Sunday, May 29, 2016

May 29, 2016 The Sunday Whirl #Wordle #253/The Unthinkable Becomes the Norm -- Sunday's Whirl #61 Sunday's Whirligig/ Yesteday-- Poets United

The Unthinkable Becomes the Norm

with each tap of the hammer     the plaster cracks just a little           dust fills the air

chokes the throat          rolls into the darken corner                           a lifeless dustball

in the garden                                     a tender vine starts out so small

and yet can grow to be a monster                   just like the little shop of horrors

creeps over the wall               hard to get rid of                          can take over

seems to have a mind of its' own          chokes out other plants        flowers hang 

                                                                                                      like crimson tassels

early morning                 or early mourning                                     it is summer

but on this morning        there is a chill in the air                      one child shot

falls to the sidewalk            where he played                     shot

because he is poor           because he is black                            because he was there

because he lives in the hood                one child saved because he is white

because there is a gate where he lives     the trap was set          someone stepped in

unaware of the danger        will the trap hold                       or will he gnaw off his leg

and free himself                  the stories are diverse               the mother weeps

the mist clears                the sun shines                              there is no happy ending here

May 29, 2016



i am no longer moored          i have drifted away from my childhood home

washed up on a foreign shore     all day long             i searched the beach

collected shells          smooth round seeds             driftwood

i grew up near the water      now i call the desert home      in sight of the mountain

sacred mother              each morning i bless the mountain      and she blesses me

the ties are broken          so many have gone                 there is nothing left of home

when it is said               you can't go home again                 it is true

perhaps there is the street where we lived            but someone else lives there now

i enter a place of memory        i remember moma's      pies cooling on the back porch

crust tender and flaky        sweet tart red cherries               spilling on the plate

like blood on the sidewalk         a boy shot by police                 in the back

a hundred times                             charges dropped

mama's hug as we left for school      in memory            it is always summer barefoot

sundresses                  bees buzz                                     baseball in the vacant lot

butterflies dancing across the lawn     the smell of fresh cut grass         evening comes

fireflies sparkle        in the low light of evening                     as i grow older

so much i cast off       yet there is a pact with childhood     the bags i packed so long ago

filled with yesterdays           folded neatly                 memories of picnics on the beach

a boy i loved            marshmallows and hotdogs                  roasted over an open fire

laughter                    the safety of family                          memories come flooding back

May 28, 2016


Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

Each is poignant, in a very different way from the other.

Jae Rose said...

Perhaps we can go back in our mind? Perhaps that is the best way as the physical can often not be as we remember? As Rosemary says two tender pieces..each different but ever like your painting it marking a route map of each and every day and the sacred things we can find in it - if we look

brudberg said...

Those memories are strongest when nature tells you so, to me it's scent of lilacs, that pulls me back, or the songs of blackbirds. When I lived in the desert I felt a similarity to the sea in the big open sky.... maybe there is part of you that still feels the same.

Blogoratti said...

A very wonderful piece, each line as delightful as the last.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

"There is no happy ending here." You have captured that injustice so well, Annell, one child shot because he was where he was, the other safe, privileged. In your second poem, "there is nothing left of home" is so poignant. When I travel back to my childhood town, I make the circuit, some of the houses are still standing, some are gone, other buildings standing in their place. I love the childhood memories, "the bags I packed so long ago filled with memories." Just beautiful, my friend. I love that you and the mountain bless each other every morning.

Donna@LivingFromHappiness said...

You always leave me breathless and overflowing with emotion....the first is such punch in the lucky some of us are, and blind to the plight of others. The the second one brought memories flooding back....deep emotions pouring out here too!

'as i grow older
so much i cast off
yet there is a pact with childhood
the bags i packed so long ago

filled with yesterdays
folded neatly
memories of picnics on the beach

a boy i loved
marshmallows and hotdogs
roasted over an open fire

the safety of family
memories come flooding back'

Sanaa Rizvi said...

Love both the poems Annell, beautiful both in words and image :)

Lots of love,

Maneno Yangu said...

Both deep and telling poems of the days we live and the things that are so easily passed off as just another day in our lives.

Mary said...

Yes, it is sad when the unthinkable becomes the norm. I feel this is a comment on American politics right now. We are becoming anesthetized to civility...anything goes, it seems. So sad.

three-for-the-show said...

Your poems get deeper with each writing. When we accept something as the 'norm', we legitimize it. And no, we can't go home, because we are changed by the living between then and now. Both of these poems have a sadness to them, one that is hard to escape,


thotpurge said...

The memories, the hardship, the folded yesterdays and the unthinkable that has become the norm... you bring reality to your poems in your unique style.

Sumana Roy said...

the boy shot by the police and the poignant note amazingly unites the two pieces into one whole...

Audrey Howitt aka Divalounger said...

Poignant---there is no happy ending--I know too many of these boys shot and killed--so your piece really touched me today--