Reblog: “Entrapment” Poem from 2017 and New Podcast Commentary

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Entrapment

The city lights are tempting–each theater and store,
but when my outer life is rich, my inner life’s a bore.
Do I want to create my life or should it create me?
And which is which?  I do not know. Which helps me most to be?
I guess I need a balance, but each choice is a trap.
While I think it over, perhaps I’ll have a nap.
Sometimes the truth is found in dreams. Perhaps that will work now.
But once the “what” occurs to me, I’ll have to dream the “how.”
I dream empty buildings and abandoned avenues,
stores filled with pretty dresses, refrigerators, shoes.
Wind through broken windows and grass through broken walks.
All those empty radios where no one ever talks.
While somewhere in the country, away from smog and fumes
those busy cities of the past are sealed away in rooms
writing morning pages and playing with their dogs,
recording things they used to do in their daily blogs.
If I don’t join the city, if I choose to be free,
perhaps the busy city will choose to come join me!

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I don’t recall who sent me this podcast, or how. Could it be AI? If you’d like you can listen to it here:

(Please let me know if this podcast link doesn’t work. I’ve been wrestling with it for hours now!)

I Used to Eat Red, for dVerse Poets “Color” Challenge

                                                                  I Used to Eat Red

daily life color108 (1)My sister Patti and I, posed by my older sister Betty.  Those are “the” cherry trees behind us. The fact that we were wearing dresses suggests we were just home from Sunday school and church, our souls bleached as white as our shoes and socks!

                                                   I Used to Eat Red

 I used to eat red
from backyard cherry trees,
weave yellow dandelions
into cowgirl ropes
to lariat my Cheyenne uncle.

I once watched dull writhing gold
snatched from a haystack by its tail,
held by a work boot
and stilled by the pitchfork of my dad
who cut me rattles while I didn’t watch.

I felt white muslin bleached into my soul
on Sunday mornings in a hard rear pew,
God in my pinafore pocket
with a picture of Jesus
won from memorizing psalms.

But it was black I heard at midnight from my upstairs window––
the low of cattle from the stock pens

on the other side of town––
the long and lonely whine of diesels on the road
to the furthest countries of my mind.

Where I would walk
burnt sienna pathways
to hear green birds sing a jungle song,
gray gulls call an ocean song,
peacocks cry the moon

until I woke to shade-sliced yellow,
mourning doves still crooning midnight songs of Persia
as I heard morning
whistled from a meadowlark
half a block away.

And then,
my white soul in my shorts pocket,
plunging down the stairs to my backyard,
I used to eat red,
pick dandelions yellow.

 This is a reworking of a poem from my book Prairie Moths  for dVerse Poets

Is AI Taking Over the World?

Above is a Screenshot of my Facebook page and what is happening re/ Meta AI. When I tried to post photos replying to a “Green” prompt, this is what appeared instead.

Help!!!! MetaAI has taken over my Facebook page. It is refusing to post any of my blogs which I usually post there, is erasing all my old blog posts and just replacing them with a string of inane questions from Meta AI. This is crazy. Has AI taken over the world? Is this happening to anyone else? Check out my Facebook Page and see if you can see this happening.  Surreal.

“Green, Green” for CFFC

Click on photos to enlarge.

 

For CFFC Green Challenge
The Sunday Stills Challenge this week was “Green.”

 

Lamplighters, for Word of the Day

Lamplighters

My husband
trapped light.
Sculpted it.
Forced it to his will.
Made art of it.
Made me
complicit in making it
more than something to see by.
We surrounded light
and channeled it.
Held light before releasing it
in the directions
of our dreams

The Word of the Day is “Lamplighter.” This is a reblog. Couldn’t resist.

Robert Reich on Trump and Musk

https://open.substack.com/pub/robertreich/p/the-era-of-the-super-asholes?r=9092z&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=email

Discussion about this post

Only 16% of Americans asked for this mutant show which is the same percentage as Americans on the right who think political violence is justified to save the republic. Go figure.

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If money is the root of all evil, Trump must feel right at home.

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Welcome to “The Numbers Game #129.” Come play along. Today’s number is 746

Welcome to “The Numbers Game #129. Today’s number is 746. To play along, go to your  photos file folder and type the number 746 into the search bar. Then post a selection of the photos you find that include that number and post a link to your blog in my Numbers Game blog of the day. If instead of numbers, you have changed the identifiers of all your photos into words, pick a word or words to use instead, and show us a variety of photos that contain that word in the titleThis prompt will repeat each Monday with a new number. If you want to play along, please put a link to your blog in comments below. 

“Gasping for Air” For The Sunday Whirl

Gasping for Air

No small potatoes are these dreams
that serve to rip apart the seams
of blessed sleep that drifts my mind
down roadways of a gentler kind.
Dread closes off my throat in fright
that I will not survive this night.
Prickles of fear cause neck to seize.
I run outside, seeking a breeze
to fill my lungs pinched off by fear
that my death is growing near,
shifting those stories in my head
to twisted tales of breathless dread.
I shift to hammock and cooler air,
breath coming easier out there,
my glassy eyes opening to
that stillness that comes into view.
Black night replacing former views
that now my memory eschews.

For The Sunday Whirl 761 the word prompts are:
runner potatoes road drifting twisted pinch glassy prickled neck shifted still

“Mural” for One Word Sunday

The Lake Chapala area is noted for its murals. Here are a few of them.

The prompt for Debbie’s One Word Sunday is “Mural.:

Reluctant Guest for SOCS

Reluctant Guest

It was infatuation. He was there at my behest,
and though I hoped for more, he proved to be a slippery guest.
When I reached out for him and he escaped my grasp,
I improvised a harness out of scarf and belt and clasp.

Before you form ideas about my brashness in this tryst,
imagining the lengths that I might go to to be kissed,
I fear that you misunderstand the situation. Maybe,
I did not make it clear that I was bathing sis’s baby!

 

The Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “guest.”