movements existing
elsewhere,  Beethoven
had no computer

   in an ancient
former        life,
           I
        was
           a
     magnolia


Well, ancient in human terms

lap top ready

commence typing

cat walks on computer keys

What to do, Mr. Congressmen,
about your sudden entrance
into our bedrooms?
Do you like it here?
Would you like a chair
as you legislate away
our private decisions
about when to have our children
and how many children to have?

What to do, Mrs. State Senator,
- you who espouse
less government control?
Aren't we being responsible
by using birth control?
Who will be responsible
for 25,000 more babies
born yearly into poverty
in Texas alone?
Will you create laws to support them?

Were you born in poverty,
Mr. Senator?
Bright, few and lucky
escape poverties prison.
Bright, few and lucky.

Women unite!
It's time to close our legs ladies! -
There's a Senator in our bedrooms! -
Close them tight, we have the right
to protect our bodies, our lives.
Women unite!

Limit our access to birth control?

No more passion honey,

our skirts, we're keeping on.

Kisses, we turn away,

kisses, many of us, adore.

No.  No free access to birth control.
No.  No yearly health care visits.
Eradicate all Planned Parenthood clinics.

Mr. Small Hearted Senator commands

sitting in our bedroom chair.
No - not for our poorest of our poor,

our struggling single mothers,

our disabled, our young women. 

Mr. Short Sighted Senator

cares less about our babies

after they are born -

perhaps even one day

he will hate and fear them.

Their ongoing care

he washes his hands of.

His "love" and "concern"

ends at our babies birth,
his closed mind, thin,
through misinterpretation.

Women unite!  

Time to close our legs ladies!
There's a Senator in our bedrooms!

Close them tight, we have the right

to protect our bodies, our lives,
our children born and unborn.
Women Unite!

Limit our access to birth control?

No more passion honey,

our skirts, we're keeping on.

Kisses, we turn away,

kisses, many of us, adore.

If a man wants love

a woman's nurturing, 

intimate, true love -

he must respect, 

support women, 

her sisters,

our liberties, 

our rights to determine 

our lives 

and he must 

care for and support our children,

already living.

May be the truth is,
Mr. Senator doesn't feel love
or caring anymore.
What he desires is...
Power.

Spring maple leaves
emerge like butterflies,
breaking free
from delicate, petite,
chrysalis flowers,
of crimson and gold
as lovely as maple leaves
in summer and autumn.

Down flowers fall
aided by wind
creating a circle,
a red blanket
on the ground
underneath
the maple tree.

Like snow,
these soft, dry
flowers soon melt
into the earth,
as will the leaves
in autumn.
This metamorphosis
has me thinking,
that everything,
everything,
is like snow.

They talk geocentrically -
I'm sorry Galileo -
backwards politicians of 2012,
the year winter disappeared,
against quality education,
against democracy,
"We the People..."
against universal health care,
against new taxes,
"We the People..."

against separation 

of church and state,

against compromise,
"We the People..."

They talk geocentrically -
cave men, cave women politicians,
detesters of Occupy Wall Street,
against birth control,
against equality,
"We the People..."
against gun control,
against protecting the earth,
"We the People..."

against protecting people,

against protecting animals,

probably against peace,
unless it's their piece,
against the whole,
"We the People..."

Next they'll be espousing
on the billion-dollar, corporate, campaign...
Plato, Pythagoras, Eratosthenes
also were wrong.
The earth is flat,
like a coaster.
We the People better
stay clear of the edges
or we'll fall off.

Who am I to criticise?
I tell myself I am not
the center of the universe,
when I think like I am
and act like I am,
almost all day long!
I'm a closet egocentric,
geocentrist who dreams
of believing in,
"We the People..."

I'm not writing poetry today.
Little Running Horse bolted loose
from her chain and, due to temporary
dog insanity, chased and bit - she bit! -
a sweet, cute, shaking with fright,
little brown dog, who had been
enjoying her walk, peacefully,
while minding her manners.

I told the owner, I was so sorry -
devastatingly sorry is more like it -
and would pay for her dog's medical bills
(even though I'm still unemployed).

Two hours ago the inevitable call came in,
causing me to shake at my obligation,
my emotions, my lack of centeredness -
yes, a minor, peace-of-mind toppling earthquake.
The estimated bill is between $500 and $700.

Here I am, in the middle of,  - TEST TIME!
How will I fair?  Will I see positive
in this canine charge and attack of aggression, 

the following complete canine healing,
and the withdraw from my declining savings?
Will I stand my growing ground, strong,
my mind still envisioning maintaining enough
money until I secure a good-for-me future job,
a sweet salary, in a healing profession, and....
one day, wilderness acres for Little Running Horse
to run in, and music and poetry for me to be me in?

I'm not writing poetry today,
unless perhaps you consider this
a poem, -  a wobbly, swoobly
wibbly, babbly, wubbly poem -
but a poem none the less.