Little Red Revisited

Little Red didst blithely skip

in forest deep and dark.

Forgetting all had been warned

laughing as if on a lark.

She swung her basket to and fro

not looking through her eyes,

for dangers hidden in the trees

not thinking about a disguise.

Upon a hunter meek and mild

Little Red didst soon arrive.

With clear blue eyes she smiled

At him, so sweet, so clear, so alive.

He spoke of peace and gentle things

and she didst fall in love.

He promised not to hurt her heart

and swore to God above

.

Red knew him not, but answered yes

despite what she’d been told.

And so struck out on her own

with step both confident and bold.

Ignoring signs of pending doom,

Red whistled as she skipped.

Right up to Grandma’s house

into the door she slipped.

In bed poor Grandma slept

with fever and with cold.

Red tiptoed up to see her eyes

and Grandma’s hand to hold.

“What big eyes,” Red declared

when Grandma didst awake.

“To see, my dear,” she replied

and took a bite of cake.

“What big teeth,” Red did say

when Grandma opened wide.

“To chew, my dear, these lovely

cakes,” she sneakily replied.

“What furry arms you have,”

said Red, “and I remember not

when didst thou grow such

lengthy hair could be tied in a knot.”

“It keeps me warm on winter’s eve,

and dry during soft spring rains.

I’d love to hold you in my arms,

to cradle you once again.”

“No, thanks,” said Red for she did see

some things were not all right.

For Grandma dear was way too dark

even in such poor light.

“I think I’ll go,” Red didst say

and hurried toward the door.

“You shall not go,” Grandma declared

and sprang feet on the floor.

She threw off her cap and gown,

revealing a wolf-like shape.

Red didst scream and run about

attempting to escape.

The wolf didst flash a mighty smile

and throw his arms out wide.

Intending to capture Little Red

without wasting even one stride.

Suddenly there didst appear

a man both tall and strong.

Red ran to him and told her tale

so he could right a wrong.

Listen now for you shall hear

the moral of this tale.

Go careful through yon forest deep

and whilst skipping through a vale.

Rescue might not come your way.

To perish could become your plight.

Unless you’re careful to observe

even on the darkest dark night.

While Little Red didst escape

and her story she soon didst tell.

You must listen and take care,

so for you things will go well.

You cannot walk and prance about,

with head adrift in the skies.

For on you might come, like to Red,

a murderous surprise.

Beware, my child, of strangers met

in forest, field, or glen.

For they might be a dangerous sort,

then we’ll not meet again.

Riding the Rails

The rails are calling me

Clickety-clack

I’m yearning to be free

Never look back

Black engine rolls along

Puffing my name

Grunting and groaning strong

A serious game

Cities, fields, and hills fly by

Magical blur

Free as a bird, I cry

Out a slight slur

Look outside!  See new things

Happiness abounds

Wonderful offerings

Confusing sounds

Engine picks up the pace

Fly, fly away

Wind blows against my face

Feeling quite gay

My heart echoes the sound

Of wheels on track

Knows I’ll not be around

To ever go back

I’m yearning to be free

Clickety-clack

The rails are calling me

Never look back.

Winter Beckons

Winter winds whip

Whirling leaves

High heavens’ hands

Holding gently

Caressing cozily

Frost freezes fingers

Frolicking about.

Licking lightly lips

Longing love

Exuding energy

Swirling snowflakes smash

Softly flowers

Dragging down definitely

Dead plants

Generating growth

Warm winter woolens

Wrap heads

Protecting parts perilously

Protruding free

Refreshing reminder

Early evening enchantments

Ease worries

Relaxing rhymes ring

Righteously throughout

Mixing merrily

Internet Junkie

Internet junkie, I’m not.

I do know the exact spot

for downloading my music;

soul-soothing, rhythmic tonic,

not too classic, not too hot.

Find a gadget? Takes a “sec,”

because I know where to check.

Instagram is not for me.

And Facebook, although it’s free,

takes gumption. But what the heck!

I’m not the kind to chat a spell

Instant Messenger? Oh, well.

Not for me.  Not in the least.

To me, they’re hair of the beast.

I’d rather a story tell.

So tell me not of wonders fine

or places to order wine,

clothes, gadgets, or new shoes.

I’ve plenty, in many hues.

At excess, I draw the line.

Speak to me of stories new,

Politics, and skies of blue.

Face to face I yearn to be.

Into your eyes, so I can see

you smiling right back at me.

Missing You

Do you remember the time I fell and hurt my back?

I’d just had knee replacement surgery.

Been home only a few days.

My bird cage needed cleaning, something

I should have done prior to going to the hospital.

My husband offered to help.

He changed the toys.

The seed and the water.

He pulled out the bottom tray

Dumped the detritus.

I came over to help,

Leaning on the walker my doctor had ordered.

When I reached out to change the paper in the bottom,

I lost my balance

Found myself leaning backwards

Backwards

Backwards

I tried to grab Mike’s shirt but missed.

The floor came up to hit me, spanking me

Harder than my dad had ever done with his belt.

I landed, so hard that pain radiated up my spine.

I recall collapsing onto the floor, crying out in pan,

Immobilized.

I don’t know how long I lay there.

I tried to sit up, but the pain was too much.

My husband went across the street and returned

With two strong young men

Who picked me up and gently placed me in a recliner.

You called then.

You heard my pain, my tears despite

My saying nothing.

You insisted I go to the hospital

When my husband had said the pain would go away.

Did I ever thank you?

X-rays showed a fractured vertebra.

Not so big that I needed medical intervention,

But enough that I felt reassured

That I had not imagined the injury.

That happened before you moved to Arizona.

I miss you so much.

That wasn’t the first nor the last time

You’d offered support.

I Try, Again

Dieting is no easy job.

It eats at my resistance like

Easter candy, long gone stale,

Tucked away in last year’s basket.

I yearn for a choice piece of chocolate,

Nougat or caramel crème or a

Generous slice of dark chocolate torte.

Those things aren’t in my fare for

Housed within my body are too many

Ounces of fat cells, to the point of

Ugliness, obesity, just plain fat.

Gaining cannot happen, but if I

Have the willpower to succeed,

Success will come my way.

I hope.

The thing is, candy is alluring.

It calls my name, over and over

Until I have no choice but to sneak a bite

A piece, a chunk when no one is looking.

Guilt overwhelms my every thought.

Asking, why did I sabotage myself?

I’m a strong woman, I tell myself.

I’ve overcome emotional and physical abuse.

I’ve suffered chastisement from an employer.

I’ve raised three amazing adults

And been married for decades.

But yet I can’t walk away

When a simple piece of candy,

Or a perfectly baked cookie,

Or a slice of peach pie,

Or a spectacular bowl of ice cream

Appear, like magic.

I tell myself that

I Will. Try. Again.

Touched by Love

Luz brought out a huge bag of popcorn

Aida brought plates and forks

Susan pulled a bag of napkins out of her purse

Domingo played riffs on his keyboard

Sebastian cleared his throat

Fred stood

Natalie carried in a pan of lumpia

Valerie opened a box of doughnuts

Marilee came with a mixed salad

Fred called everyone to attention

Asked them to rehearse

The tune for the festival.

Meg arrived with a steaming bowl of pancit

Barb placed a covered apple pie on the table

Joyce arrived with a cake

Dave asked everyone to stand

Stu smiled, held his hands up

Fred began singing

Everyone joined in

Smiles on their faces

Voices not really blending

But the sound was perfect

Tessa blew out the candles

Her cheeks reddened

With joy, with love

Felt and shared

They were all blessed.

Claiming my Name

There’s a name on my birth certificate

Given to me by my parents

The name they used until

I said ‘Stop.”

I hated that name.

It signaled inferiority.

It marked me as different.

I tolerated it.

My teachers taught me to write it.

Each letter carefully formed

At first in print, but then cursive

One letter looping into the next

When I got brave, in my teens,

I demanded a different name.

Not so different,

Just a nickname with many of the same letters.

That name defines me.

I’m not the formal, sophisticated person

Bearing my birth name,

But an athlete, a sports fan.

I use that name everywhere

Except on formal documents.

Even my doctor’s office

Calls me by my preferred name.

Claiming my name is powerful.

It strengthens me.

Gives me the ability to say who I am

And who I intend to be.

Claim your name.

Stage Fright

Fingers and legs twitch

Heart pounds an unsatisfactory rhythm

Sweat beads on my brow

Breathing is ragged

Speaker after speaker

Stand behind the podium

And read poem after poem

Without showing signs of distress

So why am I panicking?

Why can’t I sit still?

Or breathe in-out, in-out?

Why don’t calming thoughts comfort me?

Someone just read the beginning of a story.

He stumbled over a few words,

Relieving my tension by ten degrees.

If he can err and not collapse so can I.

Two readers left before my turn.

How do I know?

Published on the huge, huge screen,

In black and white, my name is last!

Number twenty-eight.

Is that my new lucky number?

I’d like to think so.

That was a good year for me.

Two children and one of the way

A house.

Our first.

Needing repairs, but ours

Nonetheless.

My first teaching job

In my own classroom

In a mostly abandoned elementary school

But mine! All mine.

Another reader finishes.

It’s time for me to get in line.

The director smiles encouragingly

As I approach.

I walk down the ‘chute’

A dark hole leading to the stage.

Another director smiles

Nods

It’s finally my turn.

As I step into the lights

My worries vanish

And I read, almost sing my poem.

My poem about my dear friend

A friend of forty plus years

Who held my hand when I cried

Who chuckled so loudly she’d wake the dead.

This was my testimony to our friendship.

My memories of good days we’d shared.

She was there with me as she’d always been.

And so, because of her, my voice rang out.

Applause escorted me off the stage.

Applause that should have been hers

For she deserves every last clap

My friend.

Internet Junkie

Internet junkie, I’m not.

I do know the exact spot

for downloading my music;

soul-soothing, rhythmic tonic,

not too classic, not too hot.

Find a gadget? Takes a “sec,”

because I know where to check.

Instagram is not for me.

And Facebook, although it’s free,

takes gumption. But what the heck!

I’m not the kind to chat a spell

Instant Messenger? Oh, well.

Not for me.  Not in the least.

To me, they’re hair of the beast.

I’d rather a story tell.

So tell me not of wonders fine

or places to order wine,

clothes, gadgets, or new shoes.

I’ve plenty, in many hues.

At excess, I draw the line.

Speak to me of stories new,

Politics, and skies of blue.

Face to face I yearn to be.

Into your eyes, so I can see

you smiling right back at me.