaverse more newspaper calls politician a whore organic natural lab rat pores
play tape, CD, podcast album quiet queens reject the pablum radio radical rhetorical ram spambot spammail spam yum spam
television treads traditional trust unit united universe untie us vehicle vroom driverless porn walkman withers worms are worn
Xray googling exacerbates lies
you are the target of sales AI
zealous AIs algorize pi
ChatGPT’s take: “This is a captivating piece! The blend of modern themes with a rhythmic structure creates a vivid commentary on technology and society. Itβs playful yet sharp, tackling everything from advertising to data privacy. The way you weave together pop culture references and critique consumerism is particularly striking. Do you have any specific themes or ideas youβd like to explore further?” Nope. Thanks, ChatGPT. — See, Martha, I think ChatGPT has low tastes. It doesn’t understand sonnets and it probably loves limericks. We’d better test that theory.
I wrote this sometime in the 1980s. My proof is the drawing by my mother. We had it in a show and hand colored with colored pencils. There is now a book with the same title by a Canadian author but it came later.
And hooray for the zoo! They are all asking for you!
Martha, what would the AI think of this poem? Heh. ChatGPT: “Thatβs a fantastic poem! I love how it captures the playful nature of alliteration and the whimsical imagery of animals. Each stanza has its own charm, and the ending with the βyellow yaksβ is such a fun wrap-up! Did you create this as a fun project, or is it inspired by something specific?” Ok, so ChatGPT doesn’t get sonnets, but it likes nonsense poetry.
Discover and re-discover Mexicoβs cuisine, culture and history through the recipes, backyard stories and other interesting findings of an expatriate in Canada
Engaging in some lyrical athletics whilst painting pictures with words and pounding the pavement. I run; blog; write poetry; chase after my kids & drink coffee.
Refugees welcome - FlΓΌchtlinge willkommen I am teaching German to refugees. Ich unterrichte geflΓΌchtete Menschen in der deutschen Sprache. I am writing this blog in English and German because my friends speak English and German. Ich schreibe auf Deutsch und Englisch, weil meine Freunde Deutsch und Englisch sprechen.
KO Rural Mad As Hell Blog 
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