We sail on a jaunt into sherbet skies. The water is gold, the wind is light. The sky changes color and charms our eyes. The light is gold sliding into the night. The boat glides through the water with gentle ease. Light hand on the tiller, our wake lights up. We pass peaches and cherries and crackers and brie, pour tea into each other’s cups. It’s cooling off so we sit very close. Phosphorescent creatures trail behind. Warming each other as we steer the boat. Darkness falls and we don’t mind. The sherbet skies call us out to roam But we are ready to come about towards home.
All of the Long Covid information is pretty confusing, isn’t it? I’ve read that most of it resolves at nine months. Another article says a year. The conference last week says that 96% are clear at two years if they are treated. What percentage are being treated? The US defined Long Covid as symptoms lasting over a month at first, while Europe said three months. I think they have now agreed on three months. This will continue to change and evolve.
When viagra first came on the market, women complained that there was not a drug for them. Pharmaceutical companies were working on it, but you cannot treat anything unless you establish a diagnosis first and women’s sexuality is more subtle then men’s. Anyhow, I wrote this silly poem making fun of the whole thing.
Little Blue Pill
Little blue pill Little blue pill Help me help me I’m over the hill
Don’t wanna have sex Nope nope nope Little blue pill Gives my husband hope
Can’t make a pill Til we define the disease Doctors would you Hurry up please
Little blue pill Little blue pill Help me help me I’m over the hill
Thought them hormones Would make me hot Doc was right They did not
Hot flashes make me Sweat and moan No help from that Testosterone
Little blue pill Little blue pill Help me help me I’m over the hill
Doctor this Is really no joke My husband says He’ll slit his throat
Can’t make a pill Til we define a disease They’re trying hard Those drug companies
I think we’ll know If they define a disease Drug companies will plaster it On tv
Doctor I found Just the thing A brand new stimulating Clitoral ring
Don’t wanna have sex Nope nope nope Little blue pill Gives my husband hope
I took the photograph of the old drug bottles today. I like that the potassium oxalate just says POISON on it and gives antidote instructions. Also, no guarantee on the clitoral ring, ok?
My mind is done and unsurprised. My heart a stubborn rock. My heart does not give up: loves where it loves. It doesn’t care about reality or whether it is derided or mocked. My mind moves on and kicks my heart, wondering where this tenacity stems from. My heart is done with tears. It agrees to new friends and joys in dance. When my mind says forget, my heart jumps and steers my body into a warrior fighting stance. My mind is cynical and laughs and derides my heart. I let them fight back and forth every day. I cannot reach an end unless I start to honor my feelings, the heart must hold sway. My mind moves on, ignoring what you do. Yet my stubborn heart remains a friend, strong and true.
Untie my heart and go find I am not looking anymore I am playing for the summer Back to work in the fall but my heart is untied and has escaped control. It might be wild or quiet or silly or angry. It might like this today and that tomorrow. It might wail with sorrow and then laugh and laugh.
Heart untied and
Gone.
The white furry object is not a tie. It is a Barbie stole made of rabbit fur and lined with pink fabric. Both cats are enjoying carrying it around the house and shaking it and pretending that it is a live rabbit. That stole has to be nearly 50 years old, so I am letting the cats choose it as a toy. Good that I have great ancient cat toys.
If control is the goal this is not love. If I listen to others yet don’t share myself, this is not love. If you hoard information about others, this is not love. If I reject people I can’t control, this is not love.
If you have to be the smartest, this is not love. If I have to know the most, this is not love. If you keep everything secret, this is not love. If I share nothing with others, this is not love.
Is it fear that keeps me from loving? Is it anger that keeps you from loving? Is it hate that keeps me from loving? What keeps us from loving?
I am reading the list of medical conditions that put people at high risk from Covid-19.
I can nearly say that being a live human “bean”, as Walk Kelly would say, puts one at high risk from Covid-19.
My intuition studies medical conditions alcohol, overweight, diabetes, drugs it doesn’t say much about auto emissions or the healthy power of genuine hugs hypertension, asthma, bad livers or hearts Covid could get you if you don’t watch out I wonder if risks include noxious farts I’m in denial and not a bit stout dementia, disability, HIV or depression check off the ones you don’t have, think positive! I eat an ice cream bar while secretly confessing that eating and drinking might be causative Happy or sad or pie in the sky There is a daily risk that I could die
What bucket can catch this light and color? None, I think, and then I think I am wrong. A bucket lowered and set in the water, Turquoise and blue and black, a song. Lift the bucket and the turquoise is gone. Reflected light, a dance on on the riffles. It’s like the happiness for which we long. Caught for a moment, containment stifles the reflection of joy in our face and hearts. The face that lights from music or dance or a moment touched by another’s art. Let joy come and go, take the chance. The light on the water will be gone at night. Joy wants to be free and not held too tight.
I heard the band The Winetree last September in Ohio.
Today I refuse categorically to yearn I miss stupid things: that you rise early too still this morning it’s annoying to learn no one to talk to at the hour of stupid, no you Impatient with my feelings, I wish you ill hope you wake and want to whine and moan hope you wake early and feel over the hill but have to be quiet and grouse all alone hope your mind buzzes like a hive of grumpy bees while you spy on the internet and feel superior hope you gather more facts piled like logged trees and wonder why the piles don’t make you merrier I hope you slowly open and become aware you think you know everything and nobody cares
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Sol Duc is playing a game alone, capturing her back foot with her front, claws out on both. When she realizes I am watching, she puts her head down and pretends to be asleep. She isn’t asleep, I can tell by the claws and the ear tilt.
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt stable, because maybe love is the only stable thing in an unstable world.
The bones of the great blue heron are so light, that I think it is standing on the floating kelp beds. I’d wish my bones were that light, but that would be osteoporosis. Maybe I could come back as a heron.
Discover and re-discover Mexico’s 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 - Flüchtlinge willkommen I am teaching German to refugees. Ich unterrichte geflüchtete 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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