The Pinball Machine

Sometime my brain is like

a pin ball machine

Darting from ding to ding.

That’s the point

Get as much done as quickly as possible.

Ding-ding-ding-ding

Type a poem, while eating breakfast,

Still thinking of protein powder on Amazon,

wondering how the grands are doing in college.

Am I packing enough underwear for my trip?

And of course remembering to wish my Love

Good Morning, 

Zing-zing-zing

Ding-ding-ding

But, by the end of the day, I’m exhausted

physically and mentally—-every ounce of ideas and energy,

wrung out—-

wanting nothing more than a quiet night

holding hands with my Love.

At night, if I see a movie or meet friends for Bunco:

it’s like putting in another coin for another round of pin ball.

But,  I’m slow to hit

the buttons to complete a task.

The dings are slower—softer less inviting.

I drag myself to bed: body seeking rest.

But, as I lay down, my brain is still flipping that damn ball:

ideas zinging around the recesses of my brain:

Hour       after      hour. 

Later, with my 10th trip to the toilet,

body weak from fatigue,

I finally slip into fitful sleep.

Not restful sleep, not recharging sleep—-

no REM, or deep sleep.

Like a pinball zombie, i awake in the moring , dragging my feet,

Fixing breakfast, needing my walker,

The zing has zonged and the ding has donged.

Alienor

 Alienor Aquitaine:  

“Trees are not known by their leaves, nor even by their blossoms, but by their fruits.”

Marie Countess of Champagne

Alice Countess of Blois

Matilda Duchess of Saxony

So Alienor, I know about you,                                                             

but I do still have a question or two. 

No, I’m not going to ask 

if you really rode to the Crusades 

with a band of Amazon warriors.

I’m not even going to ask 

what it was like to be married 

to the King of England and the King of France 

For sure, I’m not going to ask 

about your lovers or your schemes against Henry II.  

That is none of my business.

I’m your 24th great granddaughter, 

descended from Marie, Alix, Eleanor and Matilda

(John, too, but you were right about him).

What were my ancestors like?

I wonder if any of your daughters were like you—-

a strong-willed woman. 

Your “fruits” were not as well-known as you.  

I know about their titles: 

Eleanor Queen of Castille

“Queen of this” or “Countess of that” 

But what about 

their character, 

their values, 

their intelligence?

Royal titles mean nothing to me.  

You’ve had novels and plays written about you, 

but tell me about them. 

Were they respected and admired?

Were they benevolent leaders?

You had tumultus relationships with your husbands:

 Louis VII and Henry II.  

What did their husbands and children think of them?

You had 10 children—-5 daughters and 5 sons.  

We know your sons were not strong or principled.  

What about your daughters?

What about your daughters?

'S e Alba mo dhachaigh

 I’ve lived entirely in the Midwest

But my home is Scotland Lowlands

There I see people who look like me

walking down the cobblestone street

shopping in the small grocery stores

with a grocer to greet us:

small, lean, freckled with brown hair 

that is red in the sunlight.

And eyes of green and hazel-

smiling in recognition of my heritage.

I love the dim gothic stone churches

with the Celtic cross which invites me 

to pray and sing

Be Thou My Vision:

Riches I heed not, not vain, empty praise:

Thou mine inheritance, now and always.

Thou and thou only, first in my heart,

High King of Heaven my treasure thou art.

I love the bag pipes

and the kilted pipers

calling me to remember a time

in the deep recesses of my heritage

when those pipes called my ancestors

to stand taller remembering the vision

of Scotland greats like Malcom and Margaret.

I love the mist and the fog

Hiding the stone homes

until a veil slowly lifts to show

green meadows and stone walls

beyond.

I love the dark rooms 

with windows too small and cloudy

 But a fire in the stone fireplace

chairs beside it 

soaking in the warmth

a quilt thrown over the back of the chair

when the fire becomes embers.

It beckons me to sit and reflect.

I love the window seat 

that looks out on a beautiful wild

garden of red and orange flowers

Feet propped in the seat

my back againsr the wall

reflecting on the beauty of life:

the irony of this American feeling

at home in

the Scotland lowlands 

where my ancestors left many years ago.

Olivia

 A 2003 VW Beetle: Cyber green

Turbo sports model with a stick shift

and  a lot of ZIP.

Small, round, compact but full of sass—

But  also full of class

with heated black leather seats

trimmed in cyber green.

Recognized when seen among

Behomoth-filled traffic.

Flash from head to toe: 

Floor mats and wheels

Trimmed in Cyber green too

Nicknamed Olivia for looking like a green olive 

from the rear with red pimento lights.

A spoiler unfurled to remind the driver

she's going too fast in the residential hood.

At stop lights, Titans looked down on 

the grey haired long-time owner,

but when the light changed to green

she left those giants in the dust

A green spotted bug whirligig

twirled in the bud vase until it

whirled out of the vase once too many.

Recently a red-headed driver:

The talk of SLU for squeezing into 

tight empty parking places.

Nick-named Booger and Buggie.

But, now being held together with

Zip Ties—-how appropriate for the car

That Zipped into parking spaces and at 

Green lights is now Zipped together.

At the end of her life-span,

Can she be in a Hollywood film?

Please let it be a Thelma and Louise scene:

Flying over a cliff, out with a bang.

And not limping into

a retirement home of junked cars.

Showering Peace

 

Rainy days with you,

sitting on my patio,

celebrating a rare, soft summer rain.

While sunny days can be comforting with the sun’s warmth,

showers in summer are rare and should be celebrated:

soft gentle rain, not storms.

Rainy days calm me, slow me down.

We watch drops of rain sprinkling:

like twinkling stars

softly falling on a cottonwood leaf

Trickling down the drain restoring a glimmer of life.

I celebrate the mist now falling: 

 a mystical scene

of brooding trees rising up slowly 

from the swamp.

Clouds shading the canopy from

the sun’s harsh rays.

The respite and relief reminds us

to slow down and reflect on what brings peace.

No Tai Chi or Happy Hour today.

Just celebrating a rainy day in July: 

a midsummer Missouri treasure.

Celebrating summer with you

in the rain on my patio is Peace.