Tag: Heart

One Thing

Published on by annwjwhite1 Comment

One Thing.

His arms, which reach to hold me,

At the end of a day, of a storm,

Guarding me in space and time,

Outside the world, inside our sphere,

A shelter formed from two strong arms,

Two strong hands, which kindle hope.

Peace and tenderness fill my heart,

My brain breathing, a relief from reality,

Boxing worry in steel bands, ordering it,

Diffusing the pain, ignorance, and hatred

Which strikes between the hours of isolation,

Solitude, aloneness, and despondency.

Heart melted into ease, resting weary head

Upon shoulders precisely positioned upon

Muscles of love, offering bright solace.

I am cocooned in ataraxis, blooming in

Our conservatory of love, of pansies,

Violas, Pinks of my John, Johnny Jump-ups.

His arms, the foundation, the center,

And my breath catches, my heart glows.

Here I am safe. Here I am understood.

Foxywiggles, Princess of Heart

Published on by annwjwhite1 Comment

Foxy is a shiba princess who languishes

Upon a bed of knotted flannel blankets,

Not a stitch in sight.

At sixteen she forgets

Her beauty, her play, games of fierce biting,

And sleeps upon the floor playing

Princess and the Kibble, a new form of pea.

Ambient rock and roll trades place with lullabies,

Silly made up tunes that almost rhyme.

Sleeping in my arms and rocked, her

Dreams of running in a grassy field

Keep her wiggling in pursuit of time.

Flying off the backstep, in search of

Adventure, the ligatures stretched,

Pulled her arthritis, turned off her will.

Gave her a world of painful hobbling

On three legs unsteady.

We both cried.

Make the decision for her, I heard.

Turned off my ears and hand-fed her

With a stainless steel spoon:

Grilled chicken

Roasts with marinated carrots,

Basted turkey and tomato soup.

Was the mobile backend jack that kept her up,

Moving during trips to the dreaded vet,

During Ins and Outs of the backdoor

For three months of worried fall.

Her head tilted right with vertigo.

So did mine as I fell. Physical therapy

For the ears set us both straighter,

But slowed our walks.

Month four had her casting 

Off her backend help. Abandoned, I smile.

She’s a Princess with a future

Who sings back to me, a two note hum,

Laughs at my jokes and silly

Dances, in the cold brisk winter wind.

Listening to me when no one calls

And my aloneness leans toward 

Issues of abandonment. 

A proper Princess on a cushion of red,

Who nuzzles my hands, and shores up

My Heart.

Princess Foxywiggles

Resist

Published on by annwjwhite6 Comments

https://allaboutwritingandmore.wordpress.com/2017/02/01/resist/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/resist/

I'm too old to sit in the corner,
Too old to twist and turn 
To find my heart and mind
Torn asunder over the
Future of the past, the once and future,
Over hatred and bigotry.

I'm too young to concede 
The world won't change
Its clothes for the better.
Won't go to a Humanity-R-Us
Establishment for a refit.
Overthrow the twenties and big brother's uniform.

Can't see the colors for the 
black and white, like TV when 
It started, with removable tubes 
You could change out tubes, glowing bright, at
The drugstore, right past the cashier
While Dubois sits writing in the corner still.

Your still produces the elixir 
Of rebellion, energizing,
Thought provoking, intoxicating,
At a forgotten power of protest,
Of knowing right from wrong
As you swing your placard proudly.

School taught me to be nice.
A fatal character flaw, unreasonable,
Being nice, compassionate, sweet, helpful,
All words that buzz and bee. Liberal.
I'm too young to join AARP
Too old to swing from a Constitutional noose.

My email sings the need for money,
Donations, signatures, and one,
Oh, blessed one, that asks for a tip.
A tip for taking my money
Because I must be old enough
To be rich, to have, to hold, to keep.

I'm too old to sit silent, Chevy waiting,
To drive with fist shaking, gun toting
Road rage. Oh yes, I'll yield, sometimes,
But not about my politics. Compromise, act.
My caution light gleams yellow,
But the red light fails. I run as I take action.

I'm too young to hand over hope, tethered to
My heart, forever to a cause. So many,
Change causes change. I change. Voices cluster.
Liberal changes are on sale, bargain prices,
On cheap fabric imported that
Feeds a family overseas, but saying, "Buy American."

Too old to wear a flag upon my two piece,
My jeans, jacket, elbow patches.
Burn my flag, I'll cheer your voice,
Serve my flag, I did that. Embroider my flag on a globe,
Don't use my flag to beat and bludgeon
Those in need. I'll use it for your shroud.

We came, my ancestors came, arrived
Found a place, to grow, manipulate
Become human, chase their tails with 
Their tales of how we became great.
It was 1624. We started it. The movement. Blame us.
We advocated freedom, compassion, hope, education.

Don't tell me I'm too old, too young,
To tell you to resist the crazy. Crazy
Worse than the flu, poverty, student loans,
Worse than children dying, drowning, starving.
I'll resist your overly patriarchal ambiguities,
Attempts to cow and control. My body, my life

Too Old, Too Young, not to care
To not open my heart to others, to welcome.
To litigate with my head. Policy maker.
Too proud of being a resistance.
For when they first banned intelligence,
They hurt us all. Stole from us.
.
Grow old, grow energized,
Hit with words, but true ones,
Turn your television to truth.
Read a book, French philosophy,
Grow young, stand and turn to the light,
Like a sunflower, follow the judicial glow.

I'm too old to find my seat
On the bus, train, plane, without
First asking to pre-board.
I'm too young to have my dreams dashed
As they play pingpong with my future.
Let me land, resist, fight. Let me...

A Late Love Story

Published on by annwjwhite2 Comments

Wrong time, wrong man,
Spite, trial by fire,
Death by booze,
Small little hands held
Me back from suicide.
Small head, large needs,
Hungry, thirsty,
They consumed me
From his indifference.

If I couldn’t be his wife,
I would be perfect.
I would be mother
Of his children.
Wrong time, right man,
Not who I would choose,
With his loud words.
With his lack of tact.
Meaning nothing to me.
I have boxed my heart.
But sometimes, …

Bad diagnosis, lost heart,
Right time, right man,
I spiraled down
Wings flaming,
Phoenix consumed.
He holds a fire extinguisher.
He stays.
Has my story just begun
my sweet romance…

Ann WJ White @All rights reserved, January 2017

Martyr: A Dailypost Writing Prompt

Published on by annwjwhite5 Comments 
Better had you called her Mother,
For mother she was before you stole
Her every waking moment with your needs.
She never minded the change that goes with:

I need water, cookies, a story.
I need soothing, aspirin, a cold pack.
I have a broken dolly, truck, fix it, 
Someone hurt me, pushed me, my knee...

My broken heart, my bank balance.
My lost friend, my best friend gone,
I'm alone. You were never alone, not you.
She hovered over you even when you refused to see.

Still she held you and gave you worth, forgiveness.
Counsel given you, and some of hers from a lengthy speech
You remember. You lust for more, but lack the patience
Of saints from world's dust covered and ash filled.

Mother finds a way, always she finds a way.
My friends have, my sister has, my brother took.
Return it, all of it to her, give her the life
That she thought she would have, but you changed.

She gave her all away, every drop: tears, smiles, cries.
Still she sets the table, waiting for a call, a note.
Cooks for your empty spot, carefully decorated table,
Leaves a napkin to blot your lips or brow, a post card.

Folded on the table, she keeps her dreams for you,
The funds she gathered in pennies, for ice cream, notebooks...
She gave you her dreamscapes to bear with you,
Lush beautiful realms of the mind. Freedom.

In place of your sorrow, a breeze for gladness.
She healed you, scolded you, taught you,
Worked to learn the math both new and old,
So you could explain the new world to her. 

Mother, better had you called her Mother, 
Before she was labeled Martyr, as willingly
You took away her smiles of you, to leave her
Eyes in tears and heart in two.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/martyr/

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