Doctor Grandma

Do we need to buy the book?

Will you post your power point?

Will you tell us all that we need to know?

Is learning to be tweeted

in small sound bites,

fed to us one phrase at a time,

Science as statuses

to be read daily.

Hit “like” or delete

and maybe reply.

I really wonder sometimes

what will happen

to thinking and pondering in solitude,

when new thoughts come in

and new ideas emerge

after reading an entire BOOK.

Too much information

is overload . . .

(I don’t need to know

what you had for dinner,

unless we are eating, face to face),

Too little information

is ignorance . . .

(of history, memory,

of culture, creativity).

Read for yourself, Decide what you think,

Who you agree with, or not,

Educate yourself,

then form an opinion,

Read all you can

and then more,

and then more.

New Job

What will the story be here?
Who will be my friends?
What are the secrets now unknown,
The truths to be revealed?
Who will resent my being here,
Who will work against me,
Who will trust and work with me,
Who will be my enemy?
I walk again a new path,
Face the fear of never been here,
Don’t know quite where I’m going
But I do know where I’ve been,
Put on that face of confidence,
The one you pull out for these times,
Let them not see the fragile heart
That steps carefully through broken glass,
Lift the head, and meet the gaze
Of all the faces, all the smiles,
Pretend you are walking comfortably,
Be hopeful, expect the best,
Give your doubts to another day,
Be Present, Be at rest.
cfblack 8-07-2014

Dutch windmills turn forever in my mind,
Like Don Quixote, I am lost,

Lost in the memory of my grandma’s kitchen
Where I had 7-up and Dutch windmill cookies,
Listened to my grandpa’s stories
As he sat in the corner chair,

He joked and chattered
Of the old days,
of WWI, and the day he returned,
found his family at a brother’s wedding,
which had already begun,

Soon after, he and Cena were wed,
They rode to Chicago on a train,
Pictures of her posed in her finery
A fox stole round her neck,

The two of them born in America,
Their parents were the immigrants,
Conversations only occasionally
betrayed the language of their ancestors,

“Cup e te ha?” my grandmother would say,
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
But more often than not, my grandpa drank
the coffee he perked on the stove.

…

We drive to the entrance of “Dutch Village,”
a tourist trap in Holland, Michigan,
I looked forward to seeing the wooden shoes,
Blue Delft dishes from their home,

They want $40.00 for our car
to drive into this little Mall,
Come in, buy products from the homeland,
and ride a ferris wheel,

I look at my husband, astonished,
As we turn and drive away,
A flood of sadness fills me,
I want to take my grandpa’s hand,

I feel his spirit with me
as we leave this traffic jam,
I think of Dutch windmill cookies,
and realize, just how Dutch
I really am.

cfblack 07-13-2014

Mid-Summer Nights Dream
in mid-July
brings hope for new beginnings,
change just around the corner,
an end to disrespect,
never going back.

Mid-Summer Night’s Dream
in hot July
brings fireworks exploding,
freedom from oppression,
newfound friends and family,
walking a new path.