Sing a Sangfroid Lullaby

It's crying out today

Won't you pretty please play?

in mercury rain

of glittering gray

I tell the children

mum won't go away

dad's not gone for good

they'll come back to stay

where did I find this

sangfroid surety

for mine always left 

Lonely little me

My chicks deserve peace 

so I do not tell 

all my longings cast 

in a wishing well 

laughingly we play

in quicksilver gloam

then tuck you up tight

safe within your home 

a purple blanket

woven of twilight

God rest you, dearest 

in the balm of night

then comes the goddess

from the land of dawn 

sending sun to bed

as stars stretch and yawn

celestial sailor 

ferries you to sleep 

dropping dream petals  

velvet slumber keep 

wakens as she goes

lemon cheesecake moon

I will hover near 

with the dish and spoon

then cutlery and I

will hum a wee tune

cat sings lullaby 

his meowry croon 

when all is settled

in kitten curled nest 

only then will I

close my eyes to rest 

with dusky mist whisps 

then I shall wrap me

cuddle closeted 

in cedar mem'ry 

with love to the cedar closet in the den of the grama-grampa house on Crestwood Lane. 

 

My Poem, My Rules

name and claim said the preacher man 

more holy-speak I didn't understand

doubt he'd hear what I could naming claim

foreign tongued alien from far-off land 

but yanno, having said all that 

I'll say now what I always did see

comprehension wasn't my problem

and what's wrong with church wasn't me

(like I always thought it was)

maybe it's time for some honesty 

My poem, my rules so let's begin

just secret handshakes and passwords 

to prove that this club we belong in 

I know what's meant by the kitschy cant

power we were failing to name and claim

Sinners scalded and finger-pointed out

in weekly round of blame-shame-game 

lecturing on what we already know 

knowing nothing of our backstory 

instead of meeting us where we are

we are co-opted to fit the homily 

recklessly reburning our old scars 

no thought of how the words cut 

rigid pompous self-assurance

sucker punch in a bruised gut 

tempted to temper these thoughts of mine

with smoothing and soothing I always do

but no amount of sweet paraphrasing 

soothes my suffering in the pew

my truth isn't as simple as

the confession of my sin

it's about my antecedents' 

revisited on me time and again

what if I'd taken him up on it

done a big reveal at the altar call?

wouldn't that set cat among pigeons 

exposing dirty secrets of family tell-all? 

I'm too old now but always knew 

that if ever my soul I did bare

if their deeds were made known

doubt anyone at all would care 

church is about wearing nice hats

arriving on time and filling up pews

pretending your friends never hurt you

bowing, kneeling and praying on cues 

always wrong, never getting it right 

bleeding inside while nodding amen

confessing sin you don't even know

auto-flagellating yourself again 

boggle bewildered unreachable pain

feeling you're wrong but not knowing how 

doing penance like they said I should

no peace of mind then and surely not now 

nightmare chasing me all day long 

nothing made sense in the bible-i-verse 

fraud shame bites like a rabid dog 

dogged compliance just made it worse

So that's my truth to name and claim

probably not what he wanted to know

if unburdening it will save my soul

why does grief stalk wherever I go?

if confessing was all I needed to do

am there and do that eternally 

don't even require an apology 

just a friend to hold space for me.

Wild Iron Horse on the Inner City Plains

cuttings and mutterings

where railroads roam free 

the steam whistle hisses 

a boxcar homily 

oh give me a home 

where friendly caboose

on an urban prairie 

run free range and loose 

industrial wilderness

trams and passenger trains

wild iron horse herds

graze inner city plains 

Wall Street hobos with

newspaper three-piece suits 

queue for trains in their

hatchet-man jackboots

sharing a compartment

with wooly old lady 

clacking knitting needles

jonesing for her tea

through branch line jungles

past black and white days 

embroidering woodland  

railing unrambled ways 

locomotive shelters

our frozen station wait 

leading us back home 

through poppy garden gate 

Between Chilkat and Chilkoot

Alaska boat docks 

like big people did

in imagination 

fished the little kid

boatmen on the wharf 

cleaning the night's haul

I fashioned family 

of nothing at all 

pretending with a

twig pole and barnacle

down upon the bay 

my tabernacle 

barnacles so named

removal attempts fail

I ditched fishing 

made pole into sail 

then clacking my stick 

when litter boat drowned

frightening the fish 

with annoying sound 

makes no sense to me 

to the men I said

how could I scare them 

they're already dead! 

(they just wagged their heads and gestured something in Tlingit that looked like "crazy kid.")

admiring their catch 

bright sockeye salmon

day-glo red grapefruit

with quicksilver skin 

busy working folk 

no children around 

they couldn't play at 

treacherous playground

fish gut slippery planks

steep and stinky too

where else to play when 

no one cared or knew 

absent parents shoo

6 y/o alone to play 

to work at nothing

each went their own way  

They said God said to 

convert the heathens 

many moon miles away

no one told the Indians

no pews nor pulpit 

church to missionary 

my grandparents warned 

it was all imaginary

I guess they expected 

God would just provide

when that didn't happen

they changed tune and lied

Now I was burden 

plus some arm candy 

having a small kid

came in quite handy 

they said God absolved

their responsibility 

took full advantage of 

native hospitality 

God-willed vacation

kick back and relax 

work was for others 

I fell through the cracks 

in town with no home

from flophouses to tents

strange place where strangers

worried more than parents

Her homemade heaven

in stumps and acorns

saw a roll top desk

with moss she adorns

driftwood drifter combs

pebble shell beach sand

finds longed-for comfort 

like grandfather's hand

where were the people?

why so far from home?

just flotsam for friends 

Where Too-Young did roam?

best and worst childhood

live somewhere between 

Chilkoot and Chillkat 

mountain lake serene

Play recordings in reverse

ballerina twists on

jewel box coil springs

stuck fast by her foot 

in chokers and rings 

I'm not a dancer

nor puppet on string

I'm an extant being 

not an underling 

read revelation

to find Genesis 

take yellow brick road 

for Oz Exodus 

just a balloon ride

back to Auntie Em 

smiling in Kansas

floating over them

stop tilt-a-whirling

roundabout express

follow the red flags 

to make your egress 

exit shame cycle

play record in reverse

hearing new message

in upside down verse

dance different tune

slow waltzing revolve

backward on dance floor 

spiral to resolve 

Where the Insane find Asylum

A funny little fellow 

El Chupacabra 

some say he's macabre 

I see a candelabra 

playing word shell games

showing sides we've never seen

like Beauty and the Beast

Frights become a figurine 

drawing fear in caricature

how lovely that would be

paint by number devils 

shrunk dimensionality 

Proposing a toast, I raise 

a glass of Frivoli-Tea

in champagne bubble fizz

our horrors float out to sea

Shall I begin with mine?

imagine a demon dance

now pull the puppet strings

and watch them lose their pants

that's how we do it, folks 

in the nightmare parade

just keep on lampooning 

till your terror starts to fade. 

Now it's your turn to pick

your phobia to minimize

color him panto and watch 

him dissolve before your eyes

Blessings from the Hoo Hoo Hotel where all us insane find asylum. 

Worshipper at the Ego Altar

softly, softly the child knelt

secondhand coat and used shoes

ever the repentant 

in those hard wooden pews 

tear-jerked remorse

wept the girl with no name 

dutifully answering 

when the altar call came 

a shiny pulpit man

denounced wages of sin

in his fancy blue suit 

beats his Bible again

so I trembled in fear

at his angry homily

and the vengeful God

with little use for me

yet first finger pointing

all wicked folk do

seems you forgot, friend

four point back to you

the church blame shame game

played the fool so well 

their preach without practice

the no show only tell 

What happened to Jesus?

in this gospel you teach

reserving for yourself 

what you place out of reach

The inn is still filled 

at the Entitlement Arms

you think God's fooled by

your snake oil and charms? 

Just admit you've no room

in your high ground above 

you withhold while claiming

all his mercy and love

but the girl still worships

at your ego altar 

absorbing your shame

that you heap upon her

betrayal blindness kept

this trauma bonded slave 

no amount of contrition

can the tied soul save

so confessing is moot 

don't know wrong from right 

if I'm ever a sinner 

then I can't see the light