Posts for June 21, 2022 (page 9)

Speak louder, dear, for I can’t hear you.

Speak clearly, child, for I can’t understand you. 

Speak respectfully, child, or I won’t listen. 

Lower your voice and watch that tone with me. 

Children are meant to be seen and not heard. 

Children are born in sin. 

But then again

Doesn’t every seed start with its own root?

Doesn’t the sun come up every morning?

Doesn’t the child smile in response to smiles?

Won’t being heard help a child speak respectfully?

Won’t positive guidance lead to positive actions?

Children are not born in sin. 

Children germinate like seeds

when given the nutrients needed. 

self sabotage
dillusion
I am reading these today
they have come across my visual landscape
I’ve not sought them out yet I can let my mind tell me I have
by will of finding new ways
we are searching-
he and I-
for forward
together
we have been holding hands so far along this route swinging
back and forth
it seems to be a time now
that we need to recalibrate the swing
or at least the
trajectory
or maybe height
the top of this rollercoaster ride
or maybe
the bottom
or
just the curves and angles
something.
any way
different than what has come before

If hope is the thing with feathers
What happens when those fly?
Should breeze shake loose the silky plumes
And blow them all sky high?

When feathers disappear from hope
they leave the naked mass
of optimistic cheer to roll
still gleaming in the grass.

Hope perseveres with wings or no.
Hope lives in many forms.
It may yet be a feathery thing
It may have many arms.

Hope may be sleek and circular,
Or square or tough or bold.
Import lies not in what hope wears,
but in how we choose to hold.
 

How come I get so excited for summer,
just to be disappointed. 

School’s out,
My friends and I are going to make so many plans!
I’m going to visit so many places!

First week of summer and 
no plans with friends…
That’s okay! I still have camps to look forward to!

Fourth week of summer…
Hung out with a few friends,
found out a coach is a pervert…
I still have our trip to Scotland though!

sixth week of summer.
my sister had surgery,
we can’t got to Scotland..
none of my friends have reached out to hang…

i kinda wish summer was over.

The tea is always on for napping.
She is kindly calm as lambssleeping 
in grassy comfort with a moonlight blanket,
a flowing wrap around her lamp lit home

where we know a gentle offering of foods, 
her easy embrace, then quickly off to bed 
because we’ve no head for beer or strawberry wine;
this she knows without judgment.

At the two o’clock hour into the bedroom she creeps, 
where she pulls back the sheets, with a sudden quickness 
for someone so slow. The skin barely keeps up 
with her bones, she steps in hushed tones tender.

Do you need something? Anything at all?
Watermelonapples? Prunes? Starfruit?
A sweetglass of linden tea? An apricot? Some grapes? 
Some fried steak and potatoes?  Ovaltine?

She gasps almost musically, “What is that my boy?  
A scratch? Had it been a brawl?”
Then she smiles because it doesn’t matter,
all are finally safe at home with her.

She edges out of the bedroom disappointed,
a parakeet gliding down the face of a cage.
She goes back to her armchair in a clip-clap, 
tip-toe to the lightest of one-eyed sleeps.