Maxim is my word for the day and it is often used as a guiding rule
Please excuse me when I say, Don't sell magic flames by candy, fool!!
A maxim is: Don't sell poison next to candy!
Poison that is packaged in a dandy
Container that looks like pop rocks
Just about knocked off my socks
When Brynn picked up a package by the candy in L&M.
I was tortured by what happened to my grand babies and there it was again
It all came flooding back.
No going back to that shack.
Who are the crazy ones who made pop rocks looking poison in a pop rocks container and who are the crazy ones who sell pop rocks by the candy in the store.
But blame the parents, blame the mom
Keep selling poison by the candy
Keep blaming the parents you damn dandy
You self absorbed son of a gun
Imagine my surprise to see that there...
I guess we are not done.
Brynn and Paxton are a lot like twins
So how like twins you say?
Less than a year apart
Both with big heart
I sat and prayed and got the message they would win that day.
Hooked up to respiration
And intubation
On sleep meds
Staying in their beds
Beep, beep, beep the machines in their rooms sound
Sleep, sleep, sleep is all around
Brynn and Paxton in their bed
Dad on the sofa instead
Mom is walking the halls
And it's better than climbing the walls
From Brynns room and back to Paxtons room.
They each have their own nurse
It could be worse.
The doctors they share and they are everywhere.
Respiratory pops in from time to time
Is that a good sign?
Most certainly not I whine.
Maxim: Don't package poison that looks like candy or sell poison next to the candy as its too handy
Or blame the parents
It just doesn't warrant.
(Adapted from 2018)
About the Creator
Denise E Lindquist
I am married with 7 children, 27 grands, and 12 great-grandchildren. I am a culture consultant part-time. I write A Poem a Day in February for 8 years now. I wrote 4 - 50,000 word stories in NaNoWriMo. I write on Vocal/Medium weekly.
Keep reading
More stories from Denise E Lindquist and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Flower Song
Apparently the Aztecs, Toltecs, Chichimecs and other Mexica were crazy about poetry. Despite the book-burning, slaughter, and epidemics that characterized the early stages of the Spanish conquest of the empires of Mexico, some hundreds of poems from the height of their tradition come down to us in Classical Nahuatl, preserved by Nahua and Spanish scholars of the 16th century. One of the most famous poets, Nezahualcoyotl, was a sage-king who opposed the cult of human sacrifice associated with Tezcatlipoca, God of the Smoking Mirror, and favored Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. Flowers and feathers were the favorite offering of the Plumed Serpent. Moreover, flowers and feathers are a metaphor for poetry. Individual words, scattered petals, the down of tropical birds. The temples of blood sacrifice could be transformed into temples of flower and song. A sublimated offering to the Heart of Earth and the Heart of Sky encapsulated in the Classical Nahuatl kenning for poetry: in xōchitl in cuīcatl, meaning, "the flower and the song." The following poem is part of a longer work, and is in a state of flux, so take the waters as they flow:
By Rob Angeli6 days ago in Poets
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis5 days ago in Humans
Comments (1)
I can feel the pain of this piece