The trouble with Girls start with the Hair

Being a girl is a not so clever 

It's not easy trying to balance the lever 

Let's take a look at complicated hair 

It's takes a long time to keep it from going everywhere 

As soon as I do I'm ready for pictures 

But if the wind should pass on through   I will say forget it don't you dare take a picture! 

One day I decide my hair needs a new look to only curse and regret it as soon as I get it! 

One second too long so I decide to cut it 

Hating the shortness so I completely regret it 

Waiting and waiting for the ends to grow inch by inch seems to take forever

Once it reaches a length that I can handle  I like it for about two weeks before I fly off the handle 

Then it starts all over again I get annoyed and want to chop it again 

The hardest thing there is to figure is whether or not it needs conditioner 

I use it one day and look like I been styled for Vogue 

Then the next day it's as slick as a greased cake mold 

If I decide to go a day without it then my hair is as dry as the Gobi desert 

One thing that really consumes my soul is the endless bottles of shampoo I'm sold

One week this brand is as good as gold but then my hair rejects it like many unwanted ex's.

Half full bottles of concoctions line my tub like politicians in an election all hoping to win a bid for my hairs affection

But as I said being a girl is a tricky deal 

And back up plans become an art of perfection 

Hair ties, hair clips, head bands, and barrettes become a permanent fixture to get dressed for success. 

So next time your waiting on a girl to make an entrance please think about what I just said

As you can see hair alone is a complicated mess so can you imagine what it's like for us girls to get dressed!!

Political Pineapple

Political Pineapple

Green hoses and green grass

Water spitting from cracks in the brass

Bird houses and bird baths.

Pansies in hanging baskets 

Tulips amongst the grass 

Crates of flowers by garden gloves

Sounds of dog collars shaking in the shrubs.

Holes to dig, holes that have been dug 

Seeds to plant seeds to row,

Water dripping from a college cup.

Tastes of lemonade swirls in the sun,

Distant mowers making a hum. 

Pulling the hose and drenching the land I wonder is this really the fruit of a war being won? 

I stand in the shade underneath a tree

One that my father planted just for me.

Water flowing and quenching the soil,

My hose heavy and full drags across the concrete,

I watch as leaves pile up in the cove of the hose as I pull it in around me to moisten more soil. 

Looking around listening to the water rumble inside the hose, I watch the water spritz from the faucet providing coolness to a slippery toad. 

I hear a dog bark and a bee buzzes by, I flip my flip flop as I let them air dry. 

My freedom I believe is this very mundane thing of splashing water on the trees of my private built upon plot of green. 

My final destination my favorite stop,  a greenhouse built for the woman who is mom.

Sitting in the corner on grand display is my pineapple that I have grown with great care each and every day. 

I start the water at the very top and watch with great joy as it slides down each tubular slide like leaf. 

I stare at my growing fruit and see visions of history flowing in the water; the struggles, the fights, the chaos still echo in history's great granddaughter.

All the guns that have been fired all the treaty's that have been made, all the votes that have been cast, all the laws written out for days. All made on the backs of glorious men who gave so much, who were so very brave. 

All those years of war and fights so what did it bring? 

A moment of silence of watering the flowers not worried about rations, not worried about bombs, not worried about bulldozers and burnt olive trees. Not worried about check-points, not worried if I will die for being born the wrong color, the wrong religion, or because the President is an evil guy. 

No one will come knocking on my door telling me to go. No one will turn my water off forcing me by thirst to areas they allow water to flow. No bulldozer will ever plow over my flowers, or will fires flames ever torch my trees. 

My brothers and my sisters will not ever have to flee to other lands that are gracious but not accommodating. They will never have to huddle in tents or one bedroom lofts hoping for any job no matter how much they must lift or pull up.

My pineapple is safe. It has roots. It is growing. It has everything it needs. I have unlimited means to nourish it. Give it shade in the heat and warmth in the cold. If I choose to move its pot to the sun no one will say no.

So I stare at my Pineapple 

as it splashes in water.

Marveling at history and how it sat in place the freedom to grow this political pineapple who has more rights and freedoms than many souls have living on this Earth. 

my thoughts on writing Lesson #1

Sometimes my social life takes over my writing life. 
It is hard to balance the two. Dreamers never dwell well in the waking world. My identity as a writer is a closely guarded secret I reserve for myself and those in this career. I don't want someone to someday read my words and say, hey wait is that me! I have chosen a path that leads to doors being opened sometimes willingly and some I have to pry but I hear what I need and write it all down and lock it away. I have sat across interesting people and asked them anything that I pleased and slipping away to a quite place I write it all down and hope no one sees. The world that I walk in is complex and inspiring but the world I write about is the truth no matter how disheartening. 

unfinished stories

The gathering of souls are huddling around in the autumn air in preparation for the winter

Writing can be a torturous pain that eats at your veins when your thoughts won't gather in one basket

The pushing of the past smothers your thoughts of these wandering souls from other dates

Carrying postcards of the voices they still want heard

Music drenched in dreary whimsy carry their whispers in the crisp air

The heat that surrounds the antiques in shadow-less corners

Press at my inner soul to finish their stories

Left in boxes behind each new generation.

Words that I felt at one time described me

airheaded, bird-brained, bonehead, boneheaded, brain-dead, brainless, bubble headed, chuckleheaded, dense, dim, doltish, dopey, dorky, dull, dunderheaded, empty-headed, fatuous, gormless, half-witted, knuckleheaded, lamebrain, mindless, oafish, obtuse, opaque, pinheaded, senseless, simple, slow, slow-witted, soft, softheaded, thick, thickheaded, thick-witted, unintelligent, un-smart, vacuous, weak-minded, witless, feebleminded, simpleminded, foolish, idiotic, imbecile, moronic; ignorant, illiterate, lowbrow, uneducated, uninformed, un-intellectual, untaught, unthinking; absurd, asinine, balmy, cockeyed, crackpot, crazy, cuckoo, daffy, daft, dippy, dotty, featherheaded, fool, half-baked, harebrained, insane, kooky, loony, lunatic, mad, nonsensical, nutty, preposterous, sappy, screwball, silly, tomfool, unwise, wacky, zany; fallacious, illogical, invalid, irrational, unreasonable

STUPID and DUMB