Not your fault

I texted you today
just to say hello
well, not really
so…among the real reasons…
(haha)
*didn’t want you to hear my voice
*I know you don’t like to take an actual phone call
*I wanted to assure myself that you were still around
I hoped that you would read between the lines
of my stupid small talk
but, even on the written screen
I sense your impatience
you’re a calendar girl
ruled by the time slots
and these two meaningless minutes
are just too much
and so, I say
it’s not your fault.
TTYL
LOL
BRB
WTF

On having an opinion

We all have them, of course. What we think of as right and wrong. What we would trumpet as our cause. Some of us (usually the loudest) point fingers, assign blame, preach from the pulpit of ignorance. We sometimes simplify issues that are complex, so that we can aim our self righteous darts more easily. Others, twice burned, keep their thoughts to themselves. I wish it were not so, because the voices of quietness are quite often the ones that are measured, considered, and constant.

As I sit here drinking my cozy coffee, I am surrounded by the marvels of modern technology. The high speed internet (which I don’t need but pay for anyway), the fancy phone that seems to beep every three minutes. The big three of the social media sites, especially the one where comments flow fast and sometimes furiously.

So many of us cannot disagree without being hurtful. I am taken aback as I read some of the responses to those who have expressed a belief or opinion and in no way have been hurtful themselves. Even were I to think that someone’s opinion was wrong, naïve, ignorant, etc. I would try to avoid a flame war by either not responding, or by quietly stating my own views.

This, I am sure, has happened to many of us…we make a benign response to someone’s comment, and then get jumped on unexpectedly by someone that does not even know us. A friend on social media had once shared a gloomy story about how we are raping the earth with pollution, chemical and radioactive wastes, endless and growing urban sprawl. They wondered how much longer our planet could support such expensive and uncontrolled growth. They saw it in how their own neighbourhood had changed within the last 30 years. Once a sleepy village, and now a suburb of the greater city spread. I commented on their story, saying “This reminds me of an old Paul McCartney song called too many people”. Five minutes later, someone I did not even know commented “If you think there’s too many people, why don’t you just hang yourself. Then there would be one less.”

Perhaps you will say “Well, it’s just a troll. Pay no mind.” Hard to unsee something like that. Because we’re all so connected now, and we can use anonymity as a shield, are we therefore more brazen, uttering forth the worst of our animal instincts? What’s the motivation for this type of thing, other than to make others feel small, and thyself the righteous one?

The old saying “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all” is a little unrealistic today, but, please, if you must disagree, do it constructively, not destructively. And show a little civility.
And, yes, there is still a lot of hope out there. I see so many people trying to do these very things. But, sadly, they are shot down many times and given hurtful labels. Just stop.

Good night, sleep tight

I have brushed my teeth now
and the mother says it is time for my bed
but first
you must piggyback me down the hall
my feet must not touch the ground, mind!
dump me on the bed, bounce me one two three

get out the big colourful picture book
by Richard Scary
I must find Goldbug, right?
I pretend I do not know, do not know
until you look askance at me
then triumphantly I put my finger on the page
there he is!

now you must read me Tom Tit Tot
that little thing with the whipping twirling tail
no one can guess his name, but we know.
is he related to Rumpelstiltskin?

now I start to yawn
you lay me down on my belly
you play Down in the Jungle on my back
with your beating bongo hands
and then mother yells GET THEM TO BED

now you cover me
I lay my head on the pillow, shut my eyes
you sing to me, in the littlest of voices
Bluebird
“late at night when the wind is still
I’ll come flying to your door, and you’ll know
what love is for”

you know I’m pretending to sleep
’cause I can’t help the little smile
so you burble my lips with your finger
and I make the silly noise

and now, I feel it.
just as you always say
the sandman is coming
you wind my curls around your finger
make them even curlier

goodnight my Daddy

the creeps

I feel those goddamn creeps again
are there any curses known to man
shouted out through tears of brokenness
that will serve as sandbags against this tide

no I will spare you the futile obscenities
and hold them as heavy stones
their cool rounded flatness fits my palms
this sediment of bitterness

I mourn over morning coffee
I read the news and hang my head
I wish that in my sapling years
my selfish mind could have seen the need
and done the deed the children feed
away away over there

so take me now part and parcel
and my whining first world problems
and trade me for just one just one
of those bombed out souls
away away over there

put me in their place
of fire and brimstone
and bring them here to my breakfast table

for I am sure they would not mourn over the coffee
and I am sure my life would find its purpose

my collected sack of useless stones
left by the wayside at last

Guns In the Classroom

Hear hear.

Joyce O’Day's avatarEndless Bitchen Summer

After dedicating 18+ years of my life to teaching high school before retiring this year, I can say with authority that arming teachers with weapons is a very bad and dangerous idea. While some of my former colleagues may disagree, I assert that only more tragedy will occur on an armed-and-ready-to-shoot campus.

Most people who propose arming teachers have not set foot on a high school campus since they graduated. So let me enlighten you. Schools are over crowded. My last teaching assignment was at an at-risk school – the largest Title I school in Nevada. I had 230 students. Most classes exceeded 40 students. Desks were jammed so close together that in an effort to assist students, I had to squeeze between desks. In that type of proximity, a motivated student could have disarmed me in seconds.

While most of my students were great kids, I had legitimate gang…

View original post 359 more words

A note from the underground

Hello, solitary one.

I’m a little uncertain
a little diffident
and hesitant
to come a-knocking at your door.

Is it yourself you are content with
for company?
It is, after all, the old reliable.
Do you, perhaps, mistrust the throng,
or will you just not suffer the fools?

The privations of apartness
need happy amelioration at times.
No?
Are you so in the present
because the past is past
and tomorrow knows you not?

You are proud, so proud.
‘Tis not a sin.
A rare bird has few of a feather.

I have heard your voice at night.
It is earnest, intent.
So at odds with the imbecility outside.

Do you like tea?
I would bring the finest from the Orient.
Or, better maybe, wine?
Chablis or Chardonnay in a pop bottle.
A bit of camembert, a crusty loaf.

And, if you dare,
a small canvas and pastels
I will paint you
While you read me your dreams.

I will sense if I impose.
Hold your sting.
I will go quietly,
But not without regret.

 

You who

You

who walks in grace
flashes the smile
the covert glance
from knowing eyes

who knows me not
but knows me all

You

who have pinned me
under glass
in a frame
a collected butterfly
with hidden colors
for your eyes only

You

have no need to flaunt
you move in rarefied air
but not over proudly
to speak to you is to speak to the earth
you are an attainable treasure
from the box of Pandora
born of the genus angelic.

Grateful for the pain

dear one

thank you for this morning’s pain
I shall not make a grumble
I may never feel this good again
so now i will be humble

the only things that hampered me
were an aching back and head
so i feel as though you pampered me
and let me out of bed

gone the crushing malady
that formulates its lies
convincing with finality
that never lets us rise

gone the ringing in my ears
the itching and the twitch
the cornucopia of fears
and my side’s annoying stitch

i feel as though the sixteen tons
have suddenly been lifted
and I’m among the lucky ones
whose miracle’s been gifted.