Something Old

the gum drop lake
held a pea green boat
that drifted very slowly by

and if you looked very close
there's a very small bear
with a laughing wink in his eye

when you're not very old
and your dreams can still live
very close to the light
of the day

you can look very close
and that very small bear
has a smile that will light up
your way

and why does he smile
you might ask with a grin
that is coaxed from your face
by his smile

why he's smiling you see
at that other small bear
under candy canes nestling near-by

your heart may then drop
as  you notice the boat
as it makes it slow way
to the shore

and in only one blink
when you look once again
there are two little bears
on the shore

I was wrong
can the words make
history
disappear

I am sorry
can my sorrow
erase pain

I made a mistake
can my admission
erase the past

or remove the hole
in my
heart

Be the change
you wish to see
that slumbers deep
that makes us free

Be the heart
that beats inside 
reaching with arms
that open wide

Be the love
that pours upon
the poor, downtrodden
sad, alone

Be the one
you are within
transforming what
has never been

Be the change
and you will see
the change in you
the change in me

Be the change
you wish to see
that slumbers deep
that makes us free

Be the heart
that beats inside 
reaching with arms
that open wide

Be the love
that pours upon
the poor, downtrodden
sad, alone

Be the one
you are within
transforming what
has never been

Be the change
and you will see
the change in you
the change in me

Listen to the silence
you can hear
Your heartbeat
Delivering life

Touch your skin
You can feel  the rhythm
in your veins

Open your eyes
You can see
The promise of tomorrow

And You can know
Life

"How Stereotypically White Are You" is a FB quiz.  Why am I compelled to do these things.  Okay, that's for another day.  But....

I am over 60
I am white
I am a woman
but what does it mean to be white
and
does it really matter?

one word
two words
red words
blue words

first I feel
and then I write
next I read
see what I like

three words
four words
hit the floor
up and down the walls
they soar

now they come
and play around
they sing and laugh
fall on the ground

five words
six words
as they rhyme
and play some licks
in double time

they're running wild
first here now there
they won't be stopped
they have no fear

seven words
eight words
nine and more
racing fingers
keep the score

they can't be stopped
they don't know how
so race they must
and so must I

write

I can't you see
the words live
in my soul
and my soul
is locked tight against the pain
and my soul cannot speak

but write


I can't you see
the song lives
in my heart
and my heart
is broken in two
and my heart cannot sing

but write

I can't you see
imspiration lives
in my mind
and my mind waits
fearful and distant


but write
write so your soul can speak
write so your heart can sing
write so your mind will cast off the burden of grief
and live
again

when I was younger
drama was
exhilerating

calm days
building and cresting
with passion
gentled the waves
only to crest again

life swelled
crested
calmed
only to
repeat

when I was younger
I reveled in the trough
and swell
energy that capitvated
and invigorated

but I am no longer
younger
and I yearn for the gentle
undemanding
tide

From April to May our upheavals had upheavals.  Our granddaughter moved herself, her children and boyfriend back to our desert home.  Our grandson, asked to come back to the desert; mom disagreed ... mom agreed ... mom drove him back ....  Our son signed papers for a house ... and moved.    Plans were made ... remade ... made again.  Life struggled for balance, the roller coaster spring righted itself and now is the time to rest.

April 8th
  late night delivery and
  the desert awaits

April 19
  soaring we trek
  desert to beach

April 20
  loaded for bear
  we trudge home
  leaving one behind

April 25
  a second chance
  to come back home

April 29
  the prodigal son
  grandson returns

May 2
  six weeks gone now
  back to the foothills

 May 8
  moving day
  far to farther

May 9
  epiphany
  a day of decision and
  a new home awaits

May 10
  rest

Retirement = Relaxation?

well, took my grandson back to live with his mom, he was homesick ... car in the shop, first clutch and now tranny ... Seder dinner tonight at church ... granddaughter and bf and 2 g-grandsons coming Sat for four days ... took lilacs to my mom's grave ... I want to get out of town and take some pictures as soon as my car comes back home, ghost towns.

I got some paint to cover the paint job I did in the kitchen that didn't work ... now I need to paint.  I need to repair the wall in my bathroom and fix the floor.

I have weeds in my front and back yard that I am slowly yanking out ... boiling water didn't work.  I'm waiting to see the results of my hand polinating worked on my nectarine tree.  I will have to transplant my tomato plants soon into the ground.  My experiment planting potatoes in a plastic basket with leaves worked.  I am picking the rest of the snow peas and need to pull the brocolli and cabbage that went to seed.  I want to take the bed head and footboard to Trina's.

I need to finish my screenplay but I'm just pulling a big blank right now ... changing my major at CSN from photography to computer crime investigation ... vision is getting wonky when I use my iPad too much ....

I grew up in the town of Rutland, Vermont. My parents, my three sisters and I moved from Florida to Vermont in November, 1959. I was just beginning 6th grade. I consider Rutland my home town because I spent my junior high and high school years there. Living in Vermont was nothing like anywhere I had ever lived before. It was cold, like Germany but very rural. The community was very close knit and it was difficult at first to fit in, since most of the kids I went to school with had lived there all of their lives.

Eventually I made friends with kids close to my age in the neighborhood and at school. As I slowly became part of the community I began to appreciate the benefits of living in the north east, in the third largest city in the state. One two-sided benefit was the fact that everyone knew everyone; or so it seemed. I could count on a neighbor reporting to my mom where I was and what I was doing on any given day.  Our party-line phone would ring and mom mom would always glance at me before answering, and then, finishing the call, her lips would thin and she would frown.

In Rutland I learned to ski. In the winter we would hike to the Country Club, nearly a mile away with our skis and spend the day cross country skiing or using the rope tow that would haul us up the steepest hill. As I improved I took skiing lessons at Pico Peak and Killington Mountain and was introduced to downhill runs and moguls. One winter we decided that instead of hiking down the street to the ice skating pond we would flood the back field instead and skate there.  I didn't count on the dried, grassy stalks sticking out through the ice ... it was one of many adventures that didn't work out quite the way we had planned.  As the spring melted the snow we traded snow suits and skis for boots that clomped through the mud and visited our neighbor Marie, to count the duck eggs that nestled in the enclosure in a stout nest.  Her male, Roosevelt Jackson strutted proudly about as the chicks finally emerged in June and danced in the puddles after one of our frequent thunderstorms, making sure that they stayed away from the fence and her Retriever mix, Blackie.  As the weather warmed I joined Marie at dawn, with binoculars and a lunch bag we sat near a local birding pond and identified the new arrivals from the South.

The summers were amazing as well, as I, my sisters and our friends would pack the baskets of our bikes with snacks and water and ride through the countryside. We visited the local radio station, a haunted house, a castle, a swimming hole, caves, avoided skunks, and more. The only rule was we had to be home before the street lights came on. In Vermont I learned how to play baseball too. We had a large field next to our modest two-story house, complete with a full basement with a large ping pong table, and a large attic. From April through September when not riding our bikes, we would drag bags of bats, balls and gloves into the field and spend the day fighting over teams, positions and scores. I learned how to bat, catch and throw there.

In the evenings we would trade in our baseball equipment for badminton birdies and racquets and try to avoid the bats who dove for the birdies. As I moved from Junior High School to High School pursuits changed to dances at the school and church. If my older sister and I begged hard enough our mom would take us to the Sugar Shack at Killington where underground bands played rock and roll from 6 p.m. through midnight on the the weekends.

Most of our meals were home cooked and filling; they were the meat and potato staples of the East Coast including meatless Fridays. We did occasionally enjoy lunch out at the local A&W hamburger drive-through, which was a real treat. Sodas were nearly non-existent making A&W a wonderful change. In the summer there were concerts in the park as our local musicians played in the gazebo in the center of the park and vendors sold paper bags of hot french fries with vinegar drizzled on top. Our local pizza place was also a treat and we would save up our money to spend on pickled eggs, pizza and submarine sandwiches. In September we would trek across the City to the fairgrounds where we would spend our hard earned cash from babysitting on cotton candy, hot dogs and sodas.  Our curfews were suspended when the Fair came into town and we would wander home, drunk on junk food and rides, stopping by the pizza place for one last treat before the evening ended.

During my senior year in high school I was allowed to go 'across the line with my older sister, into New York to the Hampton Manor, a club that offered alcohol if you were 18 or older. I discovered that I didn't like the taste of alcohol, but I loved to dance.  Finally my senior year drew to a close.  Finals week found my friend and I walking to school, nervous about final exams and exhilarated about our futures.  They were good days.

you said
you'd always be here
then
you said
you'd never leave
then
you said
nothing

I am

an incomplete
sentence

an unannounced
thought

an unsung
melody

an unfinished
sonnet

riding into eternity
on a riderless
star

My mother

My mother is

My mother is not

My mother is not here.

she is out shopping
she ran to the store
she went to get ice cream
she'll be back in just a....

I will write
my way
through eternity

I will carve
understanding
into my soul

I will inscribe
words of such beauty
angels will weep

But of what gain
compared to what loss
drawing blood from the ink
of my loss

I read
stages of grief
and they are words on a page
unsullied
incomprehensible
a language I can not
fathom

The language of loss

The language of Denial
I imagined it
I drew it out of my discontent
she is not really gone
I hear her step on the walk
and she will come through the door
right
now

becomes

The language of Anger
burning deep within
unable to stifle
bursts of rage envelope
and consume
how could she
do
that

becomes

The language of Bargaining
because I am powerful
I must be
how could it be otherwise
and so I will give up something precious
but no, no
I already did

becomes

The language of depression
the pit of dispair
I glance upward
into the dank and dreary well
of my imaginings
and the light does not exist

until

The language of Acceptance
lies within the pathway
strewn with bargaining ... depression ... anger ... denial
a maze of emotions
bodies torn from path to path
until the light emerges
brutally gentle
it is
so

A piece of me
is missing

I had it here
a minute ago

it was sitting
right there

sleepy, smiling deeply
sighing quietly

and then
it was gone

They came to take you
away

I told them
it wasn't yet your time

I shouted
that you were only sleeping

I cried
and stamped my feet in anger

but they took you
and now I can't see your
face

I try to wrap
my mind around
the loss that I
have found

I try to understand
you're gone
until time comes
around

I try to see
a world of hope
without your
smiling face

I try to know
that I too will go
and meet you in
that place

I know these things
within my mind
I'm doing this quite well

the problem is
my heart can't see
what my mind now knows
so well

here I stand
looking down

I see
freshly turned soil
I see
a plastic name plate
I see
green grass under my feet
but I don't see
you

One More Time


Just one more time
to laugh
to sing
to sit together

Just one more
hug
smile
giggle together

Just one
kiss
tickle
coffee together

Just....

Lost in Paris

I want to be
lost in Paris

I want to
wander small winding streets

Follow
demure Parisian mamas
their small futures at their side

Gaze
upon Parisian artists
creating and recreating life

and as evening descends
snuggle deep
in my soft duvet

and dream of finding
Paris

But how will I know the way

You've known it
All along

You cannot get lost
Think back
To the beginning

Ah yes
She sighed
"Second star to the right
And straight on 'til morning"

She looked back
Only once
Her destination certain

Her whisper
Danced on the waiting stars
Till then....

I’m ready

she whispered so softly

I could barely hear

You've always had the power

I sighed

Just a click of your heels, and…

She looked down

As the ruby slippers peeked out

From the edge of her gossamer gown

She smiled and closed her eyes

Worn hospital gown faded away

And worn, thin fingers became

Plump and dainty lifting the flowing

cloud of white

Giddily she spun

Arms wide

Rich brown hair teasing

The wind

While far away

A fading breath

disappeared

into eternity

Forever
Never
Again

Frances Lucille Smith Phaneuf
January 22, 1923 -
  January 13, 2015