pianolady's blog

Raindrops splatter on my face

Little droplets

Marking me

As nature's own

Wind blows my hair

The breath

Of Gaia

On my cheeks

Trees go by quickly

Shades of green

Fading away

Into the distance

Car belching exhaust

Ruining my world

And your world

And everyone's world

Cell towers up high

Not green

Silver, metallic

Sending out signals

Gaia is begging

For it to stop

No more gas

No more oil

Everything is dying

Dead, dead

I'll be dead

Soon enough

By Gaia's standards

Eighty years

Is a short life

A very short life

By my standards

Eighty years

Is a long life

That I hope to live

I have a ways to go

Before I reach

My goal

Hopefully the Earth

Will still be here

It picks up my world

And it rocks it around

Like a baby

Playing with 

A glass vase

It drops it

Eventually

And waits for

Someone else

To clean it up

The vase

Is broken

Just like

My world

It's gone

When can I

Have it back?

Will it ever

Be the same?

I miss you

My world

You can glue

The vase together

But it won't

Hold any

Water

I don't understand'

Where it's all gone

It's just pieces around me

My life is gone

This pile of rubble

It used to be my home

But no more

Thanks to 

The baby

Who played with

The vase

It's spring

In West Glover

The snow's gone

And the snowmobiles too

The younger Youngs

Are on their four-wheelers

Zooming by

Scaring me

Maple syrup

Coming in gallons

Going to New York

In a van

The dogs run

And roll

And sniff

And dig

Almost time

To spread manure

What fun

How nice

The grass is brown

But with touches of green

The amaryllis is coming up

We thought it died

Bikes come out

Out of the crawlspace

Full of spiders

And their webs

The red dress swirls

Mesmerizing

The fingers snap

The tamborine jingles

I dance

The woman sings

About a dream

I have dreams

You do too

I dance

The mans voice

Soft and clear

Sings out loud

About a dream

I dance

The bagpipes play

Sweeter than ever

All for a dream

Just a dream

I dance

Note: This was written for the newspaper prompts. The song that inspired it was "Nu Te Fermare" by M. Durante of Italy. His band is called "Canzoniere Grecanico Salentino"

Sometimes it's good

To have your ears

Filled with sand

It's good when people

Are throwing insults

And laughing

I can't hear them

When I fill my ears up

With sand

I know they're talking

And laughing

At me

I don't care

They have fun

I don't listen

Why should I?

Nothing worth hearing

Same old stuff

I'm scared

Of fish

They're so weird

Google eyes

And pursed lips

And flabby gills

Fish live in

Murky places

Like Lake Champlain

And the other side

Of Crystal Lake

They're scary

But they do taste good

You make jokes

You laugh, say

"She doesn't get it"

I get it

Jokes like that

Aren't funny

On the recieving end

Not at all

You hurt my feelings

Do you care?

Probably not

Why would you?

I'm just another

Little person

A squirt

A baby

You can do

Whatever you want to

Tell a funny one

Make me laugh

It's your choice

She's a dead end

Nothing to give

She can only take

Away

She just stops

I come to the end

Of the road

Dead end

She's gone

Nothing special

I'm stuck

Nowhere

Spring, 2076

Diary of Elinor Grace

Smoke. Today I smelled smoke. It wasn't the good smelling kind, either. Good smoke is the kind that comes from leaves. When you burn leaves, they smell good. Gran told me. She said "When I was your age, we used to burn maple leaves. It smelled so good, we all just lied down in the grass and closed our eyes. Noses up to the sun, sniffing like white rabbits. Except, by that point, we were so covered in dirt and dead leaves, we looked a whole lot more like brown rabbits. I always thought the brown ones were prettier anyways." She told me all this about smoke. Her kind of smoke is so different from what I smelled today. This didn't smell like maple, or oak. It smelled like death. And it looked that way, too, with it's dark color and big blanket shape. It would smother us. It did smother everyone else. But Pa shoved his white cloth over my face and ran away. He took Gran. He took Gran who told me stories and rocked me to sleep when I missed Ma. He took Gran who taught me about being a kid. And he left me a cloth, some paper, and a teddy.

I eagerly rip off the tape and open the box, being careful to keep my weight on the stool, so as not to fall in. The box is full to the brim with packing peanuts. Oh good, I think. I can make some beanbag chairs with those. I dig through them, waiting to touch my surprise from Gram. She always buys me really expensive, nice stuff. I dig and dig, but I don't find anything. I finally dump the box over and crawl inside, trying to find whatever is in it. I can't. I dump all of the packing peanuts out, and there isn't anything in the box except a piece of paper. I look at it, hoping it'll be money, or a gift certificate. But no. It is a drawing, very good, by Gram, and a word. Love.

You're in Maine, walking on the ocean shore, picking up shells and whatever else you can find. Urchins, starfish, sea glass. You find a bottle that probably will turn into sea glass if you leave it. But you want it for yourself. You want it really, really badly. What do you do? I know what I did. I picked it up. Big mistake. It explodes. You know the traditional old genie story, where the genie comes out of a bottle or a lamp or whatever. That's what happens here. Except the genie is a elephant. Who speaks English. It says "You are not getting any wishes. I'm sick and tired of people asking me for wishes. I'm just a poor old elephant. Where am I supposed to get you wishes?" "I never asked for wishes," you tell him, taken aback. "I was just looking for sea glass, and your bottle there was a fine piece, and I wanted it. "Humans want everything," it says irritably. "I can't even have an old bottle to myself. You must take it away forever." "Sorry," you mutter, and look away. "Sorry, my trunk. You want ti just as much as ever. You're just being polite. I appreciate it." it says, and walks away down the beach.

Try to imagine your heart as a running hippo. Did you know that hippos can run 19 MPH? That's what my heart felt like. The end of the January thaw is always awful up in the NEK. Ruts, high water, all kinds of things. But after the thaw is way worse. Then you get black ice on top of them, which really isn't fun. Especially when you get stuck in them. If someone else has gone off the road, and you're in their tracks, you're going in the ditch too. Almost happened to us. Car swings sideways, comes back around, goes the other way. Feet on the floor, sit up straight so the airbag doesn't get you, I say. Surpisingly quiet all the way through the affair. I guess the person who went before us made it out alright, 'cause we did too. We hear "Can we do that again, Dad?" from the back of the car. Dad shakes his head and keeps driving. We come up on a tow truck, pulling somebody out of a snowbank. Coulda been us. Why wasn't it? My heart is hippo despite the fact that everyone's OK. All the way to Craftsbury, the hippo kept jumping or skipping whenever we came up on another car. Are they gonna lose control? Are they gonna hit us? But we walk in the library OK. Thank something for that.

There was once a whale named Gail
Who really liked to sail
She bought her boat at a sale
But she always had to bail
One day she had a thought
She decided to use a bale
Of fine new first cut hay
To plug the hole in her boat
But the fine new first cut hay
Didn't keep the water out
So she tried to use some mail
To plug the hole instead
This mail was from a male whale
By the name of Angry Bob
He got angry and started to wail
And his face got very pale
And he got so very angry
He decided to throw a pail
At the poor old whale named Gail
He yelled and screamed and cried
Until he got so hoarse
That everything he said
Came out sounding like a horse
Now the wind started to blow
And the gales were mighty fierce
They blew poor Gail and Bob
Right into a boat
Now Gail at this very moment
Is under some pier pressure
A very interesting type of pressure
For do you know where Gail is?
She is under the pier
At the East Side Restaurant
And if you don't believe me
You'd better go and check
And while you're at the East Side
You have to order something
I say get the Chicken n' Biscuits
For it is simply divine
Now where is Angry Bob?
He blew right to the other end of the lake
Where you can still hear him wailing
When the gales blow swift and strong

"But I can't!" I say desperately. "I am completely, totally unable to pay for it!" "We'll be paying for it." he says, looking at me closely. "I need you to do this for your brother." "But I'm sick!" I cry, coughing for the sheer unfairness of it. "You'll be better by then" he says calmly. "What if I'm not?" I ask him."Look, you're going. I've made the decision already, and I told him you'd go." "But I have a party to go to that night." "First of all, no buts, and scond, you didn't tell me that." he says, not looking the least bit sorry. "I have to go. I promised Janna I'd be there." "well, maybe you'll think a bit harder about letting me know next time. But you're still going." "To the party?" I say hopefully. "No." he says. "Look, dad," I say. "I'm the entertainment for the party. I'm supposed to go play music while some people carry this big puppet with all the guests in it. I'm crucial." " Well, they'll just have to deal without you." " But dad, I also already made the cake, and they already paid me." "Well, you can pay forthe trip after all. Do you even know where you're going?" "No. And I don't care, because I'm not going." "You are too, because it's the party." "What !?" I say loudly. "Shhhh. You're taking your brother to the party. He's the birthday girls friend." "No way!!" "Yes way. Now go get dressed."

I pull the leash. "Come on, Tilly," I say, but she has to sniff. I sigh, pull the leash again. "Come on." I repeat. Just then, a truck pulls out of the parking lot. Squealing tires and dust block my senses, and I hold the leash tighter, shortening it. The truck is already speeding off, an angry man inside, not realizing what he almost did. A bark from Mach jolts me awake. I look up and see him sitting on the roof like a gargoyle, out on his front porch. I start walking, and this time Tilly follows.

A lonely ski chair

Deserted for some reason

Why is it so sad?

Dear Ronald,

I recently read a book called Omnivore's Dilemma, and it supplied me with some interesting facts about your restaurant. Apparantly, in 1975, a man working at McDonalds realized that people don't want to seem like gluttons and buy two orders of fries or soda. But if you put a sixty-four oz. soda and a bucket of fries in front of them, they'll eat it. Hence many obese people. I also read about you putting petroleum byproduct on chicken nuggets! For children! This really needs to be changed for the better. (Although I can't think of a way to make it worse, you probably could. No offense) Please, TAKE ACTION!

Sincerely,

Slow Food Supporter in VT

As we run, shouting, hurling pinecones at one another, I am happy. This is where I belong. When the gorillas dance on their stilts I am happy. In the print shop, with ink on my hands, my apron, my nose, I am happy. Following along in the band, I'm happy. But the best places to be are in front of the bus, singing dancing, laughing, and falling, and next to the huge hand that smells like newspaper and paint, feels rough and heavy (and sharp, if you hit a nail) And the thirty other people around me so I don't have to carry it by myself.

The elephant men is back again, trying to get us to sign his petition to get rid of our friends elephants. I really don't understand him. In fact, I think he's just trying to have all the elephants to himself. "Talk about corruption" I hear him say. "You know, Amanda and Thomas and I were all good friends until they got thier elephants. Now they're best friends without me. Really! Talk about corruption!" I really don't understand how a nice young man like him is so worked up about the elephants in town. We have one. Why isn't he mad at us? Being angry isn't any reason to take things away from people. Anger is just a feeling that will go away if you let it. If you don't it'll burn inside you 'til your dying day.

I sit with my back against the pole, thinking. About it all. I know I’m gonna have to get going again, but I don’t want to get back in the car. A police car speeds by and it jolts me out of my thoughts. I hope he didn’t see me. I get back in the car and slam the door. I take  out my phone and dial a number that my fingers know so well, I don’t even have to think about it. He answers, and I say, “I’m coming now.”

I get in the elevator with my violin case on my back. I’m alone except for the youngish woman standing next to me. I take my case off and lean against the wall as the elevator moves. It dings 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. . . . but there isn’t a number 6. I wait, but it doesn’t come. I peek at the young woman. She’s reading a magazine, completely oblivious to the fact that we’ve stopped moving. It’s probably nothing, but just in case, I say, “Do you think we’re still moving? ’cause I don’t think we are.”
“You’re right. It’ll probably start up again in a minute,” she says, and goes back to reading. But after ten minutes of reading, she finishes her mag, and says, “Maybe we should hit the HELP button.”
“Okay,” I say, and push the button. It lights up, but it goes out just as fast. “Huh. I guess it isn’t working,” I say.
“Try again.”
I do, but nothing happens this time. “Well, it looks like we’re going to be in here for a while. What’s your name?”
“I’m Janna.”
“I’m Melissa Maria Palermo. The 2nd.”
“Cool! “she said. “I’ve got a few Palermos in my family. And my middle name is Melissa. That’s such a weird coincidence.”
“Yeah. Cool. Well, I guess we sit here and wait?”
“Guess so.”
“Okay.”
After a few minutes, I ask her, “Do you know how you’re related to the Palermos?”
“No, not really.”
“Oh. I’m really interested in genealogy, so if you think of anything, let me know.” Read more »

I run across the pavement, my hair flying, thinking how happy they'll be when I bring it back. I catch it in my hand, and I hold it up, calling to mom

"I caught it, mommy!" She looks up, and sees me waving her hat. She runs over and grabs my hand, saying

"Don't you ever, ever, ever do that again! This is a parking lot! You can't run in front of the cars!"

"Sorry, mommy. But I caught your hat for you."

"Thank you. Let's go inside now, okay?"

"Okay." Inside, we have to wait for a long time, but when we finally get inside, I forget about the wait, because it is so amazing. Big trees go way up into the sky, and there are brown people things in them. They move around and make strange noises. I stare up at them, and I never want to leave.

I put on the first

Layer of cloth, cotton, smooth

Against my soft skin

Next comes more cotton

In denim and a polo

The jeans are dark blue

I put on the wool

Scratchy, warm, handknit sweater

Perfect cabled front

The raincoat is next

I'm going out to see the

Flowers in the rain

The flowers are so

Breathtakingly beautiful

Under a red sky

They are beautiful

Under a purple sky too

Heck, they would be nice

Under a green sky

                                                                  But they are at their highest

                                                                  At dawn in the dew