So many times when I was young I heard that I could be anything I wanted to be.
“There's nothing you can do that can't be done.
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game.
It's easy. All you need is love.”
NOT!
I'll NEVER have these brains.
Or this body
Or this talent---ever.
No matter how long I wait---
"For the promises our teachers gave
If we worked hard
If we behaved...
Every child had a pretty good shot
To get at least as far has his old man got."
And here are the tickets we were given to get there.
"You can be anything you want to be! Even President of the United States." Hmmmmm.
Maybe we should rethink our teaching. Maybe if kids learned early to set realistic goals, but write them in pencil; to use their abilities and control their desires; maybe, maybe so many would not think spending, instead of saving, is the way out.
photos from Google Images
Friday, March 20, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
SKY BLUE TRADES
As I was young and easy in the summer time
I’d be compelled with threats as well as pleas
To help as mother hung out laundry on the line.
There make the sheets swing brightly in the breeze.
She taught me how to fasten each piece into place.
And how to shake the towels to fluff the nap.
A ritual, perhaps, however common place,
And when we were all done I would collapse
To watch the cotton clouds float in the cobalt sky.
While diapers and dish towels absorbed the sun.
And changed from soapy damp into a downy dry
Perfumed with scent beyond comparison.
At last we gathered in and carried all between
Us in a basket. Clothing fresh and clean.
I’d be compelled with threats as well as pleas
To help as mother hung out laundry on the line.
There make the sheets swing brightly in the breeze.
She taught me how to fasten each piece into place.
And how to shake the towels to fluff the nap.
A ritual, perhaps, however common place,
And when we were all done I would collapse
To watch the cotton clouds float in the cobalt sky.
While diapers and dish towels absorbed the sun.
And changed from soapy damp into a downy dry
Perfumed with scent beyond comparison.
At last we gathered in and carried all between
Us in a basket. Clothing fresh and clean.
A sonnet for all those who remember clotheslines.
My professor did not like it...said it was too sentimental.
The Leener
Labels:
poetry
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