crock a dilly

Crock a dilly oh my, crock, crock, crock
Say chica chica, chica chica chacalaka
Follow follow
Stick your head in jello
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, wack, your out…

tv busters

Back to school,
Means no tv,
Curiously,
It’s a book,
Math trick #53,
With her, I see,
Quick, someone pinch me!

the pill

In her mouth she puts the pill,
amid my morning babble..
"Phil and Jill went up the hill..."
distressed, pill in mouth,
she asks for O.J.
and then did say...
"last night I had a really weird dream."

us

Our past is European; genes and cells, assembled from
proteins, machinery of strong, inventive, joyful
people. In the Transylvanian Alps, German plains,
coastal Sweden, they herded sheep, tended farms,
mended nets, fought wars, mined coal. They traveled to
Bucharest, Frankfurt, Stockholm for trade, weddings.
Some were gypsies; wild, with love for life and
nature. Their dances, songs, tales, expressions from
their heart, stirring souls.

Now we’re American – pursuing liberty, concerned by
liberties preservation. We’re carbon atoms exchanged
between relatives, friends, foes. Those atoms, from
touch, now in our tissues, hearts, minds. We’re the
grains, fruits, vegetables eaten; preservatives,
steroids, antibiotics consumed. We’re the books read,
music made, sports played, joys and sorrow caused.

We’re the future. Yet, our present holds command of
our future. We’ll measure ourselves against ancestors,
friends, define ourselves by our standards, ideas,
dreams. We’ll become our triumphs, defeats,
achievements, failures, Loves, hates – though with
blessing, might the entireties serve to motivate more
than make complacent. We urn for beauty, truth, soul
of life - that which searches to know thyself.
-mt

Haze

Through the haze,
my eyes cannot see the light,
from the traveler, who with,
along the path I did walk,
yet, my mind recalls sharing,
the beauty and laughter,
the truth and wisdom,
the bread, wine and passion,
of a kindly lit day.
-mt

Trix

Where’s the rabbit – yo?
I’m looking down below,
While Trix are shoveled in,
The milk turns pink,
Then so soon we’re fin.

Morning After

Chilly,
this Sunday morning
In late April,
with the furnace now switched off,
til' next fall.

Quiet,
thick gray nimbostratus cloud the atmosphere,
Maybe there, to muffle any sound,
as though, on the morning after Earth Day,
there’s a bit of a hangover from the celebration,
all the good times, our hard living.

Still,
yet, within her bounty are the gems of the season,
Crab apple blossoms,
just outside my bedroom window in this rented house,
Long ago planted on the terrace landing,
by someone.
She shows the outward signs of being confined,
and lately, thirsty, chronically,
There is concern about her lean cells, dehydrating,
The dead wood that is pruned, is easily burned,
Fueling fires of warmth for me, and my children,
on chilly evenings and mornings like these.

Beauty,
Despite poor drainage, the concrete walls,
blocking her roots from reaching down and outward to tap water,
on the healthier branches that remain,
are put forth lacy pink blossoms, with edges of white and centers of red.
Natures wonder, in spite of hardship, she endures,
putting a best face forward,
on this morning after.
--mt

Neruda

UNITY from Pablo Neruda

There is something dense, united, seated in the depths,
repeating its number, its identical sign.
How clear it is that the stones have touched time,
in their fine substance there is a smell of age
and the water that the sea brings from salt and sleep.

I am surrounded by just one thing, a single movement:
the weight of the mineral, the light of the honey,
they stick to the sound of the word "night":
the shade of wheat, of ivory, of tears,
things of leather, of wood, of wool,
aged, faded, uniform things
gather around me like walls.

I work silently, wheeling over myself,
like the crow over death, the crow in mourning.
I think, isolated in the expanse of the seasons,
central, surrounded by silent geography:
a partial temperature falls from the sky,
an ultimate empire of confused unities
gathers surrounding me.

no school

spring break,
is here to take,
time for fun,
in springs early sun.
Grandma and Grampa,
here from chicago,
with me they'll stay,
while dad earns pay.

everything

On blue days when hope is small
When loneliness does raise the wall
It’s important then, to be a friend,
Look to others, a kind word lend,
For otherwise in self I’m lost,
The worst of ills, our humanity the cost.

For whether chaos, truly, the cosmos does guide,
As we’re on, this ever expanding ride,
The question is mute, I’ve come to see,
The grace is you, and my bond with thee,
For now we’re connected, in space and time,
Two spirits in light, they’re yours and mine.
-mt

the dark

Happiness through contentment
It’s the message sent,
Am I there? no,
But don’t despair,
For along the path we make,
It’s tranquility, right there to take,
next to darkness.

Kindred souls adjust our pace,
Reminding us, this is no race,
“Stop”, they say, along the way,
And as we stand, side by side,
Courageously we turn to face,
the dark.
-mt

Homework – none!

Besides spelling words,
this week there’s none,
homework, that is,
so let’s have some fun!

Field trip tomorrow,
Some nature we’ll borrow,
As we go to ecoterrium,
She says, there we’ll marry him.

Big day today,
We have lots to say,
At the sixth grade bake sale,
Then after that, I present,
My water cycle project, that I bent,
On the bus yesterday,
Then to recess, hurray!

Tamagotchi Connection

Megan is her name,
She lives in a game,
Ioana plays with her
And gives her care
Even though her hair
Is digital, not to wear.

She’s a blob,
Yeah that’s right
An animation creation,
Just barely in sight,
If given poor care,
She’ll die in her sleep,
That’s oh so sad, boo hoo
Please pass me a Kleenex, old dad.

Type Alpha; oh yes.. Beta and Gamma, too

A long time ago, those of science,
while observing the rat,
classified, two types,
then one more, as an afterthought, ex-pat.

Alpha’s, find first choice,
in domain and in mate,
Controlling to a fault,
lording over the masses,
while trying to place all’s fate,
within space of their vault.

The masses, the Beta’s, prolific they are,
Survivors, with will; those with courage, go far.
They’re builders, workers and creators; yet still,
a step behind Alpha’s, while moving up the hill.

Surprised, overlooked, they noted some more – absurd!
Gamma’s they were called, and they were the third.
Like Alpha’s, they claimed choice territory to dwell,
And yet breeding with best, they avoid Alpha’s hell.

For Gamma’s, salvation could be found in a trait,
that to dominate Beta’s, was not their fate.
Best of breed; Gamma’s go with the flow,
they’re anarchists at the core; wouldn’t you know.
-mt

light

Light, moving through darkness and time
Young, as the fresh candle, sparkles, flickers,
Full of energy, fresh with spark,
raw with promise, now online.

Contrasted against dark void,
One light intersects, another,
Intrepidly meeting,
so rare, waves share a common phase,
the right spectral chemistry,
Intensity, depth, amplifies nature’s wonder.

The energy of two forms,
Through time, transformed,
Affect all in the path of time and space
With that encountered,
Evolving energy in the realm now shared,
Whence forth-new lit space emerge,
Penetrating universal darkness, light.
-mt

spirals

Nature, she sends spirit,
symmetrical shapes,
sunflowers, seashells,
such series sums,
similar systems,
spatially spawned,
spirals.
-mt

glancing up

With his eclipse a recent memory away,
Apollo’s furry sputters and spots,
While here, his solar energy is kept at bay.

Mother Moon growing New, in this spring, so dear,
Harbinger to what wonders she’ll bring, and what fear.
Today blocked by Stratocumulua, bringing late season snow,
Her affect is a given, on tides, we do know.

Cheers, a salute to this time of season is due,
Forsythia, budding cherry and apple, yes too,
And with all she does bring,
helping our spirits to sing,
we affirm, dear nature,
to thee, we’ll be true.
--mt

the satisfaction of,

She says cheerios are yummy,
Tasty, feeling good in her tummy,
Round with a little frosting,
Going crunch between teeth,
Now stealing the pang of hunger,
Like a swift and cunning thief.

it's a match

Monday morning, time to put on the tie,
Helping me to match, she says,
“Ouch, that one hurts my eye,”
“Switch for that one with daisies,”
Green, white and yellow,
yes, for Monday morning, it’s much more mellow.