TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

 A Politically Correct Christmas Poem

Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck...

How to live in a world that's politically correct?

His workers no longer would answer to "Elves",

"Vertically Challenged" they were calling themselves.

And labor conditions at the North Pole,

were alleged by the union, to stifle the soul.

Four reindeer had vanished without much propriety,

released to the wilds, by the Humane Society.

And equal employment had made it quite clear,

that Santa had better not use just reindeer.

So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,

were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!

The runners had been removed from his beautiful sleigh,

because the ruts were deemed dangerous by the EPA,

And millions of people were calling the Cops,

when they heard sled noises upon their roof tops.

Second-hand smoke from his pipe, had his workers quite frightened,

and his fur trimmed red suit was called "unenlightened".

To show you the strangeness of today's ebbs and flows,

Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose.

He went to Geraldo, in front of the Nation,

demanding millions in over-due workers compensation.

So...half of the reindeer were gone, and his wife

who suddenly said she'd had enough of this life,

joined a self help group, packed and left in a whiz,

demanding from now on that her title was Ms.

And as for gifts...why, he'd never had the notion

that making a choice could cause such commotion.

Nothing of leather, nothing of fur...

Which meant nothing for him or nothing for her.

Nothing to aim, Nothing to shoot,

Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise.

Nothing for just girls and nothing for just boys.

Nothing that claimed to be gender specific,

Nothing that's warlike or non-pacifistic.

No candy or sweets...they were bad for the tooth.

Nothing that seemed to embellish upon the truth.

And fairy tales...while not yet forbidden,

were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden,

for they raised the hackles of those psychological,

who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.

No baseball, no football...someone might get hurt,

besides - playing sports exposed kids to dirt.

Dolls were said to be sexist and should be passe.

and Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.

So Santa just stood there, disheveled and perplexed,

he just couldn't figure out what to do next?

He tried to be merry he tried to be gay,

but you must have to admit he was having a very bad day.

His sack was quite empty, it was flat on the ground,

nothing fully acceptable was anywhere to be found.

Something special was needed, a gift that he might,

give to us all, without angering the left or the right.

A gift that would satisfy - with no indecision,

each group of people in every religion.

Every race, every hue,

everyone, everywhere...even you!

So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...

"MAY YOU AND YOUR LOVED ONES, ENJOY PEACE ON EARTH"

FOR THE LOVE OF NATURE

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,

There is a rapture on the lonely shore,

There is society, where none intrudes,

By the deep sea, and music in its roar:

I love not man the less, but Nature more,

From these our interviews, in which I steal

From all I may be, or have been before,

To mingle with the Universe, and feel

What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

~Lord Byron~

PARALYSIS

One never realizes how far they have come in their

own journey of grief until they look back upon it. I just

found this poem I wrote about my mother dated March 14, 2021.

Paralysis

While spring has sprung,

the memory of death is all around me.

My nostrils welcome the sweet aroma of the springtime air

while it hides the putrid stench of decay and loss

with its perfume, a beguiling mask, a welcome escape.

The birds sing while I weep

Announcing the rebirth, a new beginning...a hunger for life

After such an unceremonious ending

My heart is broken.

Will this sadness dissipate or

Do I also just slip away into the night

Alone, lost and fearing the cold hand of death?

by Mildred Ratched aka Red Kitten >^.^< 

That's enough for today...I think I may go paint a picture!

FOREVER

Yesterday, while I was sitting here I suddenly got inspired to write a poem. I know! Poetry! YUCK! Hey, you have to run with inspiration when it strikes, no matter what direction it takes you in, right? So, humor me by holding your nose and reading my heart-felt words. Mildred is really trying to heal and come home...

It's a good thing I was by myself when I wrote this poem because I cried the whole time I was writing it. Yes, I actually wrote it and didn't type it. There's something about holding a pencil that seems to stir something in me, but it's difficult to stay inspired with a snotty nose and tears dripping all over the place. Somehow, I managed to find the "right" words and finish the poem. My first draft I emailed to my "bestie" and of course, she thought it was lovely. But, I'm wondering if she thought it sucked if she would have told me to go back to the drawing board and keep working. That thought brought a smile to my face... 

Forever

 One moment she was breathing

And then nothing filled her eyes.

I can’t prevent the ending…

Forever

She gifted me with life and love.

Now, outstretched while growing cold.

And from her death tears erupted…

Forever

 My whole life changed that moment.

And my heart won’t be the same.

Still somehow, I march forward…

Forever

 A crushing grief weights my soul.

While trying to drown the pain

 Prevents this crevice from closing…

Forever

You never thought I listened.

While you showed me who I am

I hope you knew I loved you…

Forever

 As time grew near to free you

My heart was opened wide.

That moment remains eternal…

Forever

 The moments when I need you.

You tell me to reach inside.

I get my strength from you…

Forever

You’re all around me always.

A deafening silence holds you there.

You will live on inside me…

Forever

I know how things must happen.

Reality stares me in the eyes.

Until someday I join you…

Forever

 And while my heart is healing

I still have these tears to cry

But each sunset brings a sunrise…

Forever.

💔

by Mildred Ratched

22 Feb 2021

My Surprise

Several years ago my daughter assembled a book of poetry from various poems my mother had written. Just about every subject was covered except one. She had never written a poem about me, her one and only daughter! When I brought this to her attention, she did what she always does. She started to argue with me about it, but I proved her wrong. The fact of the matter was that she had never written a poem about me. I have to admit it hurt my feelings that my existence didn't inspire her to write something...anything about her ugly duckling daughter. I didn't expect something to rival William Shakespeare. A little Mother Goose would be nice!

Like many elderly people, my mother has a daily routine. She likes to spend her afternoons in her art studio. I call it her cave. One afternoon several months ago upon returning from her cave she placed this piece of paper in my hand:

At 91, I have to admit that she's going strong! Yes, she went through that period I called her "empty pod" or "alien abduction" period and I really doubted she was going to come out of it, but she did. It took a lot of work on my part and it almost put me in a rubber room in the process, but she's back and doing better than ever. Her health is great and her mind is sharp (sharper than mine I have to admit). Maybe what we both need is some medical marijuana and a smile! Now, that's a strange trip I don't know if I'm ready for...smoking dope with my mother just seems a little too weird even for Mildred.

TIPTOE NIMBLY

Occasionally, I attempt to do Words for Wednesday which started quite awhile ago and has been kept alive by many people. Each week new words are given to be used in whatever creative style speaks to you. I usually choose poetry [poorly written poetry], while others write short stories. When I do participate, I'm usually a day or two late. Sorry! So if this is something you'd like to try, check it out on Mumblings [the person who started Words for Wednesday] or on Drifting through life to get the weekly words. 

This weeks words are:
perfume, blanket, blue, market, voltage, feline
and/or
exotic, throttle, oven, comprehend, toss and trespass

Tiptoe nimbly past her exotic market of many delights
Ignore the NO TRESPASS sign and the flashing neon lights
A sleeping feline in a soft, silky blue blanket smiles
Knowing they smell the sweet, seductive perfume vials
Comprehend and toss humanity in that self-righteous oven

Voltage on! Throttle Up! Feel the heat of forbidden loving.
Tiptoe nimbly down the path, tiptoe nimbly beyond the signs
Tiptoe nimbly, always nimbly to where a smiling feline dines.

MY SQUEAKY WHEEL

My mother always told me that the squeaky wheel gets oiled. I tested her theory recently to see if my wheel would get lubed sufficiently. After all, we all know that squeak can be pretty annoying at times...

Throughout her golden years, my mother has always written poems...hundreds and hundreds of them. You name the subject and I'm sure she wrote something about it. Several years ago, my daughter put together a book of my mother's poetry. Now, don't get me wrong, I love my mother and I'm glad the aliens brought her back (discussed in earlier posts), but sometimes I feel like her focus is on everyone and everything, but me. Several years ago I read through ALL her poems...not one was about me. I could have let that slide, but she screwed up by writing poems about my brothers. Yes, I can be petty when I feel it's needed.

I occasionally print out things I write and let her read them. When she suggested that I post one of her poems on my blog, I jumped at the opportunity to be petty. I told her I would, but nothing she's ever written was about me. Do you hear my squeaky wheel turning? It really needs some oil! SQUEAK! SQUEAK!! Of course, she disagreed with me and said she had, but I told her I've read all her poetry and never came across anything about me. I knew her next step would be to go out in her art studio and go through everything she's ever written just to prove me wrong.

Yesterday afternoon, she handed me a poem hot off the presses. Keep in mind, this poem was hand-written by a 90 year old. My pettiness was quickly replaced by feeling flattered and impressed when I read the poem she had just written. I'm always trying to get her to use her mind to figure out things like simple math. BUT my mother is stubborn and bristles up whenever I challenge her or want her to do something that'll keep the cobwebs out of her head. Most of the time she fails to see that my attempts are not for my own sake, but for hers. Naturally, when she presented me with the poem, I thanked her and praised her for it. Most likely, I'll frame it and hang it in my bedroom on "my wall of shame."

Posted are the poem she wrote and also a painting she did of me about 20 years ago with my baby, Chewy. SQUEAK! SQUEAK!! Don't you think she should do a more recent portrait of me?

A RESILIENT HEART

I'm sure a therapist would have a ball analyzing my poetry.  Some say the eyes are the mirrors to a person's soul, but since you can't see my eyes, I offer up my written words as testament to who I am and what I have lurking in the darkest recesses of my being.  I seem to always be very closely connected to what the heart feels and how truly resilient it is.  A person's healing capacity always amazes me...especially my own.

This week's Words for Wednesday again brought me mental images of love and struggle, but also of somehow being a better more open person because of that pain and struggle.  The words this week in which I wove a poem were: 

Utopian

plagiarism
necktie
automatic
spinster
devout

OR

navigation
tribulation
propagation
explanation
sensation
adulation


A Resilient Heart 

She had many days of Utopian love

Where her heart’s plagiarism was written proudly
With many empty, unanswered "I love you’s"
A stabbing sensation to be broadcasted loudly.

Love at first sight was the automatic explanation

For adulation on love’s battle field so gory
She was a decorated warrior, a lonely spinster
Upon whose chest she wore tribulation with such glory.

Although navigation along the sensual garden path

Without propagation she was barren and deemed quite empty
But rich without love’s flowery neckties and glittery things
This devout spinster’s heart was resilient, pure and free.

SEASONAL DUES

This week's Words For Wednesday are: boreal, rocky, tempest, lake, rising, breathe or  the phrase, "the summer rain washed her face with bitter tears".


A crisp, tempest wind rustles through the color splattered trees
And on each lake a lonesome loon awaits a warmer summer breeze
The salty, boreal air tiptoes across the once warm, sunlit rocky shores
While the equinox signals summer’s end and opens autumn’s doors. 

Reds and yellows replace the once lush foliage greens
And once again we start our plans for a season that redeems
With each rising sun cooler days have silently begun to emerge
Now the summer’s passing and a frigid transformation will converge.

The seasons come and they will go, each has beauty of its own
The artist who creates it all is more than just well known.
But autumn captures nature’s best with painted landscape hues
Like growing trees that bend and breathe we, too pay our seasonal dues.



Painted by yours truly!

LOVE'S CURSE

I'm back from North Carolina and ready to roll with this week's Words For Wednesday.  This week's prompts are:

insinuate

method

reverse

pleasantries

donkey

darker

OR

the phrase, 'darkening shadows, deadly intentions' can be used.

 

 

Call me a donkey!

No, call me an ass!
Call me quite clueless
I’m a hard-headed lass.

You’ve smiled falsely
It’s love in reverse
Your method is madness
Your love is a curse.

As time has grown darker
My love has grown thin
Insinuate that the future
Will never begin.

Our pleasantries fall victim

Like leaves on a tree
In winter it’s barren
Lifeless and free.

The darkening shadows

Fall heavy below
Deadly intentions
Is something we know.

Love has departed

We lie crippled alone
We lie in life’s harvest
It’s what we call home.

ODE TO SEETHING SAINTS AND SINGING SINNERS

Delores from Under The Porch Light  threw everyone for a loop with Words For Wednesday this week.  Instead of the usual format which includes using a list of words or a phrase or both if you're a glutton for punishment, she omitted the list of words and gave the participants three phrases to get their creative juices flowing.  After participating  for several weeks, I finally get it.  It really isn't about what a person posts or the amount of talent they exude.  It's all about the camaraderie.  Those of you who follow Mildred and read excerpts from her rather twisted life, know that flowery poetry isn't really Mildred's thing.  Well folks!  Guess what?  Mildred likes flowery poetry, just like she likes painting.  She may not be Robert Frost or van Gogh, but I think creativity isn't so much about the finished product as it is about the journey/process.  It's more about letting out what's buried deep inside.  If that surfaces in a cute poem or a landscape then I say, "let it flow...let those juices seep out and carry you to where you're supposed to go!"

If you'd like to participate, hop over to her Delores' blog and check it out!  You just might surprise yourself as much as I've surprised myself.  Plus the group is a comprised of people from all walks of life.  They are so creatively diverse and supportive of what everyone posts.  What a wonderful gift Delores created by bringing together people to share their worlds via written words.  Thank you  so much, Delores!

The prompt I used this week was the phrase, "giggles and fairy wings".  

Not only did I use this phrase in the poem I composed, but if you notice the first letter of the first word in each line also spells g-i-g-g-l-e-s-a-n-d-f-a-i-r-y-w-i-n-g-s.

Giggles and fairy wings
imagination sweetly sings
giggles and fairy wings
golden clouds and jeweled rings.

Lovestruck moments, lovestruck eyes
End with passion, end with strive
singing love songs so contrive
a kingdom withers, a kingdom thrives.

No iron maiden from above
dancing cherubs bring us love
floating lightly hand in glove
angels soaring like a dove.

Inscription reading, wordless gain
ride the lightning like a train
young at heart will remain
with each other no disdain.

Instant karma, instant winner
No food for love or for dinner
Gain in love or grow much thinner
Seething saints and singing sinners. 

WHAT IS LIFE?

Delores from Under The Porch Light created Words For Wednesday.  If you'd like to participate, hop over to her blog and check it out!

This week's prompt were:

essence, flippant, mercury, speeding, nonchalant, shadowed
or
"life smells like coffee and baby poop, fresh cut grass and gasoline"

 

What is life?

Life looks like noodles and cesspools, wild flowers and trampolines.
Life sounds like landslides and toilets, baby coos and tambourines.
Life smells like coffee and baby poop, fresh cut grass and gasoline.
Life tastes like water and bourbon, vegetables and jelly beans.
Life feels like laughter and crying, zip lining and quarantine.
But actually life is just another unforeseen guillotine!
Evergreen, never seen
Fresh cut grass and gasoline…

THE KNIFE OF FLU'S REGRET

This week's Words For Wednesday are: incarcerate, phlegm, damp, groan, knife and blessing.
 

A flummoxed state of being

A blessing in disguise

A fevered mind thinks of freeing

A vision from its tear stained eyes.

In a darkened room

Loudly from within

I groan from gloom, I moan with doom

The questions now begin.

To be or not to be

Incarcerate or flee

To be or not to be

Influenza vexes me.

Phlegm soaked tissues; swollen glands

A body damp with fevered sweat

Needs the tender care of loving hands

To pacify the knife of flu’s regret.

by Mildred Ratched 

PENICILLIN FOR YOUR SOUL

Taken from Under The Porch Light's Words For Wednesday:
 

Words for Wednesday’  is a once a week writing prompt that has carried over from ‘thefeatherednest’.  The prompt could be a selection of words,  a photo,  an idea or a couple of sentences you can use to start a piece of flash fiction.  Write a poem or a story using as much or as little of the prompt as you please or offer us something entirely different as a prompt.  There are no deadlines, no rules...just a bit of good clean fun.  Put your creation in comments here or let us know if you are posting on your own blog.   Please let me know if you want to be listed in the sidebar as a participant.

 

Today’s prompt is:

actual

spontaneous

remedy

fanciful

mesmerized

cranium

 

OR

 

listen

glisten

christen

moisten

hasten

penicillin

 

I chose "listen, glisten, christen, moisten, hasten and penicillin" and wrote the following short poem using those words:

 

Can you hear your inner song?

It beckons you to sing along

Painted with love’s brightest ray

A glisten-streaked joyful day

 

A song to christen your doubtful heart

With eternal hope and fearless starts

Moisten the most barren land

With seeds to sow and gentle hand

 

Hasten now my wounded child

That inner song will make you smile

It may sound like rock and roll

Penicillin for your soul.

 

I love reading the various responses posted on Under The Porch Light.  The creativity that flows forth is simply amazing!  Thank you, Delores for allowing me to participate!

FEATURED YOYO

The Final Ride


The act of dying
is like hitch-hiking
into a strange town
late at night
where it is cold
and raining,
and you are alone
again.

Suddenly
all the street lamps
go out
and everything
becomes dark,
so dark
that even the buildings
are afraid
of one another.

by Richard Brautigan (January 30, 1935 – September 14, 1984)

Gratitude statement: I am thankful that I haven't journeyed to this "strange town" yet.