SCOUTUS
Senior
Citizens deciding what
Our bodies can and can’t
Undergo without being able
To try it themselves
Unfortunately to no
Sensible avail
Do You?
Magic! Real or fantasy?
If you believe in something
long and hard enough, does
that make it come true?
or is it destiny
or is it fate?
how do we get what we manifest?
I wished and hoped, and my dream
did come true. I went through
hell along the way. But yet, here I
sit, in the city I love, my city.
I never thought it possible, but
it’s true! I believe in magic,
do you?
Hour Fourteen – The Emperor’s New Clothes
The Emperor’s New Clothes
He only wore the very best
Silk and satin and pearl
Striking ribbons on his chest
With patterns straight or swirled
He luxuriated in special hats
His capes were trimmed in fur
The shoes he wore, they must have spats
His underpants smelled of myrrh
The weavers who had come to town
Made claims he couldn’t skip
Secretly they thought him a clown
His gold they planned to nip
“Most cannot see our special cloth
To fools it disappears.”
Aha! the Emperor had a thought:
I’ll examine my viziers!
He sent his staff in one by one
To see what they could see
Although the cloth was seen by none
It’s fineness they all decreed
They declared, “You should see it!”
“The best fabric in the land!”
But when the emperor took a peek
He did not understand
“There’s nothing there!” he muttered
“Am I a fool indeed?”
“It can not be!” he shuddered
“I’ll simply pretend I see.”
The weavers asked for gold galore
And feigned to work for days
They made him outfits by the score
Which baffled each person’s gaze
The day came for the procession
Right though the town square
He dressed to the elevens
But really, he was bare
The people bowed and curtsied
No ignorance to show
Only a little child could see
“The Emperor has no clothes!”
Hour Fourteen Sleepless Nights Mary Pecaut
Hour Fourteen – Sleepless Nights Mary Pecaut
Every night before bed,
Mom and I snuggled and read
fairytales from other lands.
Lessons learned
I didn’t readily
understand.
I couldn’t sleep
when Jack and Jill
tumbled down the hill
or even less when Gretel and Hansel
lost their way in the forest, trusted a stranger who treated
them well. The Witch! She caged them, enslaved them
and shoved ’em in the oven.
Such were the Grimm tales of my childhood.
As an adult, the stories are clear. The world is a tale of child
abandonment, enslavement, cannibalism, and murder.
Little Red Riding Hood skips through the woods –
her basket full of muffins – a fine treat for Grandma
who she discovers in bed
devoured by a wolf.
What have we concluded? Grandma shouldn’t live alone secluded
or be careful of those disguised as someone we love.
And what the F–k was Goldilocks doing in the Three Bears Home?
It was never about ‘getting things just right’. For God’s sake,
your story is blown.
Respect the privacy of others!
We’re to believe that all is hunky dory?
Rest assured, if the Bears owned
guns, it would have been
a very different story.
I dreamed that I might be Scheherazade
famed storyteller of The One Thousand and One Nights
who taught me – to tell a story well
just might save your life.
(Hour 14) 11.30am-12.30pm. 1.5 PROMPTS: photo of mushrooms by boots + kinda a folk tale with a twist
psilocybin
chanterelles
time is more
than standing still
it’s lying on its back
staring at the stars
button : champignon : portobello : baby-bella : Swiss brown : Roman brown : chestnut
Ryan keeps saying words
like a broken but beautiful song
oyster : Shiitake : paddy straw : golden needle : snow fungus : silver ear : white jelly
colours enhance, contrast
strange lights everywhere, auras, halos
beech : wine cap : burgundy : velvet pioppini : black poplar : lion’s mane : monkey head : bearded tooth : satyr’s beard : hedgehog : pom pom : stinkhorn : veiled lady.
surfaces ripple, shimmer, tripple & breathe
objects warp, morph, change solid colours
hen of the woods : Truffles : black summer : Chinese black : smooth black
porcini (pig mushroom) : (stone mushroom) : (wolf mushroom)
i’m melting into the earth, into the sky
his voice so beautiful, deep, soft
puffball : Trompette de la mort : trumpet of death : horn of plenty
then he’s just repeating
horn : horn : horn : horn : horn
& so we laugh until we fall asleep
They’re probably gonna have that big red truck again
They’re probably gonna have that big red truck again
Yeah. A lot of people are, are succumbing to this
Moving bodies
So if you haven’t, I suggest now is the time to do so
Wow that tree fell over. A pine tree in the snow
At the house towards the street
Man, I can’t wait to talk to him. My him
Even at Taco Bell there’s signs saying you can’t come in if you supply proof
Silence.
So he had Covid, right?
Yeah
So, did he get vaccinated?
No. Down there they don’t let you until after six months
So after six months is he gonna get vaccinated?
No. But he knows it’s filling up again
Don’t sneeze. Bless you.
#14 Golem
Golem
clay from River Vltava, formed by mystic hands
protector from racist attacks, faithful servant,
“truth” carved upon your chest
still awaits the bidding in Prague,
the synagogue were entire families
where rounded up for transport to slaughter.
Adam was a golem, til imbued with a soul.
will we need you once again?
or have we learned lessons of equality,
equanimity and justice?
Lady 347 (hour 14)
A young lady, down on 347
somewhere between Millville and heaven
past the graveyard in the woods
a bend in the road, she sometimes stood
dressed in prom garb, waiting still
for her boyfriend, whom car crash killed
he went above, she stayed below
hoping for the car that slowed
to escort her to a party near
a tuxedoed gentleman appeared
walked toward her billowing shroud
gasped, not understanding this young girl
realizing her unearthly pall
this time, she did not disappear
or legend says, caused rumors here
in hopes to kiss her ghostly beau
but none appeared, or joined her so
and now, she reached his trembling space
he did not pull away, the lace
then saw the bright glow on her face
he did not hear the blaring horn
that joined this couple to the prom.
– Sandra Johnson, June 25, 2022
Sluggish Sleep (2022 Poem 14)
As I sleep on rocks, warm and smooth
Curled up snugly in the night
People sing and dance, far away
Lights from the house light the yard
Happy congo line emerges
Through light and shadows
I look up as I wake, too slow
Feet descend so very fast
Puff adders can be sluggish
(Prompt: “Tell me an old story (like a folktale from your culture, a fairytale you heard when you were young or a story passed down in your family). You can give it your own twist as well.” Prompt submitted by Bhasha Dwivedi)
Nest Hair
Brushing my hair at five was no easy task
Dads arms were as soft as non laboring hands pulling and twisting my head and neck to stay straight
A straight part meant everything
It’s too soft to stay styled so we gotta do this spook
He’d called me that since I was born off colored (nearly white) for a black girl
He line the middle part with stinky blue grease then condition the ends with petroleum jelly
Anything left in the comb or brush
He’d lump in his ashtray and burn right away
I’d always cry
Do you want birds nest for your hair
He’d always reply
Long time ago
Even before I was born
Little girls didn’t want their hair burnt
Wanted to save it or clog up the sea
Well one girl saved all her dying hair underneath her pillow
They lived by the equator so she slept with her window open year round
One day a swoop of birds came into town and claimed the perfect nesting place
Thing is there were so many birds after they used all the hair under the pillows
The rest of the flock rested in her hair
She could never get them to leave and now she never leaves her home because she’s home to the birds
If you burn your ends it gives your power back to the air to circulate through you again
If you don’t your hair will get so tangled it’ll resemble a birds nest
I don’t want no nesting hair
I’d cry and let him reply and finish braiding my freshly pruned pigtails