Y’know we can be kinda stupid, just grinning and spinning in the centre of our own personal universe but what’s worse is the perverse lack of perception of the deception that keeps us separately static, erratically manic as we panic to outshout each other and shout out another mundane refrain of ‘do you like my face’ as I face my life under my imaginary spot light, it’s not right but we do it anyway and say ‘hey, have a nice day’. We’re kinda stupid that way.
Category: A New Poem Every Morning
Zombies Among Us
We are in danger of becoming zombies.
They lurk in wait, the ghouls that gorge
upon the suffering of others,
living dead that feast upon mountains of misfortune,
invented from mundane molehills.
Fear mongers who descry death
and conspiracy behind
kittens and butterflies.
And every time we spare them
a minute of our time to read their
wraith-like wailings we hand over
part of our soul.
No, don’t press ‘play’, it isn’t playful.
It’s hurtful, aimless, mindless brainwashing.
The zombies are trying to make you believe
that their lives are more important than your own,
It’s not news, it’s the internet zombies
trying to eat your brain.
Gain control, alt, delete.
There are zombies inside your computer!
#167
It’s okay to come to this site though. This is a zombie free zone!
Dietary Blues
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day
That is what the diet gurus and the doctors say.
It’s also where the two diverge and no one can agree
on whether 2 or 5 more meals are what is good for me.
Some say browse, some say graze, but I’m not a deer or cow
Some say six small meals beats three squares, anyhow
it’s not just the carbs that are complex in this equation
breakfast, lunch, and supper are now planned like an invasion
with several stops for healthy snacks, like yogurt, fruit, or veg
I’ve eaten enough foliage today to build a hedge.
Cut salt (which is the only thing that makes a hedge edible).
Cut fat and cholesterol. It really is incredible
how overwhelming meal planning’s suddenly become
With his and hers requirements and taboos, it’s no fun
and if perchance we happen, on something that tastes good
that both of us can eat with impunity we would
eat it so darn often that we’d tire of its charms
so back into the dietary fray, we take up arms
and forge ahead though meal planning’s getting to be a bore
Just put it in a pill, I don’t want to cook no more.
#166
Snow White Revisited – Part II
For months the queen sent out search parties with no luck. Finally she decided she would go and look for her errant step daughter herself. She owed it to her dead husband to try. But the huntsman and all her councillors strongly objected.
‘We are deprived of our Princess, the heir to the throne. We cannot allow you to put your life in jeopardy as well.’
And suddenly the queen found herself heavily guarded at every turn.
It took a lot of scheming, and a disguise bought from an old wise woman who often came to bring her medicinal herbs for her recurring headaches, but one day the queen, heavily made up and disguised as an old crone, slipped past the guards and made her way into the forest.
She decided to stay in disguise for her search. Less chance of being mugged if she looked like she didn’t have anything.
The path was long and winding and she trod it many days, until finally her small store of food was gone. There had been an apple tree along the way and she’d picked as many as she could reach, but even those were dwindling. She now had but a few apple left.
Her feet were beyond sore and she was tired and bruised from sleeping on the ground. Then one day she stumbled upon a cottage. There were tools and beer cans littered around the cottage and she waited and watched. Just before dark a line of short, stocky men wandered into view. They were singing, and one looked stoned.
‘Dopey was smokin’ instead of weedin’ one of the men laughed.
‘Why do you think we call him Dopey?’ another yelled.
Then a familiar voice shrilled from the cottage. ‘You’re late, you lazy slobs. Your supper is cold. Wipe your damn feet before you come in, I spent all day cleaning this hovel!’
Snow White? The queen shuddered. Her little step daughter living with seven ugly little men in one small cottage. Men who obviously went out to tend their marijuana fields every day. Why else would they live so deep in the forest? She hung her head and wept, silently begging forgiveness from her long dead husband.
After casing the place for a few days and waiting for the dope growing dwarves to ‘go to work’, the queen stepped up to the cottage and tapped on the door.
‘Go away, I’m busy.’
‘Fresh apples! Wouldn’t you like a nice fresh apple?’ the queen pulled out her last apple. Large and rosy; it was a tempting treat that she was sure Snow wouldn’t be able to resist. Snow had always loved apples. Snow opened the door a crack and peered out.
‘How much?’ she snapped.
‘For you, fair one, no charge at all’ the queen coaxed.
Snow White’s grubby, work roughened hand snaked out and snatched the apple. The door slammed shut and the queen heard a frenzied munching and slurping as Snow gobbled the apple. Poor thing, the queen thought, she must have been starving. Then she heard the hacking and choking. She wrenched the door open to find Snow White going even whiter, rolling around on the dirty floor, hands to her throat.
The queen was just about to perform the Heimlich manoeuver when HE burst in. Tall, handsome, well dressed, the intruder handed the queen his card, picked up Snow, spun her around and Heimliched a large chunk of apple across the room. It splatted wetly against an old pin-up photo of Miss Fairy Tail 1996 and slid down into a pile of dirty laundry.
The queen looked at the card. “Lance Charming Private Detective and Deprogrammer.” Lance had placed Snow back on the ground and had started mouth to mouth resuscitation when Snow coughed, opened her eyes, and looked into the deep blue ones of her rescuer. She gasped “Who the Hell are you?”
Lance looked over to the queen. “The deprogramming may take some time your highness. The Head Huntsman and the Royal Guard are on their way and should be here any minute. Nice disguise by the way, I almost didn’t recognise you.”
“Thanks, I’ve been, ah, ‘working on it’ for a few weeks now.”
“I must get to work now. If you want Snow back to normal I suggest you wait outside and don’t let anyone come in, no matter what you hear going on in here.”
“Normal?” the queen reflected on Snow’s snotty and irritating personality. “Couldn’t you go a bit past normal?”
“Ma’m?”
“Well, while your deprogramming, couldn’t you make her a little more, well, grateful and appreciative; a little sweeter? I’d certainly make it worth you while.”
“She is awfully pretty.”
“And rich. She’s really rich too…son.”
Lance smiled. “Got’cha. One very appreciative princess coming up.”
By the time the Royal Guard got there, the shrieking, cursing, and crashing of china had deteriorated to a tired, broken sobbing. The Head Hunstsman had wanted to break in at once but the queen stopped him.
“Let the man work. It’s all for the best.” She gave the Royal Guard directions to the pot fields with instructions to arrest the seven dwarves on several counts, including abduction.
Six months later, back at the palace, things were back to better than normal. Lance, as it turned out, was a prince in his own right and, with stepmom’s support, he quickly advanced his suit. Snow White, docile and pretty and totally smitten, insisted on an almost scandalously short engagement.
The Head Huntsman, emboldened by a particularly heady wine served at the engagement party, had finally declared his love for the queen and she had not found his advances distasteful in the least.
Finally the day of parting came. Snow White waved a teary goodbye as she and Lance, now man and wife, returned to Prince Charming’s kingdom. The queen smiled and waved, thought about the Huntsman waiting for her in her chambers, and silently intoned the mother’s curse upon her step daughter. ‘May you have many children and may they be JUST LIKE YOU!”
#165
Snow White Revisited – Part I
Once they’d been happy, just her, the kind, sweet king she’d married and his little girl that she’d vowed to raise as her own. Of course he was gone a lot. Dragons, wars, and such took up a lot of his time, and sometimes he was away for weeks.
He’d programmed her laptop’s desktop to show a picture of her with an audio clip that said ‘Who’s the fairest of them all? You are my Queen.’
It was part of a silly little poem he’d written for her years ago, and it was comforting to hear his voice when he was away, so she tended to listen to it a lot.
Then one day he didn’t come home, damn dragon, there hadn’t even been a body to bury. And Snow White, the sweet little girl, now in high school, rebelled royally.
‘You’re not my real mother’ Snow hissed at her regularly. ‘I’m a princess, I can do whatever I want’ and she’d flounce off. The queen sighed and sent the huntsman to trail her, just to be sure Snow didn’t get into any serious mischief.
One day Snow got into the Queen’s laptop and erased the audio clip, substituted her own picture for the one of the young queen, and recorded a new clip. ‘Who’s the fairest in the land? Why Snow White of course!’
The queen went ballistic. The only way to ever hear his voice again, gone. Her heart broke, it was the last straw.
Snow White get in here this instant” she roared. “I’m gonna kill you!”
Of course, the threat was just a figure of speech. She’d actually planned something a bit less final, although still quite drastic
‘Where are those brochures for Princess Reform School? ’she muttered.
But Snow hadn’t heard a word. Snow White had wandered off again and this time she had managed to elude the huntsman. By the time he reported back to the queen all they knew was that a small, shifty looking character had been talking to her in the school parking lot and she’d gone off with him into the woods.
to be continued…
#164
Spring Hopes
Hope springs eternal
Spring hopes are eternal too
That’s why we garden.
Though deer nibble shoots,
bugs skeletonize leaves and
aphids slurp plant juice,
late frosts breath icy death,
too much rain, or too little,
drown and parch in turn.
Quack grass strangles roots,
the wind sucks the soil dry,
and slugs vandalize.
Northern gardening
has it’s challenges, it’s true
but hope springs, Spring hopes.
#163
The Truth in the Cider
Truth is sometimes found
at the bottom of a glass
of apple cider,
where secrets bubble
to the surface and escape
to become desires.
and sensible plans
must defer to the longings
and dreams of the soul.
#162
How to Transplant a Flower – or – How a Child is Like a Flower
Know where you’re going.
Make sure there is a soft and comforting bed
with all the flower needs to thrive at hand.
Work quickly.
The limbo between old home and new home
is a dangerous place and flowers wilt easily.
Sever as few roots as possible.
Flowers need roots to grow, severing too many
will stunt them and make them terribly sad.
Avoid high winds and blazing sun.
Tender little roots will shrivel under the onslaught
of nature’s volatile moods. Choose a cool, soft day.
Transplant into a nourishing environment.
Soft soil to dig their wee toes in, rain puddles,
sunshine; these are the things a flower needs.
It’s maintenance from there on.
A flower depends upon you for protection from weeds,
and pests, and unkind hands that pluck pretty flowers.
Be prepared to train the flower in how it should grow
with a loving hand, prune away the bad stuff,
provide frameworks for them to climb upon.
That’s how you transplant a flower.
#161
Sometimes I Think
Sometimes I think I think too much
I lean upon my comfy crutch
and, in introspective vanity
diagnose my own insanity.
I’d like to toss the crutch away
I’d like to stand up straight and say
‘I understand my true calling.”
but I’m so afraid of falling
that all I strengthen is my clutch
upon the ever present crutch.
The crutch I built year after year
from self inflicted guilt and fear.
Sometimes, in retrospect I see
that crutch has been no friend to me.
It’s not a very comfy crutch.
and sometimes I think I think too much.
#160
My Brain – Part IV
Mother Ship this is the Poet at the Bottom of the Well,
I have landed in the middle of my brain.
Sit rep, Poet.
Atmosphere is thick, turning on the fog lamps. Whoa,
pretty cluttered in here, lots of things to trip over.
What kind of things Poet at the Bottom of the Well?
Mostly garbage but, oh, hang on, here we go
some very nice engrams here, definitely worth saving.
Should I send in a clean up team?
Negative, Mother Ship. Just send in some of those big orange
trash bags and a sandwich and I’ll clean it up myself. A clean up team would probably wreck as much as it saves.
Take the weekend, Poet, and get it done.
Affirmative Mother, better send down a couple of sandwiches, Poet out.
#159
Linda Studley 