“……but I’m not GOOD enough!”


 

 

 

 

“……but I’m not GOOD enough for that High Room!”

“I not good enough,clean enough for goin’

into that High Room of Light,” moaned one critter,

that Flop-Eared Donkey, brayin’ in sad groanin’

in the Wind of Disgust of mind in fear so bitter.

 

 

 

Flop-Eared Boy ran to cry on Donkey’s neck:

“You beez mah fweenz, youz carry mah load!”

“Waitsee,waitsee,” spouted Big Croakie on deck.

“Dat beastie kicked me down no bettr’n a toad!”

 

 

 

So Boy pulled one donkey ear to lead up to Room;

But Croakie hopped on other ear to smash back down:

“He’uns no go in High Room of Light wid ME!”did boom

Out Old Croakie in great frantic hoppin’ under mean frown.

 

 

 

“Then ye can just hop right on out with Snarlies and Growlies,”

pointed all friends in winding chorus blowing up to high shelf.

“Oh,me, oh my, oh bye-bye,” Croakie wept deep in his bowelies.

“Oh, I sees now I give not to Donkey what I’se wants for Self.”

 

 

 

“Oh, please, please, O thou dear cloud o’ witnesses so clean:

“I is beggin’ just one-toe-room in low,low corner of High Space.”

Then did Flop-Eared Donkey step right up smartly to keen:

“Oh, now ’tis I who begs dis Croakie to be forgivin’ me w’out trace.”

 

 

 

Then didst Littley Lamb whisper up to Old Crow:

“Let Rainbow Fly gleam on Donkey and Frog alike,

“Flap them both right quick, quick up and up in tow

“Right straight into High Room free from all strike.”

FIFTH WEEK WEDNESDAY: IN THE NICK OF TIME TO SPEAK (LOVINGLY)


Intimidation

happens around the corner from haste

jumping places in line

ahead of deliberation

Losing hope of influence

From love.

THURSDAY: CLAIMING CALMING POETRY


This senior citizen (walking with white hair? THAT senior citizen!) unhesitatingly, vigorously, GLEEFULLY, claimed the calming, indeed restorative power of poetry this morning after spending the past 24 hours seeking at least temporary solutions for one of the many (many, many, many) local fellow citizens who cannot resist the urge to TELL ME ALL THE GORY DETAILS (completely unsolicited!).  Coupled with my sometimes-unwelcome “gift” in discernment, this proved yesterday to be emotionally fatiguing.  So this a.m., I walked around waking up with java and four-legged ones like this:

“Yada, yada, yada, Tweedle-Dee-Dee and Tweedle Dee Dum knocked me off the wall:

I splatted all over and spilled by XXX rated guts.

Twinkle, twinkle little star, guess what I made by ex-do last night in the moonlight?

Are you still listening, still there….hello? hello? Oh, shoot, I’m going to cry”, said digitized voice way too early.

 

“Oh, really, oh no, oh my goodness gracious–Oh no, no, no, no, NO!

How awful for you, yes I’m listening, I said, yes, yes, YES!

Are you really sure you want to tell me this, yes this, this, this, THAT!

Oh, I have another call coming in, I MUST take it, so sorry, sorr-urr-reeeeee, clickety clack”, said my yesterday-growing-older-quickly self.

 

SEE WHY I FEEL MUCH BETTER NOW?  I am more than ready to be an outrageous, improper senior citizen again.

Why?  Because I actually do care, actually came up with 4 useful/somewhat successful manuevers about yesterday a.m. phone call, and actually am newly energized.

See the power of aged wisdom?

FRIDAY: BEING VERY STILL AND QUIET IN ORDER TO BE MORE ACTIVE


Okay, I need re-filling, restoring, re-juicing, just REE-WHEE-ing today.

I was convinced to be still, be quiet to seek the next level for social action as a senior citizen/ex-child of the 60s today by a Time.com photo from The Lightbox.

This great pic captured participants in OCCUPY WALL STREET sitting in silent prayer together.  I could just feel the rejuvenation in my own spirit soaking up this great photo.

So, wait until Saturday, when I strive to dive into one of those creases in my brain holding many great memories (see one of my granbee Tweets today) that can point the way to re-newed achievement in the coming days.

Then, and only then, will I tackle replies to my post on Poets and Writers Speakeasy about significance of metric choices in poetry composition.

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