Uninspired
feel so tired
anyone get the license?
Big Mac Truck
when it struck
rendered me unconscious
Monday morn
new week born
why do I feel so UNDER?
Crest of wave
won't behave
why'm I feeling so tumbled?
Still, the memory of reading
yesterday, and singing
brings some satisfaction
to my heart
A new start
sixty folk; no distraction
knowing nods, hugs so loving
past events leave all hearts bleeding
Cup o' tea
revive me
bring me to my senses
help me write
even trite
just to clear my lenses
Write today
and tomorrow
on into the restless year
Plow the field
hope for yield
drought can't stop me, nor can fear
Pffffbbbbtttttghghghbbbbbttttttt!
Monday, September 26, 2016
Sunday, September 18, 2016
Roots
Shifting sands, take a stand
Dad said we were Cherokee
Or was it what he preferred?
Made it up to set him free?
Who knows where the Maxwell fits
Dad said we came from James Clerk
Electro magnetism
Was Scottsman Maxwell’s heart’s work
What are we to believe?
Do we do as daddy could?
Make it up as we go?
Is changing history good?
Misplaced babe, not your peeps?
No matter, choose your kin
Daddy did what pleased him
Truth bending, his smallest sin
Wait a sec, who am I?
Who are my real ancestors?
I'd like to know. It would help
Antagonistic flexors
Africans ripped from their land
Connections torn asunder
Cherokee same as me
Land taken just for plunder
Roots grow plants, people too
What of our rootless drama?
Longing, we want to hear
Our name claimed by the mama
Babes settle in Mother’s arms
Without her we cannot thrive
Churned, we’ve turned to wicked ways
Seeking nurture our big drive
Syrians are bereft
Their heartland’s being destroyed
Free-floating people want their home
More than food or being employed
This little land of mine
It’s gonna help me shine
Ground me, I’ll find my way HOME
It’s where my heart is… rooted
Sunday, September 11, 2016
Adrenaline As Self Medication?
Flower Drum Song is a Rogers and Hammerstein musical set in San Francisco. It became a movie in 1961 and has some fun songs and lyrics in it, like: "Grant Avenue, San Francisco, California, USA. Dong Dong you're in Hong Kong, over a foggy bay."
One of my favorites from that show, which my high school put on in 1965, was "Sunday, sweet Sunday, with nothin' to do. Lazy and lovely, my one day with you.... While all the funny papers lie or fly around the place, I will try my kisses on your funny face..."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x9zUfakqqc4
I think I liked those lyrics because they held a light of possibility for weekends. Things so luxurious as "lazy and lovely" rest and recreation have been elusive for me this lifetime.
Maybe I'm a creature of habit? You might say addicted to adrenaline. By Sunday night, I'm usually feeling the full effect of my effective procrastination schemes. I know I'm not alone in feeling a certain sense of dread as the light begins to fade on the last hours of the last day of the weekend. While some folks wax ecstatic about the joys they anticipate during Saturday and Sunday, others of us recall, with stomach clenched and jaw set, the Sunday night fights, when dad's weekly paycheck didn't quite cover the weekly bills mom had wrung up. The blame game generally would run for some time between the dread red setting of the sun, and the inevitable Monday morning glare of light. This was a different kind of "home run."
Highly charged events. Lots of adrenaline in the household.
Term papers were another source of angst and the all-nighters to complete them. In the days before computers, that meant hours of agonizingly slow typing and dozens of strike out powdered papers that almost covered over the error and allowed me to re-type the misspelled word, or other goof.
Oh, and what about forgetting 'til the last moment to wash those damned, stinky gym clothes, that spent the weekend in my book bag and now needed bleach to get out the spots of black mold that grew from Friday's track sweat and the apple core at the bottom of the bag? I spent the weekend in the hammock with an un-putable-downable Ray Bradbury novel. Guilty pleasure.
In the musical, "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown," there's a wonderful song, "A Book Report on Peter Rabbit." In it, the main characters each sing a distinctive part. Charlie Brown's part was written about and for me, I'm sure:
"If I start writing now, when I'm not really rested, it could upset my thinking, which is not good at all. I can start fresh tomorrow and it's not due till Wednesday, so I'll have all of Tuesday, unless something should happen... Why does this always happen, I should be outside playing, getting fresh air and sunshine, I work best under pressure and there'll be lots of pressure if I wait till tomorrow...
I should start writing now..."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZEmxby8g8A
So... here it is, Sunday night, and I'm feeling the pressure of wanting to post something on mymondaymuse. I've mostly kept it going since May 2011. Yikes! That's almost five and a half years! I started it as a commitment to my writerly self - just to show up once a week - writing. The habit has helped. Since the move to the Bay Area, I've joined three separate writing groups, and as my client load is much diminished, I'm finding time for some specific projects. Sunday, September 25, I'll be one of four authors presenting at an event called "Works In Progress." I'm rarely satisfied with what I've written, but I'm happy that the date has given me a "live-line" to work toward as I strive to get better at this craft.
Yes, I keep choosing the hot-seat version of consciousness rather than the carrot before the horse version. Like Charlie Brown, I work best under pressure... with the familiar adrenaline coursing through my veins. Who needs caffeine?
One of my favorites from that show, which my high school put on in 1965, was "Sunday, sweet Sunday, with nothin' to do. Lazy and lovely, my one day with you.... While all the funny papers lie or fly around the place, I will try my kisses on your funny face..."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x9zUfakqqc4
I think I liked those lyrics because they held a light of possibility for weekends. Things so luxurious as "lazy and lovely" rest and recreation have been elusive for me this lifetime.
Maybe I'm a creature of habit? You might say addicted to adrenaline. By Sunday night, I'm usually feeling the full effect of my effective procrastination schemes. I know I'm not alone in feeling a certain sense of dread as the light begins to fade on the last hours of the last day of the weekend. While some folks wax ecstatic about the joys they anticipate during Saturday and Sunday, others of us recall, with stomach clenched and jaw set, the Sunday night fights, when dad's weekly paycheck didn't quite cover the weekly bills mom had wrung up. The blame game generally would run for some time between the dread red setting of the sun, and the inevitable Monday morning glare of light. This was a different kind of "home run."
Highly charged events. Lots of adrenaline in the household.
Term papers were another source of angst and the all-nighters to complete them. In the days before computers, that meant hours of agonizingly slow typing and dozens of strike out powdered papers that almost covered over the error and allowed me to re-type the misspelled word, or other goof.
Oh, and what about forgetting 'til the last moment to wash those damned, stinky gym clothes, that spent the weekend in my book bag and now needed bleach to get out the spots of black mold that grew from Friday's track sweat and the apple core at the bottom of the bag? I spent the weekend in the hammock with an un-putable-downable Ray Bradbury novel. Guilty pleasure.
In the musical, "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown," there's a wonderful song, "A Book Report on Peter Rabbit." In it, the main characters each sing a distinctive part. Charlie Brown's part was written about and for me, I'm sure:
"If I start writing now, when I'm not really rested, it could upset my thinking, which is not good at all. I can start fresh tomorrow and it's not due till Wednesday, so I'll have all of Tuesday, unless something should happen... Why does this always happen, I should be outside playing, getting fresh air and sunshine, I work best under pressure and there'll be lots of pressure if I wait till tomorrow...
I should start writing now..."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZEmxby8g8A
So... here it is, Sunday night, and I'm feeling the pressure of wanting to post something on mymondaymuse. I've mostly kept it going since May 2011. Yikes! That's almost five and a half years! I started it as a commitment to my writerly self - just to show up once a week - writing. The habit has helped. Since the move to the Bay Area, I've joined three separate writing groups, and as my client load is much diminished, I'm finding time for some specific projects. Sunday, September 25, I'll be one of four authors presenting at an event called "Works In Progress." I'm rarely satisfied with what I've written, but I'm happy that the date has given me a "live-line" to work toward as I strive to get better at this craft.
Yes, I keep choosing the hot-seat version of consciousness rather than the carrot before the horse version. Like Charlie Brown, I work best under pressure... with the familiar adrenaline coursing through my veins. Who needs caffeine?
Monday, September 5, 2016
Happy Labor FREE Day!
It is a day of catching up with family, of catching up on correspondence, a day of mini-feasting and trying to minimize the yeasties. They grew to over-abundance over the feast time of wedding prep, parties, and gorging on sugary desserts.
Oh, those yeasty-beasties! They force my feet to walk me into the pantry and stand right in front of the chocolate. Silly me, I bought the chocolate, thinking it would just sit there until I wanted to bring a platter of late summer berries surrounded by squares of it to a Labor Day Celebration at our daughter's house. "Hah!" It says. "Hah! Just try to ignore me."
I can't. I keep feeding the yeasty-beasties. They're happy. My joints are not. Even my head hurts. I don't have the dessert I'd planned to take to the Labor Day Feast. Yeasties have got to go.
Up the probiotics, I read. Eat fermented vegetables, I hear. Forget about sugary yogurts. The sugar content cancels out any good the cultures of acidophilus might have provided.
If I've taken any antibiotics in the last two years, they say, my system needs to be rebalanced with really good probiotics. I have taken Ciproflaxin. So, what's a really good one? Maybe Natrum? Surely something in a glass bottle. Probably not my fall back Trader Joe's extra super-duper brand in plastic bottles. Thirty-billion live cultures and ten to fifteen different strains, they say. (The ones saying this, of course, are the manufacturers of the super-duper best-in-the-world-Perfect Biotics!) Whom can we believe? Whom can we trust?
Your skin will clear up and you'll look radiantly alive, they say. Your depression will lift, your headaches will cease, you'll become regular as clockwork, and all your clothes will fit and be sunshine bright! That's what they say. (Well, maybe not about the clothes.)
I'll settle for more walking, less chocolate (not ban it completely, of course), more sauerkraut and a "good-enough" probiotic.
I'll let you know how I fare. Is that fair?
Meanwhile, enjoy your labor-free-day to the max!
(Unless you're pregnant or a baby ready to be born, and this is your day!
In which case, Happy Labor Day and may you enjoy a perfect coming-out party!)
Now, pass the chocolate, and no one gets hurt.
Oh, those yeasty-beasties! They force my feet to walk me into the pantry and stand right in front of the chocolate. Silly me, I bought the chocolate, thinking it would just sit there until I wanted to bring a platter of late summer berries surrounded by squares of it to a Labor Day Celebration at our daughter's house. "Hah!" It says. "Hah! Just try to ignore me."
I can't. I keep feeding the yeasty-beasties. They're happy. My joints are not. Even my head hurts. I don't have the dessert I'd planned to take to the Labor Day Feast. Yeasties have got to go.
Up the probiotics, I read. Eat fermented vegetables, I hear. Forget about sugary yogurts. The sugar content cancels out any good the cultures of acidophilus might have provided.
If I've taken any antibiotics in the last two years, they say, my system needs to be rebalanced with really good probiotics. I have taken Ciproflaxin. So, what's a really good one? Maybe Natrum? Surely something in a glass bottle. Probably not my fall back Trader Joe's extra super-duper brand in plastic bottles. Thirty-billion live cultures and ten to fifteen different strains, they say. (The ones saying this, of course, are the manufacturers of the super-duper best-in-the-world-Perfect Biotics!) Whom can we believe? Whom can we trust?
Your skin will clear up and you'll look radiantly alive, they say. Your depression will lift, your headaches will cease, you'll become regular as clockwork, and all your clothes will fit and be sunshine bright! That's what they say. (Well, maybe not about the clothes.)
I'll settle for more walking, less chocolate (not ban it completely, of course), more sauerkraut and a "good-enough" probiotic.
I'll let you know how I fare. Is that fair?
Meanwhile, enjoy your labor-free-day to the max!
(Unless you're pregnant or a baby ready to be born, and this is your day!
In which case, Happy Labor Day and may you enjoy a perfect coming-out party!)
Now, pass the chocolate, and no one gets hurt.
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