To my Teenage Self

It’s January, and so begins the #Bloganuary Challenge from WordPress, where participants are given a daily prompt for blogging inspiration. Today’s prompt: What advice would you give to your teenage self? So here goes.

Dear Teenage Me:

Look at you! So young, I hardly recognize you – er, me. I know, you think it’s odd that an old fart like me is addressing you. You work so hard to stay invisible, and yet I see you. It’s not easy for me, either. I tend to avoid people, especially teenagers. You kids are very intimidating at that age. And, well, I try to stay invisible, too. Still. 

You have a long row ahead of you (that’s a good thing so keep going), so here are some pointers to get you through a bit easier than I had it.

  • When you get your wisdom teeth pulled in your twenties, do NOT use tequila as a pain killer. The side effects are not worth it. You will wake up wishing you could get more teeth pulled just to take your mind off the hangover.
  • Nurture your artistic self. You don’t have to excel at art or music or writing or photography or stained glass or anything else in order to validate your interest and participation. If it feeds your soul, it’s worth doing.
  • Don’t dance like nobody’s watching. Dance like you don’t give a flying leap whether they’re watching or not. That will come in handy when your second grader pulls you out on the floor during the school music program to dance the macarena with her.
  • You’ll be a better parent than you think you can be. Listen to your kids. They’ll let you know how you’re doing. But maybe don’t let your children write their own absentee excuse notes for school. When you actually write one yourself, the school will think it’s fake because the signatures don’t match.
  • Don’t despair. When you think you’ve hit rock bottom, there’s only one way to go: up.

Well, that’s about the extent of my garnered wisdom. Check back in another twenty years, and I can advise you on how to get through your midlife crises. By then, however, you’ll realize that you don’t need other people’s voices in your head, you just need to trust your own.

Wishing you many, many joy-filled years to come.

Love,

Your older and wiser self

Sticks and Crones

“You’re such a witch!”

As if that’s a bad thing?

I stifle a laugh,

plot with which potion

your coffee to taint.

Insult me at will, I’ve been called much worse.

My cauldron erupts effervescently.


“You’re such a witch!”

I nod my agreement.

And you are a toad.

Just stating a fact;

I’m not calling names.

Croak your rebuttal, alas to no end.

Gaze into yon pond, your true self to see.


dVerse Poetics — Halloweeny Humans.

Today’s dVerse challenge, as hosted by Lisa, is to write a Halloween-themed poem that speaks to a human attribute that we find particularly irritating. For me, it is name-calling. The poem form, for extra credit, is called a duodora, which you can read about on the dVerse site.

Brainstorming in a Vacuum

“I wonder if I – “

“It wouldn’t work.”

“But what if – “

“You can’t. No training; no expertise.”

“But – “

“Can’t afford it.”

 “I’m curious,” I say. “Do you even know

what we’re talking about?”

He glances up from the newspaper.

“Does it matter?”


For dVerse Quadrille #129: Curiosity

Blue Sky

The morning is spent, and me with it.

Hours of pulling weeds, spreading wood chips,

planning which shrubs to transplant where…

Some call it gardening.

It’s blatant manipulation, really;

rearranging earth’s flora to satisfy human aesthetic.


From my chair on the porch, I look skyward.

“Ah,” muse has joined me. “The sky is yours to ponder.”

I ponder muse instead. “The sky is mine?”


A scrub jay has been eavesdropping.

REE REE REALLY!?! his strident call inquires.

He flits away, a blue blur among green leaves.


WHO WHOOO WHO, questions a collared dove

from a tree further distant.

Who says the sky is yours?

I glare at muse. “See what you started?”


A lone grey pigeon cuts expanding circles above.

Owning the sky, eh, muse?

Usually, the homing pigeons fly in multiples.

Raised by a neighbor, I am told,

who lets them out regularly for exercise.

Are they his, I wonder? Or does he – in reality –

manipulate earth’s fauna for human enjoyment?


In the course of fifteen minutes three jets have passed overhead,

marring the bright blue sky with jagged white contrails.

Two big crows eye me from a nearby fence.

“No,” I sigh. “The sky is not ours.”

We just pollute earth’s elements for human convenience.


I’ve pondered enough. I’m going inside.

“The sky is mine,” I scoff, shaking my head.

“– to ponder… I said ‘to ponder’,” muse mutters.

“It was just a thought that struck me, like — out of the blue.”

“Tell that to the birds,” I say.



for dVerse poetics challenge: Blue Tuesday

Newborn

You slip into the crook of my arm as I recline on the sofa, your diapered bottom cradled like a football. I can feel your body beneath my hand rise and fall with your breathing. You – most likely – can hear my heartbeat as your head rests peacefully on my chest. I could, I think, sit like this forever.

Budding hearts of spring.

All is new; life pulses through

Veins and vines and views.

______________________

dVerse haibun: The Present Moment

AtoZ: H ~ Family Get Togethers

high histrionics

hard to handle holidays

have a highball, hon

H is for Holidays


#AtoZChallenge: 26 posts in April, topics to proceed alphabetically. Creating a theme for one’s blog challenge is optional. My theme for 2021: a three line alliteration each day (5-7-5, haiku-ish) with the first letter of each line the same as the letter of the day.

Force of Nature

The self-proclaimed matriarch deigned to hold sway

though the mothers before her had not yet passed away.

A whitewater rapid propelled toward the sea,

A true force of nature, one might (quietly) say.

The matriarch’s offspring like eddies were spun.

In fast-swirling waters to slick boulders they clung.

Two generations deeper the river was carved.

“A true tour de force!” might have (loudly) been sung.

The matriarch lived a great-grandchild to see.

Still white-capped, less rapid, still bound for the sea.

A force to be reckoned with up to her last breath,

then the matriarch’s mantle was passed down to me.

My waters run smoother, though the currents run strong,

and the offspring of offspring with my blessings flow on.

As to my own reckoning, may I kindly be seen

as a force (mostly) for good, when the mantle moves on.