Kym - The Chemo Kid - wrote some sweet little poems. Allan commented they were almost like haiku. I was reminded of Rumi, 13th century mystical poet from lands that are now The Afghan.
Kym's numbers are rising, which is good! She won't need a blood transfusion, which is great,
LOST
Fallen is he
I am the wind that lifts his chin
Caresses his fingers
Helps his spirit soar again
May he always feel I care
Wishing him peaceful calmness
He hears
"You're never alone"
THE LOVE
As her world crumbles
He was the light
Her air
The Love in her heart
sharing the sea gulls with you
I smile at the memoryOh how we laughed
Kym maintains her positive cheerful attitude and we all believe she'll defeat her disease.
*
Here are two sonnets by Linda Barrett.
A Ministry of Love
@2015 Linda Barrett
I searched for you among the years
Each decade filled with longing
Faced my loneliness with tears
Looked for a sense of belonging
Among the crowds of humanity
None of my choices turned out right
In the end, they all disappointed me
Gave me many a tearful black night
God knew that He had you in mind
When He sent me onto my journey
I had the soul so understanding and kind
the one whom He sent on my ministry
to spread His word high and low
and erase your lonely sorrow.
The Tides of Time
@2015 Linda Barrett
Clocks and watches measure you
Digital and with many hands
They count off your steady numbers, too
From cell phones and wrist bands
Each second becomes an hour
An hour turns into another day
The sun shines on morning flowers
Then black night sweeps it away
Time, you move and flow
Independent of every time zone
We measure you either fast or slow
Try to capture you as our own
We curse you when you fly faster
Or lag behind our busy schedules
We cannot be your hard master
Foolish, we should soon tell
You rule this planet by your design
Independent of the tides of time
*
Allan, poet laureate of Hatboro, doffs his hat, and read two flash fiction pieces. One of them was "Which is witch?" As always, the end was a shocker.
The other "Safety First" was based on those "safeties" as we called hall guards or when they stood outside to help students cross the road.
He has a particular facility with choosing names for his characters such as Clem Bagley or Brad McGinniss, the man character, who gets his in the end.
Allan plans to publish them in a book of 40 flash fiction pieces.
*
Before they got the job as Night Managers, they needed to respond Yes to two Qs:
Can you take your medicine by yourself?
Can you go in and out of the apartment by yourself?
They passed.
In a lovely gesture, Carly gave a huge desk that wouldn't fit into her smaller apartment to Adryn, one of our wonderful coffee ladies.
The coffeeshop will most likely be operated in June by Dunkin Donuts. Our baristas will be laid off. Hands up if you think that stinks?
In Carly's new place, they have a heated pool. I told my mom about this when I stopped over afterward. She said I'm the only one in my family - besides my dad - who likes to swim.
That's bc of you, Mom, I said. You took me to swimming lessons when I was 5 to Cleveland Heights High School.
When I was a little girl, I'd look out my window to find out what time it was. It was on the cupola. This photo is an artist's rendering of the proposed high school renovation.
The group read the short story I wrote this morning, "My Daughter, The Zookeeper."
Will refine it the morrow and send it off. Perhaps.
AQUA
Ed,
the talkative color consultant, and I
confer.
He flips
color
cards back and forth,
talking
nonstop.
Stop!
I say, grabbing his thick white hand.
That’s
it! I say.
Aqua.
My
sojourn is over.
I
paddle down aqua rivers
in
my kayak, the sound of
the
rapids in the distance,
the
high Rockies
frighten
me. Make me feel
alone.
Lonely as the single
maple
without her leaves.
My
aqua hallway brings me
joy
and grief
Where
is my childhood
back
on Glenmore Road
in
Shaker Heights?
An
artist painted a mural on
our
dining room wall
Rivers
of aqua sailed behind us
when
we had our seders
as
a town in Sienna, from
the
mural, looks our way.
Once,
they were overrun
by
Il Duce, who had the Jews
rounded
up, as if we were
lice
he picked off his ugly
bald
pate.
Time
immemorial is writ
on
these walls.
My
children and grandchildren –
yes,
I have reached that august age –
running
across the walls, as if there’s a finish line,
and
now, the endless cups of coffee I
drink,
pinky lifted, from fine porcelain
cups,
my whole life buried in these
walls,
while an unknown sarcophagus
awaits
me, as I sip, pinky lifted,
on
an aromatic brew called
Hot Cinnamon Spice.
* ****
Spent all day yesterday watching movies - Netflix, You Tube, or from the library.
Watched The Winds of War, a mini-series by Herman Wouk, who also wrote the screenplay.
Born of Jewish parents in the Bronx, he's still alive at 99. From his photo he certainly looks "with it."
Got the idea of Il Duce from Winds of War.
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