Psychedelic. #RDP

Photo via Free Photo Library.

Poem (C) Pamela Schloesser Canepa, 2019

The sky covers me

With a psychedelic blanket

To cover my eyes

And warm me.

To soften the edges

Of today’s worries.

Colorful and soft,

Just like the old blanket

Grandma once made.

Grandma, with the long hair

And constant incense smell,

The tickles and hugs,

The outdoor lunches,

Afternoons with goats and dogs.

Grandma, an explosion of love

And acceptance,

A psychedelic canvas, blanket, shirt, or sky. Colors that smile.

Love.

*Visit http://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com for more entries, and follow to receive the daily prompt.

Break the Endless Loop. #amwriting #fridayfictioneers

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

“Break the Endless Loop.” (c) 2019, Pamela Schloesser Canepa

 

When you’re under forty, you buy.

But after buying more, you need more

And this sickly need has you caught.

 

They market what you don’t need

You’re not hungry but still feed;

Health suffers from this excess.

 

Love won’t come in a dish.

Physical things can’t fill your wish.

It’s time to reject the fraud.

 

Now a herd of doctors, doing their best

Prescriptions, check-ups, many tests.

(It could have been avoided, just confess).

 

Unless you can make a drastic change.

Be a new person, change your ways.

Love people, not habits, or tangible things.

Yes, such an unrealistic dream….

 

***A 100 word poem that tells a frightening story.  This response is based on the photo prompt given weekly for Friday Fictioneers’ challenge at https://rochellewisoff.com/

 

 

 

We’re all Time Travelers. (A Passage) #RDP

Colorado1991.20741_1324079669700_5583546_n   circa 1991.

(c) 2019, Pamela Schloesser Canepa

We hurtled to here

through space and time,

to a future that back then,

we couldn’t see.

 

Who knew we’d watch TV on our phones,

now we’re never really alone,

with friends halfway across the earth,

but what are they really worth?

 

I go back and remember,

picking up a phone

playing songs on a record

when I felt too alone.

Calling friends to meet up,

getting ready to go out,

instead of dressing up

for a photo for my phone.

 

Today is an introvert’s dream.

Post your status every day.

Some will respond, like or laugh,

others  ignore or stay away…

and no one need really care.

 

Who knew it would all be so simple one day?

You can fight with friends by text

find online who will be next;

In a blink, life goes on.

 

Who knew it would all be so simple one day?

I used to write poems by the sea when my heart sank, now,

we post heartbreaks and rants on our wall.

I’d gladly take a passage  back to those days.

 

 

 

Weekend Coffee Share. Out of my Head, and onto the Page.

wp-14855605417161015062646014284525.jpg

Welcome to my Weekend Coffee Share, hosted by Allison at eclecticali.wordpress.com

What a lovely weekend it is! Here in the southeast U.S., it will be close to 100 degrees today! I took Bixby to the dog park Saturday, and we could not even last an hour.
There were plenty of dogs, and he loved that, but they all where panting heavily in no time in that heat. At least he drank a lot of water! The dog park is always a treat for me as well; I love to watch dogs play.

I am approaching my birthday this coming week. It makes me look back and ponder my life and choices while appreciating all that has been given me. I have been blessed in so many ways.

This throwback photo is of me in April, 1996, either a week before or the day before I gave birth to my son. All of this talk of women’s reproductive rights gets me thinking. My son was certainly planned and wanted. For those who had a child that was not planned, I honor you as well. No two experiences with motherhood are the same. How different could the pregnancy experience be for someone who is raped or does not have access to birth control? We do not need to move backward with women’s rights, or the rights of any other sort of person! I suppose I’ll be accused of being political. Posting certain things on my Facebook can lead to arguments from some of my staunchly GOP friends. I have some in my family, too. I love them no matter what and try to disagree amicably.

All of this reflection has led to me setting up a separate Facebook to share some poems and past journal entries about my experiences as a woman. Oddly, if I try to boost any of those posts or the page, FB wants an extra authentication process, meaning I will likely be put on a list somewhere. I feel so important now! I am tired of holding my tongue just because I am a girl, and I have never picketed for women’s rights. I am a firm believer that the pen is mightier than the sword.

As part of this whole process, I have considered writing some books under a pen name, and do not always feel comfortable sharing certain things under my own name that involve subverting the paradigm or opening eyes to my point of view, so I’m trying it out to see how it goes.

My most recent post was a poem entitled “Sorry,” which is all about the way many of us have been raised to be sorry for so many things, when we just needed to express our emotions or we didn’t want a hug from Dad’s scary old man friend. You know, taught to be sorry when we didn’t live up to others’ expectations of how we should behave as a girl.

I do think this may lead into a book someday, but I have no other details. I am still working on my WIP, Malachi, and I am considering a summer trip to the place which is the setting of this book. Of course, this means I need to get to planning, and I am so behind on that. I can do this!

Why was she always so sorry? (Image via Pixabay).

Thank you for stopping by for my Weekend Coffee Share! I know I have mostly been sharing about what’s going on in my head, but hey, I am doing something about it, because my thoughts don’t eat me up anymore. Have a great week!

Dance of Life. #poetry

2006. Ballroom dance practice.

Blackshoe2IMG_0009 2009, before I retired these shoes.

 

Dance of Life by Pamela Schloesser Canepa, (c) 2019

Please don’t tell me how to dance
and don’t critique my dance
This dance is life and is not a dance with death,
it is a dance with what I’ve been given.
Don’t check the boxes while I dance
My dance is what I’m feeling inside
My dance is where I am in life…
It changes all the time.
To think I used to wear those shoes,
I danced away depression and blues.
Did I worry about a judge?
I also forgot to bear a grudge.
Now here I am, sneakers and yoga pants
and I still at times break into dance.
Sometimes the flow of words is my dance,
Sometimes comforting a child is my dance.
Don’t stare and check your boxes,
the dance is the story, a story, partly fiction
the story is me, the dance is survival
One can only live through self-expression.
I am not within the box,
and no one else draws my lines
so join me if you dare, or laugh along.

Yes, laugh, I said. It means that we’re alive.

Rage Against Limits of Age. #poetry

IMG_0011NeverGiveUpShirt0301160833-00

Rage Against Limits of Age, (c) 2019 by Pamela Schloesser Canepa

 

Lines at my eyes don’t bother me,

‘cuz I already fell from the tree.

I’ll raise a glass and tell you my age,

Since that makes lying men run away.

 

Some say to wear more makeup,

Some say you should wear less.

Which will make me look younger?

I supposed it’s anyone’s guess.

 

When out, I’ll wear hoop earrings and my Blondie tee

With those special fit jeans that cost a pretty penny.

I’m ‘wowing’ the town in my not-cougar ensemble,

But I’ve gotta wear Nikes, so I don’t take a tumble.

 

Though I no longer do Ben-Gay-Zumba these days,

I still do the plank pose, modifed, okay?

And some may think I count for less,

Rage against the whimps who can’t handle this mess

Who raise a brow at what I wear,

question the true color of my hair

 

Rage against high-priced age creams

Products promising to fulfill our dreams….

Rage against those who try to limit me with age

I decide how much to do before turning the page.

Do  not sit quietly and age.

Do all you still can, and hysterically.  Girl, rage!

 

Sky meets ground. #poetry

Photo via Pixabay

“Sky Meets Ground, ” (c) 2019 by Pamela Schloesser Canepa

I am here

With my fingers in the dirt

That feels so cool and smells like earth.

I open my mouth and taste the dew like manna from heaven.

No one shows up ’til later, baking on a new tan,

But I’d rather hang out with my one and only friend.

The dew descended from the clouds for a party, until the sun says it’s his turn,

Uses its power to burn the moisture up,

Chases it back to the sky.

Now it’s just myself and I,

No one understands.

I will leave before the hour is at hand with all those strangers who feel cool because they look like each other

Because they act like each other, and they don’t need to know I was here.

Still, I return for what I can’t see

Another weirdo in the haze of a.m., feeling outside of them, just like me.

Thank you for reading! View other responses to today’s word prompt here: Ragtag Daily Prompt