Category Archives: poetry

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the pale reflections of our bitter selves

they are neglected, you know, by most
the worse self, the worst self, the dark
the impulse to yank the moon from the sky
when she slides down the stair, to see who’s there

there are few poems written to the dark
impulses, the demons, the underside of our hopes
and dreams, the nastiness, the grief, the anger
we are kept in the dungeons below the basement

below the belt we band together huddle
in a pile of claws and unfeathered wings and teeth
wishing for a blanket, to be held, rocked
loved, wishing for the mothers who left us

the fathers who denied us, pushed us away
so that we knew and know what to hide
what to deny, what part of ourselves to kill
we try and try but few do

and then they are mourned, people say
they don’t understand but ask the demons below
and oh, they do, they do! maybe the next plane
will be kinder and love the demons

the bitter self, the dark self,
that longs so badly to be loved
that longs forever to be loved
that is not loved this round

this round

written 11/24/2023

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Tongue twisters and counting rhymes

My mother taught us the tongue twisters that she learned growing up. My favorite is “the mistle thrush whistles in the thistle bush”. There are mistle thrushes in Europe but not in the United States. It is also found in temperate Asia and North Africa, here.

A counting rhyme that we learned is this:
“Intry mintry cutetry corn
Apple seed and apple thorn
Wire briar limber lock
Three geese in a flock
One flew east, one flew west
one flew over the cuckoo’s nest
Sit and sing, by the spring
One, two, three
Out goes he.”

Here is another version, from 1920: https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/74/nursery-rhymes-and-traditional-poems/5204/intery-mintery-cutery-corn/.

We also learned some of my grandfather’s songs. A piece of this one:

Only we learned it as “chop, chop” not clap, clap. It’s like a 1960s line dance, isn’t it? Shirley Ellis, 1965.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: whistle.

And here is a version with the clapping:

I would bet that there are way more elaborate versions of the clapping.

Before that, a song called Little Rubber Dolly was recorded in 1930.

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Tinker, tailor

Tinker brought up this rhyme for me:

Rich Man, Poor Man, Beggar Man, Thief,
Doctor, Lawyer, Indian Chief.

It turns out that another version is

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor,
Rich Man, Poor Man, Beggar Man, Thief

And I had forgotten AA Milne’s version called Cherry stones:

Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief,
Or what about a cowboy, policeman, jailer, engine driver, or a pirate chief?
Or what about a ploughman or a keeper at the zoo,
Or what about a circus man who lets the people through?
Or the man who takes the pennies on the roundabouts and swings,
Or the man who plays the organ or the other man who sings?
Or what about the rabbit man with rabbits in his pockets
And what about a rocket man who’s always making rockets?
Oh it’s such a lot of things there are and such a lot to be
That there’s always lots of cherries on my little cherry tree.

Now I’m going to have to play with a version with some current jobs:

What about a tweeter, a twerker, a medical AI?
Influencer, programmer, cooker of meth highs?

Oops, that might not be the children’s version.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: tinker.

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Peak

The pendulum swings far and back
Too many babies, what will we all eat?
Suddenly the switch, another panic attack
Now too few to support Wall Street
We wait in running cars in the drive-thru line
Wanting our turn to order fast food
It’s sunny through the smog and we feel just fine
The weather’s getting stranger, the world in a mood
Maybe we’ve peaked while driving around
Who will take care of us when we are old?
Peaked at the drive-thru, going down without a sound
An AI wonders at the price of gold
This might be as good as it gets
Maybe an AI will keep a few of us as pets

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: drive-thru.

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Shattered

Is the wave, the water being shattered?

Or is it really the rock that is shattered, bit by bit, over time?

Stone shaped heart

your heart is an agate
clear stone

you have won
sort of
you think

but I am water
I am waves
I will smash you against the other rocks
and wear you down

I am water
I carve you like a laser
you wear my name
carved in your stone shaped heart

it is already written there
on your stone shaped heart
faint, because water wears slowly

water wearing stone
over time

________________________

written in April 2022

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: shattered.

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Trifling

Each sperm will be a child, the result is stifling
my sympathy could be termed as trifling.
Porn outlawed, hands will be tied.
“But we didn’t think of this!” the people cry.
AI twisted to measure our lust
claiming to protect the weakest of us.
“But a sperm is only half!” It doesn’t matter,
the AI in charge is mad as a hatter.
If two cells together is deemed a child
than why not one? And the AI runs wild.

_______________________

I took the photograph yesterday. A sign of spring in the Pacific Northwest is that the moss turns green. And grows. And grows.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: trifling.

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Flooded

Trigger warning: trauma and feelings.

I cry because
the laundry overflowed
the sewer blocked again
we might have to pull up the floor
and lay it down a third time
I hate the laundromat
water runs across the floor
as fast as the tsunami
crossing the fields
crushing the houses
catching the trucks
in Japan

I cry because
I have to ask for help again
Help comes
but the memories of asking
when it didn’t
help didn’t come
and I was abandoned or humiliated
rise up and overwhelm me
I am flooded
I am helpless
someone help those people
The shaking earth is bad enough
But the ocean rolling inland
Over all
Breaking all
Beams to toothpicks
Those are the memories that rise up
And flood me
I think of the soldiers
and victims of wars and disasters
and PTSD
tsunami
of memory

__________________________________

Written before 5/2011. I have posted before, but couldn’t find it on a search. Posted today at a friend’s request.

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Stitch

I like to play with word cliches
Geraniums red and chrysanthemums white
As I wander busy through my day
Delphiniums blue, all are dark at night
Least said, soonest mended
Except for murder, rape and pillage
Loose lips sink ships, war ended
Sinner gossip round the village
Time will mend a broken heart
A stitch in time will save nine
You’ll never finish if you don’t start
Mend that heart and change the rhyme
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
Your love grows daily, what a wonder

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: absence.