What I Think About My Shrink

If I'm not the one who is crazy, why am I seeing a shrink?
Is it because I want someone to affirm what I already think?
If when we talk to our friends and relations, and they get an itch
The usual solution is to sign us up for a hitch
In a convenient psychiatric facility of their choice
Where they can pay people to put up with the sound of our voice.
Lots of life just doesn't make sense when you stop to think about it,
But unless you want to be crucified, you shouldn't, out loud, shout it.
Take slavery in a country of equal rights and women with no power;
They got the people who objected scorned, in not our country's finest hours.
But we have so many who are afraid for society to change
That they proclaim the revolutionaries to be deranged.
The sixties were about seeking justice, we should all face that fact;
I'll go to the nut house or prison, but I'm not going back.

The Courage to Create

I finally found the courage to run down the street with no clothes;
My greatest fear in life is that I would be completely exposed.
Exposed as the scared fraud that I know I've always been;
I've been faking my way through life following other women and men.

I've lived through many life's adventures, some more painful than others;
I have finally accepted myself through the love of adopted mothers.
The book about my mountain home tells many of my love stories.
I've saved the sad ones for another book, so you don't have to worry.

Many will see themselves pressed like flowers between the pages,
But I've changed the names to avoid any person's potential rages.
You just never know who may be in the witness protection program,
And exposing their identities is certainly not part of my plan.

I feel as if I've been in labor for the last five years,
A time filled with a lifetime of blood sweat and tears.
We look forward to seeing all our mountain friends very soon
And listening to the forest creatures howl at the moon.

I lied about the forest creatures; most of you know they scare me,
But when something makes for good rhyme, I just can't let it be.
Thanks to all of you who have loved me into not becoming too discouraged
I couldn't have done it without borrowing some of each of your courage.

Family Fire

There's a young man who lives across the way
I don't know if he has a wife.
Every day he takes his lab for a walk
He seems to really enjoy this life.

He brings his well-behaved dog home,
Comes back with his fishing pole.
Yesterday he caught a flounder
Will today's catch be mackerel?

I've often thought it would be nice to fish
But it takes a patient and steady hand.
When The Creator handed out these attributes
I must not have been part of that plan.

How life must have been for early humans
Who gave thanks for whatever they caught;
I guess even then I'd have been the cook
Of whatever the hunters and gatherers brought.

I would sit by the campfire and listen
To the exciting stories they would tell;
I'd supervise older children watching babies
In the community where I'd dwell.

The really old folks, wrapped in blankets,
Would be welcome around the campfire.
They would have open laps for the babies
Until the day comes that they expire.

We'd sing joyful songs together,
Welcoming each new day and each meal
We'd sing soothing songs until the babies,
Into peaceful slumber would steal.

And when all the children were
Safely tucked into their beds
The adults would share stories
About that which they dread.

We'd have a council of elders
Who'd share the wisdom of the ages
And we'd listen to the active adults
Who would also act as sages.

Perhaps we'd have a talking stick
To each, it would be passed around.
This would insure that the campfire
Would be respected as holy ground.

After all the family folks retired,
The wild ones could remain by the fire
They could regal each other with their lies
A fall sleep with adventure-glazed eyes.

My Matriarchal Mama

When I was in the seventh grade,
My teacher was a formidable woman.
She had a presence that I craved;
I felt like her favored one.

When my little sister would come knocking
On this teacher's classroom door,
She'd gently call for "Little Mother,"
When she could have been angry, I'm sure.

My sister had a stomach ache
Because she was always scared;
Her big brown eyes could never fake
The terror that was in her head.

My teacher would allow me to
Calm my sister and go call our home,
But then I'd have to leave her
In the office all alone.

I never forgot this teacher's kindness,
Or the fact that she was so brave
In standing up to my bullying brother,
Which put my mother in a rage.

When I went for my first job
As a recently divorced mom,
She was secretary to my boss,
And managed to keep me calm.

So many times she's been there for me,
Like a angel with her flaming sword.
I knew that I only got the job
On this woman's positive word.

Now she is recently widowed,
And her son has passed away.
Her daughter is a full time nurse,
But I have time to play.

She fixed for me a luscious lunch,
And gave me leftovers to take away.
She sets a lovely table,
In a proper New England way.

I know I should be cooking for her
After all she's done for me.
But she so loves doing for others,
I had to let this be.

Her words of wisdom and her wit
Are such a welcome gift to me,
When I get to be eighty-six,
She's who I want to be.

My friend's requeted last verse re: Dogs, Don't Walk on White Sand

Mississippi beaches sure missed out
Because me and my friend
Picked up other people's trash,
Leaving the beach clean from beginning to end.

Dogs, Don't Walk on the White Sand

My girlfriend wanted to take her pups
For their first-ever romp on the beach.
I was thrilled to be included
Because so much beach is in reach.

I took a ride down the Mississippi coast
Only to find, to my chagrin
That now they've cleaned their beaches
Dogs are no longer welcomed in.

The neighborhood where we lived
Before Katrina stole our home
Has a small beach on the lake
Where dogs are free to roam.

It was delightful watching her poodle
Challenging the waves.
I only wish I could have taken them
To the miles of white sand about which I'd raved.

Peaceful Pastimes

A day of mourning for many in our country,
Was a day of great peace for Richard and me.
We stopped by the home of dearest friends
She and I needed to, a wound made with words, mend.
I needed to hear her gentle voice and see her smiling face,
To make sure our deep love was still in place.
Then our son and his wife welcomed us with open arms;
Their loving home is a shelter in many storms.

At this refuge which produces daily celebration,
My niece and her family came by with libations.
My niece and I had had an argument;
I was so glad to see that her anger was spent.
Watching her children was a pure delight;
Her husband's fried chicken was the hit of the night.
I cried all the way home from the pure beauty of life,
Offered to me as a mother, grandmother, and wife.