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Her Surreal Highness

Her Surreal Highness,
The Fairie Queen Helen Of Tippie,
The High Duchess of Laney,
Order of the Dreaded Honey Bee Sting [Knight & Plank Owner],
Nurse Most Excellent of the Shire of Greater Bastropia [Ribbons with Flourishes & Bows],
Hottest Reddest Heart Insignia, First Class, Distr. (Education) of Lockhartton,
And dozens more exquisite honours and accomplishments regal,
Was in mourning.…

Sally Gossamer Wingstep, hesitant, took one step,
Then walked slowly onward from her nest;
No fluttering nor soaring above the Fairielands—
Grounded, given the great sadness, she thought best.

In the distance…The Queen’s Tree…
Her great branches weighed down in sorrow.
Betrayed The Fairielands further grief:
There was to be no Queen’s High Tea tomorrow…

Sally felt so awful to feel so awfully angry;
The Queen’s loss was far worse than a missed party.
Even though Jonathan Spider had woven her the finest dress
Which shimmered bright while flowing about her curves smartly.

But the yawning emptiness in the Good Queen’s Castle,
Even the young fairie felt as she struggled with how she was feeling.
She could not grasp the meaning nor see a path ahead;
The sheer suddenness had left all their minds sore and reeling!

Absentmindedly, Sally rounded into Copse Square,
And came face to face her Most Regal Presence!
Wide-eyed, stutter stammering an apology quick,
Sally keenly hoped she was making some sort of sense.

“Oh, my dear Sally, it is you!” Queen Helen said.
“Are we not cavorting across the sky?
Such joy you lend us with your loops and curlicues…
But you are walking, please tell us why.”

Said Sally: “Oh, Your Highness, I thought it improper to fly
When in these dark days we mourn with thee.
We too share in your deep loss, and weep.
We agree on foregoing this year’s High Tea.”

“Nonsense and nettles!” roared the Queen.
“As our spiders weave and the highland bees make honey,
I will care to have our fairies unfurl their wings, to fly,
And so to rule the skies, whether they be dark or sunny!

“So, such and such a time that has as now passed…
Methinks, it is time to move on, I most solemnly decree.
Yes, he has gone, but we shall recall his Royal Goodness—
Sally, care we must and shall host a Great Celebration Tea!”

As swiftly as their wee silken wings could beat the wind,
The fairies carried The Announcement all over and beyond the Fairielands:
All who had furled their wings were to don their most Fun and Glorious Finery,
And TO FLY into the Castle Ballroom with all the Joy such a Fete demands!

At the appointed hour, our fairies looped, soared, fluttered, and flew,
Doing the most ambitious winged acrobatics into the Castle Ballroom;
Even Queen Helen, in her richest Duchess of Laney silver livery,
Flew around such that even the keenest witch could not match on her broom!

Sally Gossamer Wingstep, seized the room—such curlicues and soaring loops!
She was wearing a new shimmery gown, so tight and true to her young frame, without guile.
Her Surreal Highness, The Fairie Queen Helen Of Tippie, The High Duchess of Laney,
Joined in the fairies’ rapturous applause, and did give Sally a nod, and a knowing smile!

Wondrous fruits and cakes and teas were served to the celebrants in abundance.
Her Majesty even allowed the Royal Tea Keeper to let loose the rare jasmine.
From now, and for the time ahead, she would remember the lifting joy
From her subjects as on this night all joined in the grand celebration of him.

So, the Great Celebration Tea ended as a wondrous success—
The Good Fairie Queen went to her rooms while floral aromas caressed the air,
Because surely you know that what is best with good jasmine tea
Is a hearty, loving serving of Tender Laney Care!


The Sun Goes Round and Round

Did you see how that sun did sure set
Burning down and turning grass to hay
A fiery heat like in our redhead’s eyes
When things broke up but it’s gonna be okay
Too young to Afghanistan
Too young to learn life’s that dirty
Too young to have to always gear up again
An old old woman before she made thirty

Did you see those high night sparkled skies
Space with just enough empty to hide all the shame
Stars breathless shining down on we the unworthy
Though not so for our redhead who lost the game
Too young to Afghanistan
Too young to sail in the Horror Sea
Too young to fight it over and over again
Another veteran shotgun betrothed to PTSD

Did you see how that sun did early rise
A fresh start promise of another new day
Like the love flowing in a nurse’s pure heart
Floating in a speed boat off a New Jersey quay
Too young to Afghanistan
Too young to become so old old
Too young even if she’s only just fifty
With a sad sad story too often again retold


But then the nurse burst in thru the door
And found us paralyzed, laughing on the floor
VR July third had waltzed in, past, and went—
Nitebot: I need nine more bucks to pay the rent

The sun scuttered behind Tiny Tim’s
53 was sure late again as per usual
How many axles to get to the coast?
With Chat Room Mama, the feeling’s mutual

The swinging cam swung around to the north
Time for Big Daddy to majestically hold forth
We hunched all about the laptop screen
I think that caregiver’s about to pop her spleen

Two by fifteen by twenty-two was the count
Cookies to Jotis who called the count just right
And to Mother April and AC and another old railfan
Tis time for dinner so I typed out goodnight

Mr Squirrellton popped out and streaked across
Nitey nite from all, and COTU, our bestest boss
Poured out my soup into the saucepan pot
Added lots of curry, hope I’m never caught

But then the nurse burst in thru the door
And found us paralyzed, laughing on the floor
July third had waltzed in, past, and went—
Nitebot: I need nine more bucks to pay the rent

–Any resemblance to people real or imagined is completely risible
Happy July 4th!!!


Now she’s gone
And it’s just me left here.
No, I don’t really think
I’d like another beer.
It’s a progression
In the park where
We used to walk over,
Is now all covered up
In a new spray of clover.
It’s a progression
And memories of us
Are now hard to hold onto;
The doctor says perhaps four months
Then I’ll be gone too.
It’s a progression
All the happy turns sad
About the time of sunset.
You wouldn’t like it here;
That I had agreed now I regret.
It’s a progression
Our kids are good;
I think we did pretty well;
Now nurses and lawyers—
All grown up from Farmer in the Dell.
It’s a progression
Yes, it’s time to rest
And for you to go.
I love you for coming,
I just wanted you to know.
It’s a progression

Bless Her

Bless me back to Ol’ Mississippi
Calling on the phone is Helen Tippie
She’s a nurse byootiful, suitable, and something exquisite
All her patients love her and can’t wait for that next visit;
But we be sending best hopes for that man of hers—
What’s going down is a sad bad curse;
With wishes and prayers that he gets all better
Cause he’s a lovely man, like an Irish setter.
And now let’s end this poem all quick and nifty
Gotta take this call from Helen Tippie—
“Whassup, madear?”

Toughest Case

Katja Bunche Starlight
Lying still in bed was not
Behavior that she craved.

A fairy of quiet, keen intellect,
A caregiver for all the land,
Nope, not even when illness was at hand.

ALL HER CREW at work,
(And family members clued in),
Prayed for her to REST,

Johnny Hunckee Beekeeper,
With LOVE AND CARE on his face,
Tended to his darling Katja,
Knowing that this was his TOUGHEST CASE.

He knows all whys and wherefores,
And most answers he could find,
But how on Earth can you get
A Caregiver Fairy to quiet her mind?

Sally Gossamer Wingstep
Came with sage words for her cousin;
Flying thru the Beesting Window,
Knowing it was ok to buzz in.

“An olde fairy who once lived so brightly,
Shared these words so true:
No matter how aloof anyone seems
Everyone will always need you.”

So, Sally passed this on to Katja:
You owe it to all who care and love you,
Listen to your nurses and REST QUIETLY,

Katja Bunche Starlight
(Tho’ lying still in bed was still not
Behavior that she craved).

Johnny Hunckee Beekeeper,
With LOVE AND CARE on his face,
Tended to his darling Katja,
Knowing that here was the SWEETEST PLACE.

Hospice Junction

So ready to cry in your arms,
But today’s broken heart is so déclassé.
I hold my iPhone in my clammy hand,
But mustn’t text when you’ve nothing to say.
Broken low down here in Hospice Junction:
I see pretty flowers wreathing the pretty birds.
I hear some pretty lady chaplain
Breathlessly whispering her fine holy words.
Some seventy-two have now come and gone—
The team completing some of their unending chore.
They’ve resurfaced that old tattered roadway, and,
And, another admission: how do they go on any more?
The Sun and Dawn drags up another new day,
Nurses and the all will shoo away the Dark and the Harms.
And they won’t get home until way after dark
O so ready to cry in your arms.

The Names

The names, the names, the names, the names,
O my goodness, the names—
The person we knew,
The people we met,
The families we held,
The tears we let.
Our team was called,
Our team replied,
Our team toiled,
On each other our team relied.
The names, the names…
“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake…”
Bless our hospice for the care we take.
The names….

Wats Dere Looking For?

Does you see dem crows rousting in my lawn?
Can you tell me wats dere looking for?
Can you be my girl, I write so much better then?
But loud came the watercooler repairmen—
And chased away my better dream.
Another one active,
The other one only pre-
I works in hospice,
Can’t ya see?
First glass gone,
Second glass, looming—
What “engrasse” provokes birds so?
Where’s true love, do you know?
I believe I need to find a Muse.
Another one active,
The other one only pre-
I works in hospice,
Can’t ya see?
We’re gonna have a man’tory meetin:’
Number one billion ten thousand two-ish
Wats it about? GO FISH!
I works in hospice,
Can’t ya see?
Another one active,
The other one only pre-
Does you see dem crows rousting in my lawn?
Can you tell me wats dere looking for?
Skeeters, beetles, crawlers creepy-oh!
If only us arachnids knew what was in store….

Everybody Pistoled Off

Every body is pistoled off!
I mad at everyone!
I mad at you and you and you and you
And him and her and they and them
And it!
I jus wanna fall down, bang my head,
And spit!
And here come my caseworker,
But he don’t know nuthin bout nuthin.
And here come my nurse,
And tells me I’m lazy, I’m no good, I don’t listen,
I’m stupid; I’m non-complement, and bunch other words—
But made it home and the cat’s a wailing:
In “Pure Meow”, of course.
He’s pistoled off too.
Dumb fur ball! You’re non-complement!
Oh Hale, Season’s Greetings!