Difficulty | pictured words

Walking up my street,
I see a man walking toward me.
Aww. Looks like Grandpa, I think,
knowing it couldn’t be.
As we get closer, there is no mistaking.
Yes, it is Grandpa.
I don’t want to wake up, and miss out.
He approaches me.
“Grandpa!”
He gives me a hug.
As is nearly always the case when I dream
of the dead, all senses are engaged.

“Grandpa, what are you doing here?”
He says he came to tell me not to worry about
circumstances that were consuming me.
Everything would be just fine.

Then he says, “You know I can’t stay.”
Yes, of course.
I just don’t want to lose him again
so quickly.

“But I will come back,” he assures.
He hugs me again, and,
just that quick,
he’s gone.

My long, detailed dream continues.
It seems to last a good portion of the night.

Suddenly, there he is again.
This time, he doesn’t speak.
His silence stills me,
while it declares a grand reassurance.

I wake from the dream,
recognizing it hadn’t been merely a dream.

And I smile.
When he said he would return,
I hadn’t realized he meant
that quickly.
That night.
That dream.

July 15, 2019

AMERICAN ENGLISH

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American English is clearly a rebel,
against which I must rebel!
And while we’re on the subject,
why do we subject ourselves
to such madness as homographs?
Just for laughs?
And who invented them?
(Eye roll) What a gem!

Well, I think not.
And through all this thorough thought,
I’m fraught with not knowing
Who thought up homophones.
Dim watt!

And silent letters, and
those that change the sounds of others, too.
I have no clue. Do you?
Shrew!

And rules? Hardly more than flukes!
Like the whole “i before e” thing,
albeit cutely rhyming,
is the height of forfeiting
the rule books.
Kooks!

Now let’s talk contranyms.
For instance, weather means to withstand,
but also to wear away?
Well may I just say
only a contrary soul would assign
opposing meanings to the same word.
Turd.

I could go on, but you would just yawn,
and the point would be forgone.
So for now, just know
English brings me woe.
Whoa …
It’s plain to see why. *sigh*

2 Comments

March 4, 2018

MOM

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Patricia A. Fagnano: March 16, 1931 – February 9, 2018

You walk into a room full of people and you ask

who has the best mother

and you can’t see faces in the crowd

for all the raised hands

but mine isn’t raised

it is grasping for Mom’s.

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April 6, 2017

Last Sunday

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Photo by Deanna Marie Metts

The sermon was on forgiveness. My mind was as blank as the 3 x 5 card, on which we were encouraged to write the name of someone we need to forgive. Surely there is someone in my life in need of my forgiveness. I can think of no one. Not one. I contemplated and prayed in intervals, while listening to the sermon.

“Marie, I don’t need your forgiveness.”

Though inaudible, the sudden voice was clear, adamant, and authoritative … and just as full of love and understanding as anything I could imagine. At first, I argued.

“Of COURSE there is nothing to forgive! You are my GOD!”

How tender a God
who loves me as I hold Him
accountable.

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