Posted by: Artsy Squibbles | July 26, 2006

Did you ever…

Did you ever wake up and the tension in the kitchen air was so thick that you felt like “putting the knives away”?

Really. This is my first day to work night shift (I’m not happy about this…though grateful for a job) and I slept in til about eight thirty this morning while my daughter was on the computer all night. I’ve got a ton of chores to do in preparation, like laundry, moving a closet filled with junk to the basement, and really shouldn’t be here, now.

A little more than a week ago she threw my year old barely used brand new sewing machine across the basement. This week she’s asking me for my stereo that is down in the basement. She’s had two CD players, two portables, and all of my head phones. Do you think I would have a clue by now to hide and lock up what’s mine so she has no access to it. She dropped out of highschool, had a job for all of two, maybe three weeks, and is complaining because I won’t buy her what she thinks she needs. Honey, we have toilet paper. Sorry if you don’t like oatmeal…and really…go get a damn job. If I said that she would have a fit.

What is a fit? An uncontrollable physical reaction. Whether this is due to an external or internal act directed at her or indirectly affecting her…she does not have the ability to communicate with me rationally. Particularly when she is not getting her way…the so called fit can become a temper tantrum used by milions of teenagers to manipulate parents into giving in. I really do love teenagers.

If I were ever to become a teacher it would be high-school. They are bright and articulate caring individuals…when they aren’t related to you. Next of kin gets under your skin faster than a chigger in a field of fleas. Teenagers today with thier ability to assimilate any and all data are breathing replicas of the computers they utilize and thrive within. Yes, within. I believe that most of our teenagers are becoming so reliant on computers that they won’t know how to plow, plant, or harvest even a half acre without looking things up on a pc first. Are the instincts we were born with falling to the side of the road.

I was on the bus the other night coming home from training. There were a group of young teenage boys that I know from a local grocery store that I used to work at. Yes, I was the cookie lady. And the cake lady. And the deli lady. Now I’m the phone lady at a different company. Any way, by the time these boys got off the bus I was actually crying. For them. They had used foul language in large and very loud quantities, abusing each other like it was something to brag about. Had I known that these were the same boys I used to give cookies to when I heard the ruckus coming from the rear of the bus I would have said something. I should have spoken my mind regardless.

That the bus driver didn’t say anything made me think a little more. That someone else didn’t say anything left me dumbfounded. That I never said a word…left me feeling ashamed and very sad. What’s the worst that could have happened? They might have cussed at me, then the bus driver would have forced them to get off the bus. They might have threatened me. They might have thrown something. And I wonder if any of the other passengers would have stepped in with me had I asked them.I see adults losing their dignity and standing with teenagers by not reacting to unacceptable behavior.

These boys waved at me when they were getting off the bus. I lost an opportunity that might have made a difference.

I know there are troubled and angry kids out there. Lost. For whatever reason they are lost they need someone to help them find thier way back…and I mean a real living tangible I can see and touch you someone. Not some stranger on a pc. That’s an entirely different can of worms. And so I hope and pray that someone will talk to my daughter, and hug her when I cannot. Or when she won’t let me. That they won’t ignore the moment.

As for me. I think I’ll let her use the stereo for two months with certain conditions. Yes, it’s a risk that it might get broken. I’d rather have a broken stereo than a broken relationship. As far as the seeing machine goes…she will have to replace it before I pay for another thing for her. Yeah. Right. I look forward to when she buys me a sewing machine for Mother’s Day when she is about fifty years old and I’m too old to sew.

These poems were written this last year as our family has struggled with various problems. we are still here. We still love each other. We have hope.
We See…
A glimpse of common sense arrives
As Peter’s Shadow…
knowing
That without the light of life
The laughter of the day
The innocence of trust
And faith for better times
There is no hope.

Disconnected

from reality

Trashed
upon the  southern sands
Stripped
from all sense of value

sipping from this paper cup
Of American dreams,

I wander

Thoughts Spiraling outwards
Universally spent,
I cry

beyond sustenance
Beyond nurture
Beyond shelter

There  is a space

I dip
Once more
into this darkness,
Cradled on a sandy beach
listening
to this beat inside the womb,
I Emerge,
Swaddled in moonlit memories.

What will you do next?

Catamarans filled to the brim
Capsized boats
and upturned cars
Trade places

Distant voices heard
Hollering from beneath
these Tile islands

telephone poles and useless sidewalks
Immersed in Bilge water

Gaia screams  in disapproval
Leeches…
I give and give and give
You take and take and take..

Until there is nothing left of me.

Pandora’s likening

Scattered shards of Broken glass
Beneath these bricks

Buried memories
Like the holocaust
Surface

Thought to be Discarded,
Abandoned Images
Held deep inside

Explode across the furrowed brow
With beads of sweat

Crippled cities on the take

Politicians banter
and bark
for space at the great podium
Strutting and flapping
unable to fly.

The Rumors go much quicker
And so the ceo shifts its landing
with platitudes,
People,
and degrees.

Greenpeace lifts her willowy arms in despair
as one more pair are found
within the structure
Breeding
contempt for Gaia .

Jumping to the next page

Next thought.

Running the water to make formula

I light a cigarette watching

Smoke swirls mixing with the  morning Sun beams

French toast from the toaster, slightly crisp

nuked Coffee from the night before
Sitting in front of the screen trying to reason
With another blinking image .

Gastric juices gather in defense at the onslaught.

Never mix computers with your breakfast.

Sunlight filters through the blooming weed
Attached to the screen if removed would
The storm window fall away from the frame?

Baby Dreams

Melting in my arms you fall to sleep
the task at hand so far away
you do not know the changes,
or do you,
that are about to take place.

Will they love you as I have.
Will they spoil you, rock you, sing to you

the lullabies that make sense

only to you.

Easter Sunday

There will be No kite
tucked into the straw basket
No dusty schoolyard playground
With squeaking swings and monkey bars
or mounds of trailing ants to examine
No baseball diamond
To run the course of the day
While mother fights with tangled strings
No low sung tree whose branches wait
to catch the streaming colors
No grassy patches hiding plastic eggs
No ham sandwiches, potato salad, and cookies
No photos sent to distant friends or family
this year destruction came

Hope

With all the Old traditions spent
Because it must be so
time is impermanent

Somehow I will make this day a better one
Because it must be so
Dragging my pain into the light of the sun

Where butterflies and crickets can see it all
Because it must be so
I will leave my anger below the garden wall

Blossoms of varied colors will replace
every angry breath
Because it must be …
so every time I imagine your face
It will not be with death

Turning the soil and pulling the weeds
Because it must be so
I Plants new plants and tiny seeds

Certain that the drops of rain
Because it must be so
Will wash away each note of pain

rays of sunlight melt moments away
Because it must be so
Each speck an Instant prayer I say

Shadows

Dreams are shadows

Shadows are dreams dancing in moonlight

The sunlight gone,  my shadow stolen

Life

Joy

You

Me

Slivers of time

With utmost care I follow into the darkness
My attempts to pull you away are futile

Sniveling creatures grab at my blistered feet
I run

Screaming the entire way back…
Come home before it is too late
This empty voice echoes across the universe
I hear a baby crying

The cavity of my heart is pulled wide open.

Copyright 2006 Kb McAnelly

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