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THINK ABOUT IT!

 Fiorella doesn't feel good today. Maybe it's because of Trump, maybe because of the of the anti-semitism whirling around in academia, or maybe because she's a little sick, or maybe it's all three. In other words, she'll repeat one of her more meaningful poems.........    

          America, bow your head in shame

           Ethnic cleansing is the name of the game--

                  Clear out the black, the yellow, the brown

                   Run gays and their kindred out of town

                    Ridicule the halt, the blind, the lame

                    And do unto those who sorrow the same

                     Jail the actors, the artists, the press

                     Silence the women and make them a jest

                     Reject the migrants or throw them in jail

                      Allow graft and cronyism to prevail

                 In short, go after anyone who

                 Doesn't talk or think or look like you--

                 An automaton of self-fed hate

                  Which no force on earth can ameliorate!

 

 

 

   

                                       

 

HMMM.....LOOKS LIKE FIORELLA US GETTING BACK IN SHAPE AGAIN!!

 Your girl is almost out of checks, and she hopes a new book will arrive soon. If not, you'll hear her shriek from here to Honolulu. 

George, the sweet white cat, is lying in Fio's lap and purring to comfort her in her possible indignation.

Has Fiorella told you that she had to skip her appointment with her tremor doctor? Hopefully she'll be able to pick the visit up again later on. (Being half blind is a really irritating!)

Yes, Fio is doing her best to follow the Trump saga, and it looks like  our former president is going down, down, down, which is exactly where he belongs!

Your girl has been going through her loads of half-written romances from times past to see if she could finish them out, but she doesn't even know what kind of stories are selling these days. Fio's infomation chain, like the nutcracker doll, is still broken, mostly because she can't drive. 

Ah, well, shall we turn to poetry? 

     Sometimes I'm high

     Sometimes I'm low

     Sometimes I don't know 

     Where I go 

          But where ever I be 

          I will think of thee

          Thankfully 💗

     

 

 

     

 

 

       

 

 

 

 

WHAT'S GOING ON?

 Going through old papers brings back memories of times gone past--of a birthday party for the children at their grandparents' home, which was a lovely place hanging off the edge of the the city?. Yes, Grandpa was a well-known journalist and had to be stay in touch with whatever current was smoking fire.

Your girl is sort of melancholy today. Where are her pals of yesteryears? The students she taught who gave her such glowing acclaims and the long-time friends who have fluttered out of sight?

Ah, well.....time goes on, but Fio wants a couple more runs around the ring.....and who knows? Maybe a  hero from yesteryear will turn up. and.....

In the meantime, FaceBook refused to accept  pictures of Fio's friends. What's going on? COULD SOMEONE PLEASE SEND A FACEBOOK MECHANIC TO YOUR GIRL SO SHE CAN KEEP UP WITH EVERYTHING!

Whatever, with her computer back, Fiorella will start spouting poetry again.....old and knew.

 

NOT MY BEST, BUT TRYING!

 What the heck has messed up Facebook? Fio can't post anything in it?  H E L P !

 _____________________________________________________________________Hooray for Son--he Solved the problem and kindly re-fixed Fiorella's computer regarding it's going off into who-knows-where. Now to get Fio's clothes out of the drier.... _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Fiorella is trying to follow the TV news, and it looks like Trump is loosing out. If only he had never even got his foot in the door! (Yes, Fio bawled her eyes out when Hillary got shoved out--and your girl still thinks that it was foul play!)

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Fio is board, board, board--nothing has been happening in her neck of the woods and everyone seems to feel the same way. Even the TV is dull.....

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Somehow, your girl now has TWO of those white cords that connect her computer to the wall. Maybe someone stuck them in the package in case Fiorella screws up the mechanism again....which she probably will.

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Who is Fio kidding? She's board, board, board and not a drop to drink! Will try to do better tomorrow.....

YOO HOO! FIORELLA HAS RECOVERED AND ALL IS NOW WELL IN OUR COMUNICATION....HOPEFULLY

 Hurray! FIorella is on line again--but strangely, she's still crying--maybe because she still has no friends and nothing to do--but also because she mistakenly spread some untrue and hurting information about some people she loves dearly.

And what is Fio doing to breach the gap? Smile, keep her mouth shut, and dive into the many, MANY piles of colored paper stuck in the back quarters of the wall. Then there are books from times way back---and her fingers tapping]with excitement, ready to put them in place.....

But it's all the accumulation of years.... can your girl deal with everything?  

PRAY FOR HER! 

And keep your eyes and ears open for any stray pills rolling around on the floor.....

____________________________________________

Your girl would love to have a nice dog, a nice BIG dog like a Collie or a Mastiff or a Weimeraner--but (sigh) such is not to be in a household currently run by two little pugs and a large, mostly white, cat,  although she has to admit that the cat (male) will often come into Fio's room as she dreams at night and purr himself asleep.

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 Actually, the first dogs that Beagles that Fio and her late husband had were out of President Lyndon Johnson's stock. Later we picked up strays.....and loved them all. (They were good practice not only for the kids, but the fish, the cats, and every other animal Fio and husband could find.)

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Fiorella is thrilled that our communication is back in the saddle again and your girl hopes it will keep heading off to buffalo, as 'tis said. 😁😊😊😊😊😊

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 FIO IS SOOOOOOO BORD!

  

 

DANG IT!

 Fio is having trouble with her computer right now, but should survive.

Silly Poetry, Poetry, Poetry!

         An oldie, but a goodie: another one of Fiorella's complaints about the weather, which, for some reason, never seems to pay attention to her 😠😠😠

       Weather Threat

Hey, Mr. Weatherman,                                           

Where's my snow?                                              

The wonderland I ordered up  

A month ago?

  It looks like Spring out--

The grass is green

With not a single snowflake

To be seen--

   Last chance, Mr. Weatherman

Better make it snow

Or else I'll no longer 

Watch your show!

       -------

The Whistle-ding-chime-bing-bong Song

    Our teapot whistles

    Our dishwasher dings 

    Our refrigerator chimes

    Our microwave bings

    And our alarm puts out

    One long bong 

    To harmonize

    Our kitchen song!

------------------------------

Yes, I write doodles all the time

And do my best to make them rhyme,

It's cleverness on  Fio's myour help and finebehalf  

Enough to make you smile and laugh😊😊😊

 _______________________________

   

           A Genuinely Silly Poem by Someone in a Hurry

      Eek, eek, eek, and Jim, John, Joe--

I've messed up my poem from head to toe

 

 

 

 

Here I am running, looking high and low,

     But not at all sure where I should go--

 Except maybe back home on tippy toe--

      And if the sun is drawing low,

      I'll grab up a shovel and hoe, hoe, hoe!

_____________________________________

Your girl is going to be shuffling off to Buffalo today or tomorrow to spend some time with her daughter's family, then she'll return to home base and pick up where she left off, for better or worse. In the meantime, she's seen the eclipse--with special glasses, of course--and caught up with Brother and his wife. Fio was thrilled to see the moon play its game, but even more excited to visit with her kin.

____________________________________

Seeing her Fiorella's late parents' belongings being used by the rest of the family (as  she also has done) makes your girl feel warm, as if Mom and Dad are still with her.

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 Isn't it great to have a giant black ball splashed across the front of the newspaper rather than politics and the latest murder? Even the Israli--xxXxxx  had to pause.

 

 

\\\\

     

 

MORE MEANINGFUL POETRY

 Fiorella went all over her room and outside to the trash can to try to find the cord to her computer, and, of course, when she gave up, she glanced toward the edge of her bedstead, and there it was! 

Now for the entertainment:

 

       Declaration of War

Fiorella is late today 

Not that she has naught to say

Rather that she has far too much

About the state of the world and such--

She wants to rouse the countryside

She wants to echo the world wide

In seeming contradiction, to fight

For love and peace and what is right 

 

       Revelation 

I thought I would never stop crying

That I would never heal

But fire has burned away the dross

And now, I am steel

     Defience

I'm not big

I'm not strong

Nut at least I know

 

The Sexes

        Men are strong, but women endure 

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In case you are wondering, Fiorella is running through a lot of her oldies so she can find herself again. Age and sorrow has taken it's toll.

Right from wrong

     

TRUE STORY

 Dinner with the Old Belle

     She sat across the restaurant table from us, chewing on her hamburger steak, then spitting it into her napkin, which she had discreetly emptied beneath the table. I knew from past experience that when she finished her meal, she would wrap the leftover rolls in a Kleenex and stuff them inside her purse. 

     It was hard to stomach eating across from her, but she was family, and I knew my obligation.

     "Joyce" was a widow, my husband's much older sister. Her hands were gnarled from arthritis, purple blotches colored her arms, her head bobbed, and her voice didn't work right. She had once been beautiful, a debutante, the belle of the ball. Now she died her hair red in the the bathtub, then insisted it was it's, natural color and dressed in bargains from the thrift store although she could afford much better. This evening she had hung a cameo from her neck by a large safety pin that wicked at me whenever she moved.

      In fact, she looked like a bag lady we were treating to a decent meal.

     The dinner conversation was strained. I remember that she asked us for ideas as to wear she could meet men her age, and all we could think of was antique car shoes.

As we left the restaurant, a flurry of white-haired women came in--laughing, well-groomed, confident women enjoying each other's company. They recognized Joyce as a schoolmate and called her name, smiled, and reached out to her, but Joyce shrank away in horror......

     She was too young to be as old as the were.

NO SHOW TODAY, WILL TRY TO DO BETTER TOMORROW

 NO SHOW TODAY. WILL TRY TO PULL MYSELF TOGETHER TOMORROW.

ADDING ON!

  This morning, the sun was shining, the breeze was just right, and Fio sang "Lavender's Blue" at the bottom of the cul-de sac. Now, she'd feeling sicky. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

 

Hurry, hurry, scurry, scurry 

Fio is under the gun--

The holy day is swift upon us

And so much is left to be done!

 __________________________________

War Cry!

 I can't march, but I can write 

I don't sing, but my pen can!

___________________________________

 (Evening was great! SALMON!)

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More and More-----------------------------

 Yes, Fiorella has not mastered her computer, even though she's had it since they first came on the market. She's more an art type, as you well know--but she'd like it the two worked more together.

Your girl is going to be visiting her brother and his wife soon, then her daughter and her family.  WHOOPEE! It will be difficult to get out of the house, what with the packing and all, but Fio will enjoy the scenery and the....well, the news from the other side of town.

Will Fiorella be hauling her computer along with her? OF COURSE!  And you'll hear every bit of her adventure. But what if there isn't any adventure? Then Fio will get something else to amuse you and herself!!!

Defiance

    I'm not big

     I'm not strong

     But at least I know

     Right from wrong 

 

Determination

     When times get rough,

     Rough and tough

     More than enough

     Fiorella will contrive

     To survive

 What She Lives By

     Economy of motion=economy of time

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OOOPS! THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE POSTED YESTERDAY!

 More of your girl's poetry, which you may or may or may not have seen before:

                  The Light Bringer

      Because they don't want

      To bother with the shades,

       My children rather squint and grope about

       In the darkened house

       So every morning

       I go to the windows

       And raise the shades myself

        So sunbeams can flood their rooms

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 Breathe Deep

          We buy topsoil for the garden

          We buy channels for TV 

           We by water by the carton--

            Thank goodness air is free

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           Ah, Nature           

When outside it's wintery

    And inside, it's seventy

     I'm still cold and shivery

When outside, it's summery

      And inside its seventy

      I'm sweating like a piggery

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      Cough, Snort, Sneeze

Her dreams are bad, 

And when she wakes

Her throat is raw

Her left ear aches

Her mood is cranky

Her bread is soggy

Her body's hurting

Her movement's loggy

       As you can guess,

       Fio's sick

       And she darn well better

       Get well quick!

(Not every poet writes about mucus😁

AN ADVENTURE BACK IN FIORELLA'S COLLEGE DAYS

                                                      An Adventure Between Acts WHICH YOUR GIRL CAN"T PULL TOGETHERS  TOGETHER)

In the intermission after the first act of Austin's version of Die Fledermaus way back when, your girl strolled out into the the lobby to take some medicine. Retrieving a shot glass from her purse and filling it from the water fountain, she wandered a table stacked with Fledermaus T-shirts while she fumbled for her pill box.

     "Would you like to buy a Fledermaus T -shirt?" a very earnest-looking young man sitting behind the table asked.

     "No. thanks," Fio said as her pill did a flip-flop and rolled into of the the rug.

      The young man, his, his eyes wide in alarm, came from behind his table.

    "Are all right? Will you be okay?

     Fio laughed. "Oh yeah, it's just vicodin and I still have the other half of the pill with me,  then took mercy on him and decided to explain. "I take half a vicodin  after the first act so my toes won't bother me with the rest of the opera." She grinned, "But if you find the other half, it's all yours. Enjoy!". 

I winked and turned it back to the auditorium.

END OF STORY

WILL DO BETTER NEXT TIME

"But if the find the other half, it's all years. Enjoyi'" I winked and double timed it back to the auditoriem.

 

TIME OUT

 My eyes are blurey. PRAY FOR ME!

Going Through Old Papers Again

     

             Fiorella was the wild child of the family, as her father once informed her. After all, she wore red Crocs in public, dove a Miata, supposedly ate steak so rare it mooed, dangled gypsy hoops from her earlobes,  moved with the music in the supermarket, and sang along in harmony.... if she could find it.

              Your girl likes fire so much that she put TWO fireplaces in the house that she designed....and she longs for it now, but (sigh) had to sell it when Husband died. I've heard that the new owners have cut down most of the trees trees. 😔

 Fire is surprisingly fragile, which is what Fio learned when she had to spend half an hour with a long match, two short matches, the stove burner, a candle, and the morning newspaper trying to  start a fire in the fireplace.

Nutrition is in the eye of the beholder. Every time Fiorella turns around, an old villain has been been redeemed and a former hero discredited. Thus red wine is in now and red meat is out.

Fio's maternal grandfather is supposed to have said that the difference between the Poles and the Galitsians is that the when a Pole makes money, he buys a showy horse, but when a Galitsian makes money, he buys a cow so the children can have fresh milk. (You can pretty well guess which ethnicity my family claimed. In fact, my father's father was so besotted with the nutritional value of milk that it is still the preferred  beverage  of not only Your Girl, but her five prenatal cousins.)

MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

    `

MORE POEMS FROM TIMES PAST

 

      How about a poem called Cough, Snort, and Wheeze?

        Her dreams are bad

        And when she wakes,

       Her throat is raw,

       Her left ear aches

       Her mood is cranky,

       Her brain is soggy 

       Her body's hurting 

       Her movements loggy          

   

     As you can guess it?

     Fiorella's sick,

     And she darn well better

     Get well quick!                               Posted by Fiorella Plum at 8:53 am, January 31, 2009 

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Maternal Eternal

   As Fiorella was putting away groceries, she picked up a ten pound bag of birdseed and automatically cradled it in her arms to distribute the weight. Immediately a pang of longing raced through her. The birdseed felt exactly like a baby in arms. And it's a wonder she didn't start lactating. 

Fio adores babies, which is a little odd  because her mother didn't. "I prefer children when they're older and you can teach them things," Mother explained.

   Your girl likes people whatever, but she still has a special feeling for babies.

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      Nursing Home Visit  

     I am so tempted not to visit him,

The zombie in my father's form-- 

He does not know me

He does not miss me,    

He is not my father

     But oh, he is, he is                  

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SOME OLDIES

 Please forgive Fiorella for her absence and enjoy today's offering:

    

 The mothers in my neighborhood

      Are skilled with stake and twine--

      To brace the wilting saplings straight 

       And tie the erring vine

       

     The mothers in my neighborhood

      Are skilled with shears and string

      To prune the wayward leaning twig

      And nip the hands of spring

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                  Dieting

        I'll tell my story straight--

        I'm carrying too much freight:

        Maybe I'll lose some weight

        If I stopped stepping up to the plate--

        Oops--dinner bell--too late!

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         Ding dong, the book is done!

         I'd like to say that it was fun,

         But I bet that you could smell a rat

         'Cuz I'd be lying through a my hat--

          I rote and read and rote again

          I beat my brain and cursed my pen

          I yelled and screamed and threw a fit--

         But now that I am done with it --

              Yes, of course, I've begun

               To write myself another one!

        

AN OVERUSED POEM?

 Hooray! Fio walked the neighborhood cul-de-sac this afternoon, and IT WAS WARM! Guess that means the dregs of winter are over. Now if she can just get those teeny little black bugs out of her bathroom sink.....

This is a poem Dorothy rote long ago, and don't ask who "she is" is because Fio was still living at home back then:

                              Suicide

     Ah, Dorothy, your choice was much too rash:

There are other options I could recommend

Than poison, razors, nooses, guns, or gas

To bring about a graceful, private end

    The suffocation of the spirit's one--

On shallow breaths. hope is inclined to smother,

An assault on the heart can get it done

The strangulation of the soul's another

    Then you still could walk about, though dead--

 A lumbering, slack-jawed zombie, hollow-eyed

You'd grin and bow and nod your foolish head

With no one guessing you're a suicide

     Don't think that, knowing any would be grieved

     My own experience is, they'd be relieved

I've given you this poem before, but it can bare repeating

I AM SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO LONELY!

SURVIVER

 Fio isn't feeling good and she still can't find her new blue shoes. They couldn't just walk away, could they? On the other hand, Daughter-In-Law is promising her more salmon in the future. Whoopee!

It's a windy day in Austin, but the roses outside the front door are holding their own, which is more than Fiorella can say about herself. Ah well, there's always tomorrow......Fio hopes.

Your girl is wearing her father's high school shirt today. It's white with "OSCEOLA MILLS HIGH SCHOOL" written across the front of it, and the size gets tighter on Fio every time she washes it.  Hmm, Maybe Fiorella's grand children will be able to wear it. 

Hooray! Son L found Fio's blue sued shoes on the back porch where your girl had put them to dry after getting them dunked in the mud in one of Texas's rare thunder storms.

 

            Survivor

My heart is like a little boat

That sails upon the sea

Rocked by waves and ocean float 

Swamped by adversity

But still the staunchest little boat

That ever sailed the sea

 

 

UPS AND DOWNS

How is it that Fiorella can find her purse in a second, but can't find her big blue clod-hopper shoes when she needs them?

Your girl and her driver went to H-E-B this afternoon to buy the grocery store out and chat about the problems of the world.  Fio also picked up two pages of stamps because she takes care of a fair number of the bills.

Did Fiorella tell you that daughter-in-law baked Fio TWO nice salmon slices for her yesterday as a surprise? WHOOPEEEEE! This was especially interesting because your girl's mom and dad never ate fish--your girl's late husband was the one who lured her to the glory of salmon. Now if Fio can find her good blue clodhopper shoes.....

This may be one of Fiorella's poems you've heard before, but here goes:

                       

 

                               At the Beach 

                   At dawn I walk the ocean's edge

                   To find my place along the shore

                    The place where I will sit all day

                     And sculpt my kingdom made of dreams

                     Until the evening tide returns

                      And sink my castle built on sand

 

 

 

 

 

PLANING AHEAD----OR IS IT JUST DREAMING?

 Did you know that Fiorella, under another name, had two romances published? And that she was working on number three when her husband died, her whole world fell apart, she was marooned by a vicious snow storm, and she had to put together a new life and live with one of her adult children?

Your girl has about four romances in the back of her closet that she was working on at the time and she took them all with her when she sold her house. She'd like to work on them again, but doesn't know how or whom to contact. Then there's Covid and her constant transportation problem that may strike again. But what the heck--maybe, just maybe, Fiorella can make her life come back together again.

One thing Fio would like to do to have her own dog again again--a big dog like Sonia the Mastiff or Wendy the Weimaraner. (Jo-Jo, the stuffed panda that ,your girl bought at WalMart for companionship a couple of years back, isn't very talkative).

But, of course, Fio won't going to be able to get anywhere unless she has responsible transportation......

                                                       Anything but Mrs. Fletcher!!!show

 

FIORELLA'S FAVORITES and SOME NEW ONES

America, bow your head in shame

Ethnic cleansing is the name of the game--

     Clear out the black, the yellow, the brown

     Run gays and their kindred out of town

     Ridicule the halt, the blind, the lame

     And do unto those who sorrow the same--

     Jail the actors, the artists, the press

     Silence the women and make them a jest

     Reject the migrants or throw them in jail

     Allow graft and cronyism to prevail--

In short, go after anyone who

Doesn't talk or think or look like you--

An automaton of self-fed hate

Which no force on earth can ameliorate

   __________________________ 

                L'envoi to "Blind"

     In the theater of the mind

     The unremitting reels unwind,

     Horrors ceaselessly replay,

     Obscuring now for yesterday--

            In the theaters of the mind

             Eyes that see too much go blind

     __________________________________

 Why do I have trouble 

 Finding a new rhyme?

 The letters fly about me

 Every day and time--

     But where is the dart

     That will envelope my heart?

    ____________________________________

Yes, Fio is down

How are you?

Hope you are better

And not at all blue

_______________________________________

OOOOPS, Fio doesn't have a temp, but she feels like she's a little sicky PRAY FOR HER.....

A MEDIOCRE MESSAGE

Because she can decorate them, Fiorella's favorite holidays are Christmas, Easter, and Halloween. Yes, she's got piles of leftover crepe paper, scissser-snips, yarn rolls, and the like stacked in her unused sewing closet, so of course, your girl is planning and plotting for Easter. It's the same every year of course: paper eggs and rabbits. but Fio usually adds a few more delights.

By the way, Fiorella had a great time going through her bedroom, dusting off the cat hairs and rearranging all her pill bottles. She collects them all, you know. Someone is bound to need them some time or ever.

 That's all for today. Fiorella can't think of anything interesting to tell you about, except that one of Son L's little pugs sprinkled the hallway today, and we all had to walk carefully.

To show you what a bad day Fio is having, she accidentally jerk her computer out of the wall and couldn't remember how to put it together again. Luckily, Son L was still awake and was kind enough to fix it.

 

TRYING TO GET BACK IN THE HABIT AGAIN

 Some problems with the delivery again, but Son L is working on it. Meanwhile, your girl will stare at the pale blue of her bedroom wall which is mostly covered by notices and pictures.  Yes, Fiorella is like that, and her mother would not approve, but her room is small and her bed is a bit large. Whatever, it works for Fio--and the sweet white cat who cuddles beside her, purrs, and demands to be petted.

Obviously, your girl is not pleased that she's having to turn in her computer again, and she's wondering if it's days are over. Meanwhile, she'll stare at the five bottles of pills lined up across her chest of drawers and pray. She's cleaned up her bureau too--maybe that will do the trick. 

You should see what Fiorella is wearing today: black shoes, beige slacks,  a bright orange shirt with white "LONGHORNS" marching across the bosom and down. Ah--those were the days. (Oh! Did Fio leave out the red, blue, and long-sleeved beige jacket on top?)

Your girl is telling you that her right knee is in trouble again? Fio was the culprit: she slipped when she was getting out of bed and bunged herself up. 

Sorry to be so dull today. OH, FIO DID SEND SOME MONEY OUT TO UCRAINE THIS AFTERNOON!

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                           

Some Oldies but Goodies

 EATING FOR ECSTASY WAY BACK WHEN

Our dogs turned up their noses at the most highly touted animal food, but would happily gulp down every scrap that came off the table.....which led your girl to the inescapable conclusion that what we eat is canine junk food. Meanwhile, she kept on scarfing down fried chicken and french fries, praying that sooner or later someone would discover the medicinal benefits of grease.

Fiorella has been known to eat potatoes raw. It's genetics: her mother used to munch them... and she also ate her hamburger meat raw. That--shudder--your girl can't bring herself self to do.

To further confound you, Mom liked her steak well-done, while Fio has always preferred her steak rare.

As a child, Fio was taught that butter, being a dairy product, was good for her. Then she read about saturated fats and switched to margarine. Then, a couple of years later, she read that she should should toss her margarine and buy butter because of something-or-other else about the fats, but the food police keep changing their minds so much that Fio gave up and ate what she wanted to: Fiorella drinks a lot of milk and has very dense bones with not a trace of osteoporosis--although she does moo a lot and swishes flies with her tail. 😉

How do you know you're all grown up?

       STAGE ONE: teenage supermarket clerks stop hitting on you, 

       STAGE TWO:  they address you as "Ma'am." 

       STAGE THREE: they start hitting on your daughter.

GRUMBLE, GRUNT, GROWL!

 New problems for Fiorella today: she has to get someone to drive her to  the place she gets her blood checked out every week, and also needs to see a doctor about her right kneecap, the one that got injured when she was getting out of bed and slipped on the cords about two weeks back.

Hooray for Fio! She spent at least three hours in the bathroom and in her bed (after it was made) going through her collection of year-old lipsticks, powder, etc, and winnowed it down to at least one fourth the original size. 

Your girl will admit it. She's very, very down right now. There's no one to talk to and nothing to do...except pet the sweet white cat who has just wandered into Fio's room and will probably wander out to the kitchen food bowl any second.

WHAT IN THE WORLD CAN FIORELLA DO? Everybody has a must-do but her!

 Fio is scared: She's still getting messages that read "PAYMENT FAILED, REVIEW YOUR SUBSCRIPTION NOW TO KEEP YOUR DATA PROTECTED.

HEALING BIT BY BIT!

Fiorella has said it before and will say it a gain: if Trump becomes president, he will continue to be chummy with Putin and allow him to swallow Ukraine. THEN ALASKA!

In the meantime, let's do what we can keep our country together.

Changing the story, your girl has torn into her ancient writings to see which ones are usable  Yep, she's casting her eye on the bushels of half-finished stories that are stuck in her drawers and above the high ceilings of the windows. YIPPIE! 

Whatever, Fiorella wasn't flushed down the toilet when everything went out of wack like she thought she would. Nor did she lose her purse and card which she almost did.

See you tomorrow!

 

JOYFUL!

 Friend Paula, who lives far, far away, called Fio on the phone this morning to make sure your girl was okay, and we had a nice long talk. Thank you, Paula, for caring. 💗💗💗

Are you ready for a couple of poems again? They're probably repeats because Fiorella is still shaken from her fear of losing everything in her computer.

       ALONE

So many know my name and yet so few

Know me: I'm more and less than what I seem

To be, called friend by many people who

 Know me as I know night by chance moonbeam

     Chameleon-like I change my psychic skin

Depending whom I'm with and what the day

Unending fitting, never filling in,

Amending how I look and and what I say--

     Unclothed and mute, inside myself I know

My soul complete, its multiplicity

A whole; but outside actorlike I show

The role I choose, or you assign to me

    And as no one can know my my entity,

    I know no one, but only simile

HELLO, HELLO, HELLO! FIO'S COMPUTER IS WORKING AGAIN!

 Your girl will fill you in on all the news tomorrow...if her son's pugs don't slobber all over her with joy😀

 

                                      

I  LOST THE WHOLE STORY OF MY MOTHER'S LIFE, WHICH CAN ONLY MEAN SHE DIDN'T WANT ME TO TELL IT.  SEE YOU TOMORROW!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   When my mother was a girl, she used to paddle a canoe across the lac=ake to visit her friends, She lived on the Portage Lake outside of Akron, and the water was her highway.

    Sometimes a storm would come up and the black clouds would roll across the lake, the angry water swaying her bark. Then she would lean low in the canoe and paddle more strongly because she didn't know how to swim.

     Mother was in enough deep water anyway. As a child, her appearance went against her, A tall girl, she was expected to be as mature as her appearancd, and her dark coloring frightened her mother's people. "Schwartze Augen," her grandmother would say, gesturing against the evil eye/My mother's father was an alcoholic, a man's man, but a woman;s nightmare. The family lived a nomadic life, moving all arond the lakes wherever "Pop could pick up a job for a while. His older brother had died of a burst appendix when he was fourteen. His younger brother was as alcoholic by the time he hit high school. Her mother was bitter.

My Mother's eighth grade class photograph says it all. Mom, her black hair newly cut inyo a flapper bob, stands curiously apart from the rest of the students--beside them, but tilting her head awaw as if she is looking at the wotld from a different angle.

School was hher sancturay, She graduated as valedictorian of her hgh school and college ck=lasses. Then she taught for a couple of years and married my father, who did not drink,  required at the time, she  quit working when she became pregnant.

Mother didn't like sweet talk. I remember taking her to visit

      

 

 

 

 

NOT MUCH TIME TODAY----

ALONE

 

(A POEM FROM 1995)

 

   So many know my name and yet so few

Know me; I'm more and less than what I seem

To be, called friend by many people who

Know me as I know night by chance moonbeam...

   Chameleon-like I change my psychic skin

Depending whom I'm with and what the day,

Unending fitting, never fitting in,

Amending how I look and what I say,

   Unclothed and mute, inside myself I know

My soul complete, its multiplicity

A whole; but outside actor-like I show

The role I choose, or you assign to me

     And as no one can know my entity,

      I know no one, but only simile

LOVE ENDURES

 Another poem from times past--your girl wrote it with her heart and ran it in Suburban Notebook, a sixteen page newspaper she wrote in the 1980s.

                       Love Endures

    How long lasts love? Past tomorrow's dawn?

Past hurt and anger, betrayal, desertion, death?

This weakness of the heart--will it be strong

Enough to last the years, yet be weak yet?

   Love ripens in the lusty sun of youth

And is consumed, but blossoms ever-sweet

To be the springtime baby's first-spooned fruit,

The sustenance of summer, winter's treat

     The Music of the song survives the singer

And echoes of itself divinity--

Thus Love and Beauty, Truth and Courage linger

Long past their actors in eternity--

     How long lasts love? My love is yours

     As long as Love endures, yes, Love endures

 WHAT EVERYONE KNOWS

    I turned right at Billy's pool hall. then left at God's Lighthouse and right again at Kathy's Kwality wigs, then drove down the road through the low water crossing and turned right at the dead end, putting me in the faculty parking lot of Little Whitetail High School where I'll be teaching a duel-credit-college class  this fall. The weather is nasty, but I was in luck: an empty space in the first row, near the back door to the school was empty

     I eased into the space, half opened my door, and turned to gather my equipment from the seat beside me--purse, umbrella, satchel of books and first-day hand-outs.

      "Ma'am." What sounds like  the voice of God boomed from above my half-open door. Startled, I jerk around, only to have my vision blocked by a large male torso. The head and shoulders were so close that was hard for me to see his face, but his voice continues in slow, measured syllables. "Ma'am,  you've parked in my secretary's place. These two spaces are for the principle and the secretary."

     My head bobbed like it was on a string as I look around to see if  there was something I missed. 

    "There isn't any sign," I protested.

     His voice went deep, "Everyone knows."

     I glanced out of my back window to see where else I might park, but, but I must not have been moving fast enough because the menacing voice addresses me again. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

     "I'm just trying to find out what spaces are available, " I explained. "Oh, God--what other local dignitaries might I offend? Who else had invisible dubs on choice parking spots?

     "They are all open," ma'am, the headless voice replied.

     Then why can't I stay where I am, runs through my mind, but instead, I just say "Oh," close my car door, and back out of the parking space. I settle into a nearby spot, and God knows who's parking space it is.

By the end of the day, there are were two laminated paper signs designating the principle and secretary's  parking places hanging from shiny new posts. 

The flip-flap-flapping held up through several perfunctory mild pitter-pats, but the signs finally blow away in a truly magnificent Thanksgiving gale, only to be replaced by metal signs

"Those signs are totally unnecessary," I told local teacher I'd become friends with. "I'm the only one who didn't know the local custom, and now I know not to park in those two spaces. Beside, I'm not even parked out back today. I couldn't get through the low water crossing so I parked in one of those yellow-striped spaces out front."

My friend's eyes bugged out in alarm. "Out front? Those spaces are reserved for the coaches and the controller!

"There aren't any signs," I protested.

My friend  looked at me in horror, "EVERYONE KNOWS!"

    

THIS IS A TRUE STORY, BUT SOMEHOW, I'M NOT TELLING IT RIGHT....

LURCHING ALONG...........

 Hello, your girl has been working like a dog today in her studio and it hasn't been fun. Fio is trying to get all her written material--pen, pencil, papers, books, etc., and she would really like some help, but it is not to be. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR......

What the heck! How about Fio feeding you the opening page or two of a romance she has half-written?

   ________________________________________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________________________________

    Six years of her life down the drain --Phillipa had never thought tit would come to this. She sat down on a concrete garden bench and wiped a hand on her jeans. Pulling her divorce degree out of its manila envelope, she read it through again, page by page.

     Until the papers arrived yesterday, she'd had a flicker of hope that Evan would return, throw himself at her feet, and beg her to take him back. Not that she would have. Jonathon had gone by the wayside as soon as she had found out that he'd married her to further his career--but it would have been nice to be the kicker rather that the kickee.

     She stuffed the papers back in the envelope......

     Damn! She may not have loved him, but she had become, well, accustomed to living in this venerable old house on Austin Avenue, even though it was too far too big for the two of them. Just the way she had become accustomed to spending most of her day away from the big house, either teaching at her small-town community college or attending faculty get-togethers at the big-city university where Evan chaired the philosophy department, thanks to her uncle Barney being dean of liberal arts

     And now Evan had dumped her. Their home had a FOR SALE sign out front, and her social life consisted of chatting with the landlady of Kinkaid House, the bed and breakfast that she's moved into when Evan had announced he was filing for divorce.

     She looked up at the canopy of trees  over her head. At least she still had a place to retreat to when she waned to be alone. There was something comforting about sitting under these grand old oaks. They'd survived hard times, and she could too.LURCHING

Reading through this story plot again, Fio doesn't think she'll use it.  Oh well--onward and upward!

       

POETIC REPEATS BECAUSE FIO CAN'T FIND THE POEMS SHE'S LOOKING FOR

 FIO SEEMS TO BE LOSING HER  POSTS, BUT LET'S TRY AGAIN :

Depression

   I pull it round me like a cloak of null,

This numbing void, this fine despair of mine,

This somber blanker folded thrice to dull

The knife-sharp edges of my dark decline--

    I need a nothingness, a time of naught,

A comfort place, an anesthetic  buffer

To suffocate my sense, my every thought

For if I do not feel, I cannot suffer--

    For if I do not try,  I cannot fail

And if I do not care, I'll haven pain,

And if I do not trust, then no betrayal

Can pierce my unprotected heart again,

       And if I do not hope, then no defeat

       Can mortify me in this sweet retreat

_____________________________________

    Suicide

Ah, Dorothy, your choice was much too rash--

There are other options I could recommend

Than poison, razors, nooses, guns, or gas

To bring about a graceful, private end--

   The suffocation of the spirit's one,

On shallow breaths, hope is inclined to smother--

An assault on the heart can get it done

The strangulation of the soul's another--

   Or you still could walk about, though dead--

A lumbering, slack-jawed zombie, hollow-eyed--

You'd grin and bow and nod your foolish head

With no one guessing you're a suicide

    Don't think that, knowing, any would be grieved--

    My own experience is, they'd be relieved

 _____________________________________________

Marionette

Dress the corpse in red and bright

And paint her pretty face,

Tie lines onto her hands and feet

And make her dance in place 

If you hold her jaw just so

And pull it with a string,

Supply a voice and words and tune-- 

Why, she can even sing

Then you can whistle and applaud

Her every sight and sound

Because she is the most alive

Of any corpse around

___________________________

 

I'm drunk on the wine of glory

I'm red-nosed and wobbly and gay---

So what if I die tomorrow?

At least I have lived for today!

 

Dad drank milk and Mom drank tea

At least as far as I could see

Remember this poem? It's my mantra

 This is a poem your girl wrote about four years back. It has a Christmas tinge to it, but there's a lot more to it ponder on:

                      Flying High 

    I cannot write a merry poem this year

Too much has happened lately in my life--

Uprooted from a home that I held dear

And now a widow, not a wife

      Change is not my forte, my opinions few      

A clock cannot run backwards, nor can I,

Thus I must gird myself and start anew

To  see how high my warming kite can fly

     Too late, they say--your day is almost done

Pull down your kite and rest yourself a while--

Go take a break from shining in the sun

Enjoy yourself before your final mile

     And as they lecture, I slip quiet by

And launch my kite into the eager sky

 

 

CONFESSION!

 Fiorella doesn't feel good, even though she's taken all her pills. She's depressed, of course--it's hard to please everyone. Sometimes she thinks it would be easier to hide herself in a closet and close the door, which is why she hides away in her room so often.

Well, Fio's great plan to save all her used pill bottles and bestow them on  Walgreen fell through: the store wouldn't accept them, which surprised Fiorella. Sure, they would have had to the boil the bottles, but wouldn't it would have cost less to wash the bottles than buy knew ones?

Now is the time that your girl really needs a friend. Son and family are preparing for a week-long family getaway and Fiorella is not invited. Does she smell that bad? Ah, if only Husband hadn't died......

It's hard for Fio to believe that from when she was in the fourth grade, she used to do jigsaw puzzles for enjoyment. Your girl still has some puzzles that friends sent her when she was sick a while back, but those puzzles don't have the lure that older ones did....or maybe it's that with two cats and two dogs in the house, there's not enough room to spread puzzles out.

Fiorella has been trying to clean up her studio room, which is hard because it contains everything from paints to cut-outs to brushes to overflowing shelves to a closet over stuffed full of sewing materials. A desk/ shelf is bursting out all over with even more parafernalia. And then there is a long table in the middle of the room and sets of three big metal shelves on the side of the room across from the parafernalia area. Have you had enough? Yep, there's more. It's a wonder that your girl can even get through the door!

 

 

 

 There are so many things in my life that I hold secret about regarding my marriage, my my family, and myself.

THE BANANAMOBILE and a bit more

 Has Fiorella told you that she used to sing and write music? Yep, your girl was born multi-talented, but unfortunately, those talents have been lost through the years. Hmmm, maybe she can pick one out, and  rev herself up again. (Or maybe not. Her dancing wasn't that great anyway.)

By the way, there have about ten romance novels wants to finish off, but she only got two published, and she doesn't know if romance is popular any more....plus, there's the transportation problem.

The good news is that Son K, who lives up north, has asked Fiorella for Grandpa's cane. Fio really doesn't know how to transport it, but Son L has said he'll help Fio out. 

CHANGE OF SUBJECT: It looks like the wild cat that daughter-in-law-adopted may have to move on. He's already taken a swap at Fiorella and the dogs.

Confession: it worries Fio that the families' inherited land is so far away from where they actually live.

ALL ABOUT ME

 Once again, Fio is working on her salon/studio/study/ trying to get her paints and papers in order, and at the same, hang worthy paintings and post worthy poems, short stories, and whatever. She'll probably stick  in some photos too, if she can figure how put them on FaceBook.

It was nice to visit with the members of the local family tree today, but your girl hopes that sometime all of us will gather together again. 💕

Senior son has asked me to mail Austin Grandpa's cane to him for remembrance, which Fiorella will do, but she's symyd about how to wrap the dang thing....and to wrap it.

Yes, Fio is a clothes horse. She's wearing a gray and white shirt, gray slacks, gray shoes, silver earrings, and a silver watch. BEAT THAT!

Fiorella was looking through some of my papers from when she was a teacher and found Benjamin L, who, long ago, had complained to her boss for turning him out of her class because he had missed three days in a row, as per your girl's syllabus. Benjamin called Fio a "f...ing bitch and reported all to her superior. 

By that time, she felt a little sympathetic to B and tried to talk to hm, but he evaded Fio, and when Fiorella did finally get in touch with him, he became arrogant. Everything went deeper and deeper, with B even saying my superiors had reinstated him, but a quick call to my boss (who had been following the show), said this wasn't true. 

 Actually, if B had apologized, Fiorella probably would have given him another chance-- if he cleaned up  his act, but such was not to be. Poor kid--Fio wonders where he is now.

sa

 

 

 

 

SOUR GRAPES

😏 TAKING A DAY OFF!

More Poetry and a Warning

My nose--                                                       I must tidy up my garden

It blows and blows                                          And plant new flower beds

All the livelong day--                                     I must water all the roses

I sniffle and snort                                            And trim the privet hedge

At least a quart

And that is all I'll say                                       I must cover all the marks of

_______________________________            Intruders in the night

Lordy, Lordy, it's almost noon                          I must rake the footprints smooth in

So I'll be having lunchtime soon,                      My garden of delight

Then go out to the grocery store                       

To buy myself a basket more                              I must bury  all the old dreams

_________________________________           And hide them from my view

_________________________________           When I clear the time of trespass

(Ukraine will fall into Putin's bloody hands         Then I can plant anew

 if Trump is re-elected and we'll end up with 

World War Three)                                                                       

JUST KEEP CHUGGIN' ALONG......

 Fio doesn't feel too good today, and it's probably her own fault: she spilled the plastic basket that she keeps her throng of pills in and may have gotten some of the cuties mixed up with others, although the only really dangerous one, Warfarin,  has a red line on it and stayed safe. Never the less, your girl is gritting her teeth and praying.....

Fiorella got tired of Television's Murder, She Wrote some time ago, but she still can't find anything else to put herself to sleep with. Maybe she'll have to go back to some of her other oldies, like xxxxxxxxxxx. GOOD GRIEF! Aren't there any good left-over shows available any more!? 

Hold Fio back! She accidentally dug out her cache of jigsaw puzzles and started poking around in them, which is deadly for her! She couldn't resist them as a child and wasted way too much time on them as an adult so she's going to put them away again..........maybe 😁

 Another one of your girl's mystical poems...

                       

                        L' envoi to "Blind"

                 In the theater of the mind

                  The unremitting reels unwind,

                   Horrors ceaselessly replay,

                    Obscuring now for yesterday

                      In the theater of the mind,        

                      Eyes that see too much go blind

     

 

 

 Remember, the Ukraine will fall into Putin's hands if Trump wins the election--hello, WORLD WAR THREE!

 

 

 

 

TEACHING JOYS

 Fiorella came upon some ancient teacher evaluation papers as she was going through memories of her past life and she couldn't help dropping a few sweet tears as she went along. For instance:

What did you like most about the course, or find most worthwhile:

"The instructor's sense of humor. The course not only taught "me to critically analyze day to day situations, but it also taught me orienting skills. Before I began this class, I had never written a paper. I now have the confidence and the skills to write a paper. As I continue to write, I know my writing will improve thanks to the good foundation that I was taught."

"Instructor was entertaining and informative."

" I really enjoyed the way Dr. (FIORELLA) took time for whoever needed her help. She not only helped me, but she encouraged me to continue with my education. She probably didn't realize the encouragement she gave the whole class."

"Dr. Fiorella is a good teacher. Very enthusiastic every class meeting. She made class fun."

"Dr. Fiorella way of teaching made the class keep our attention. Was funny and not boring."

                                        ET CETERA, ET CETERA 

They warm my heart💔 💗💗

 ________________________________________________________________________

DREAMING AHEAD

 Fiorella is cleaning up her "salon" piece by piece so she can discover herself again. Maybe she'll even write another book or two or get all of her poetry published. Then there are the short stories and the drawings and paintings...... but you've heard all this before. Of course, her deepest desires are a friend she could talk walk and talk with--and a big, happy dog to cuddle with.

How strange: your girl was born toward the end of WW2, and now, those many years later, we may be facing another another World War if Trump/Putin gets elected again. Think about it. Remember that he  had several telephone sweet talks with Putin just after he (Trump)was elected.8

*************************************************************************************

Here's one of Fio's short stories you might enjoy. It's called "Endor."

     As they did every new moon, the three elderly sisters met at Starbucks, reserved a table by depositing their dear mother's cookbook on it, and walked up to the counter to place their orders. In the few seconds it took for the barista to turn to the back of the store and instruct her co-worker to ad extra whipped cream and Glinda's hot chocolate and Irene's latte, an athletically built young man pushed Nelda aside and put in his own order. 

"Gimme the biggest cup of Dark Roast that you have and make it snappy! I've got places to go and people to see!"

Irene gave him a darkling look. "Sir, perhaps you didn't realize it, but you cut in line. Our sister was next."

"Too bad." The athletic young man shrugged and checked out the room for a table.

The three women exchanged hard-eyed glances, but knew better than to make a scene in public. Picking up their drinks, they turned to walk back to their table, then saw that the athletically-built young man had claimed it for himself. Glinda bristled with anger. "Sir, you're sitting at our table! That is our dear mother's cookbook."

The athletic young man glared at her. 'Find another table, Granny, and take your crazy book with you! Damn thing tried to bite me!"

A table opened up and the three sisters sat down together, put their mother's book of recipes in the center of the table, then sipped their beverages, watching the athletic young man the whole time. When he left without cleaning up the table, Glinda swooped down like a night owl sighting its prey, slipped his cup into a plastic bag, and stowed it in her purse. 

Then, their faces grim, the three women drove over to Nelda's, consulted Mother's recipes, set the iron pot to boiling with the standard ingredients, smiled at each other, and tossed in the cup that the athletic young man had used.

Eye of newt and toe of frog work so much better with fresh DNA in the mix.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Long, Long, Ago

     Fio is wondering......are romance books still popular? You know the type she means--good-girl sex with a happy ending--two of which your girl got published before her roof fell down on her. 

     Of course, looking at her stories now, she would have done a lot of things differently, but she's just found a sackful of halfway finished romances and mayhap she could get into the game again. Of course, her membership has lapsed and she 's lost touch with every writer she has ever knew due to Covid and her lack of transportation, but we'll see, we'll see......

     Okay, Fiorella will admit it: maybe  jumping into  romance writing again would get her some friends with  generous transportation. In the meantime, your girl will try to gather together all of her half-written pages.

Wahoo! Fio just found a page from when she was teaching, which reads as follows:

     Call roll

     Pass out daily test

     Test today--class activity

     Read "Thanatopsis" 

                (a) foot

                (b) meter

                (c) rhyme scheme

                 (d) meaning

      Read bio of Emily aloud, read four poems aloud #241, #341, #712, 986.   

      Class activity--divide into four groups, explain to class

         I pt--foot

         I pt--meter

          I--rhyme scheme

          5  points--meaning

          2  points-- presentation

ANYONE RECOGNIZE THE STILE?

     

REACHING FOR THE STARS

 Once Fiorella gets settled in more, she'll get some nice plastic surgery for her aging face like she did a while back after Husband died.  Stupidly, she backed out half way back then, but this time, she'll take the whole trip. Maybe she can get her drooping upper arms and belly tightened up too. (Or maybe she won't do anything at but smile bigger.)

What has erupted all the above? Obviously your girl is tackling the multitudes of half-finished stories and tableware that she brought over to the "new house." WOW! Fio is certainly prolific, if nothing else--but her mother's tableware is as dear to her, as it was to her mother.

Her sewing and designs are also important to her, but they are still deep down in hinterland, as are her lovely colored rugs, a couple of which she used as the background of some of her full length paintings.

Fio cannot help but wonder if eyelid surgery is a gateway drug--in the distance, she hears the siren song  of a total face lift. Hmmmmm........in words, Fiorella is getting restless and wants to join the world again. She's tired of her major outings being (1) to get blood tests and (2) to walk the outgoing mail to the box up the street.

YOUR GIRL WANTS TO HAVE FRIENDS, TO GO OUT TO EAT FROM TIME TO TIME, TO BE ACTIVE IN THE COMMUNITY, TO BE ABLE TO USE HER ART, WRITING, AND MUSICAL TALENTS AGAIN! PLEASE HELP HER!

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Remains

 What a wonderful visit we had with Fiorella's nephew A, his charming wife, and their two sweet children, who live a long way from us in Main, and your girl hopes there will be more visits in the future. It was amazing and wonderful how sweetly the locals (Son's first grade daughter, Daughter's baby son) welcomed their cousins (two and five) whom they were meeting for the first time.

It's surprisingly cold in Texas now, and there are rumors that the worst is yet to come, like maybe the kind of weather that tried to foze your girl to death about four years ago. Remember? When the only warmth she had was her Mastiff, Sonja, who has since entered dog heaven with a crown on her head?

 Fiorella has been having an itch to gather her brushes and start painting again. Watch out,  world!

 ___________________________________________________________________________________

I'd like to burn a building down

Or shoot someone from the tower

To make them know that I'm alive

For just one hour--oh, just an hour!

 _______________________________

"The tower" is a reference

  to a twisted family tragedy

___________________________________

 If I had eyes and you had eyes and I had eyes

And we could see ahead what lies

 I'd close my eyes

And kiss your lovely lips

__________________________________

I stirred my coffee with a peacock feather

And on the the washer lit five golden candles

And drained the flowing blood from my heart finger

To paint the kitchen ceiling scarlet red

 ______________________________________

REPEATS AGAIN

 Fiorella confesses: she's written at least twenty Christmas poems--probably more--and she doesn't remember which ones have gone to print and which ones are still waiting eagerly to see the light of day, so please be xxxxxxxxx

          Wild Plum

The wild plum branch on my door jamb

Guards my soul from the devil--

But one dark night when he's calling me

I'll to my window just to see

What he is and what I am

And what it's like at the witches' revel

_______________________________________

I don't drink beer

I don't drink wine

But ply me with chocolate

And I am thine

________________________________________

I stirred my coffee with a peacock feather

And on the washer lit five golden candles

And drained the flowing blood from my heart finger

To paint the kitchen ceiling red with scarlet

-------------------------------------------------------------- 

In golden shoes my feet are tiny

In golden net my hair my hair is long

In golden boot, my words are shiny

My poems become a golden song

__________________________________________

                     Alien

     I was born on Venus, maybe Mars

Where people see with different eyes

Where the stars are different stars

Where the skies are different skies

     My outside, yes, it is the same

 I've passed for years as human born

 And answered to a human name

And tried to live in form

    The difference is in my brain

In how I think and feel and see

In how my heart absorbs the pain

Of my peculiarity

     Alone, alone, all, all, alone

I scream aloud and no one hears

Because I use an alien voice

And you have only human ears

(1993)

    

MORE OF THE SAME....

 Poetry again, some of it repeated because Fiorella never did put her whimsy in order.....

______________________________________________________________________

The first poem she can find, probably written in Junior High:

     The Quest

                 The pond 's o'er froze, the corn is blight

              The fields frost over silver white

              The ice-bound branches of the trees

              Are breaking in the winter breeze

                  The ground is hard, the sky is bare

               The sobbing wind alone disturbs the air 

                And cries aloud its grief, unreconciled

                As Ceres searches for her missing child

_______________________________________________

    Marionette

                 Dress the corpse in red and bright

                 And paint her pretty face--

                 Tie lines onto her hands and feet

                And make her dance in place

                   If you  hold her jaw just so

                And pull it with a string,

                Supply a voice and words and tune,

                She will even sing

                   Then you can whistle and applaud

                 Her every sight and sound

                 Because she is the most alive 

                 Of any corpse around

___________________________________________________________________ 

I'm drunk on the wine of glory

Red-nosed and wobbly and gay!

So what if I day tomorrow

At least I have lived for today!

________________________________________________________________________________________

          Unfortunately, Fiorella has written loads of poetry, but hasn't labeled it in any way but titles.   Anyone want to come over and help her?

A BIT BATTERED........

 After almost an hour of searching, Fiorella finally found her computer hiding under the thickly carved knobs of her bedroom. Whew! Wouldn't like to have to sleep on the floor!

How  about some more of my sweeter poems, like "Song."

          In golden shoes, my feet are tiny

          In golden net, my hair is long

          In golden book, my words are shiny

          My poems become a golden song 

____________________________________

    Dear God, the night has passed, the day begun.

       I wake to face the horror of the dawn,

       The cold blue sky and brazing star

        Obscure my view, the guiding star is gone

     Last night the star was bright, the vision clear

        The pathway certain I had sought so long

         I knew my God and Bethlehem were near 

         So near at last, at last, dear God, my faith was strong

   Now hope is gone, I cannot find my way

        I fool a fool, as old men often are--

         The dreams of knight have been subsumed by day

         And I, bereft, alone, I doubt the star

   Oh God, dear God, I pray you yet again

   Please God, please let there be a God

     --------------------------------------

Yes, Fio knows what you are thinking--that your girl should keep track of what poems or stories she's put into print before, but sometimes when other things are involved or she doesn't have anything clever to say, she falls back on her old goodies just so you know she's still alive😁

 

      

 

 A Couple More of Fiorella's Favorites

Warning--there will be repeats

 

         At the Beach

At dawn I walk the ocean's edge

To find my place along the shore,

The place where I will sit all day

And sculpt my kingdom mafe of dreams

Until the evening tide returns

And sinks my castle built on sand

 _________________________________

                                Dead Aim

Eyes that look beside you as you walk down the hall

Eyes that swivel by you when you meet on the stair

Ears that do not listen when they hear your frightened call

Arms that will not hold you, and hearts that do not care

 

So the helpless go unhelped and the hungry go unfed

And oftentimes I wonder as I lie awake in bed

What would they really do if I shot them in the head?

Would they still ignore me as they drop down dead?

______________________________________________

                                   Etiquette

Everything goes from dead to worse 

And I think that soon I'll die--

Not on the outside, just on the inside

Where people can't really see,

And when they give me the proper greet,

I'll give them the proper lie:

"How are are you doing," they'll say to me

"Just fine," with a smile I'll reply

____________________________________________

More Poems

 Some oldies but goodies............

I know that God is Spanish

And here's the reason why--

With sun warmth just departed

And night cool  drawing nigh

He playses a black mantilla

Of lace o'er the waiting sky

____________________

The sun leaves slowly, giving thanks

For such a long and lengthy stay

And, putting on her court of colors

Leaves again for another day

But I know she will come with haste

In dawn at coat of dye

For she has left her diamonds

Scattered in the sky

_______________________________

Fat women have big breasts

To nourish babies,

Fat women have soft laps

To comfort children,

Fat women have big hearts

To encompass the world    💗

________________________________

NEW AND OLD GEMS

 Surprise! Fiorella is back in business!

       In golden shoes my fee are tiny

       In golden net my hair is long

       In golden book my words are shiny

       My poems become a golden song 

  Quiet as the grave that holds me fast

When death has dumbed the drumbeat of my blood

Beneath the soundless soil, still at last

I'll sink in silence toward the muffling mud--

   But unto then I'll clatter through your walls

And shout hello to friends and wail goodby--

I'll laugh aloud within your stately walls 

And shriek my anger to the sombre sky-- 

  The dead are no notorious for their noise

And I will lie a longtime quietly

So unto then I"ll use my loudest voice

And make the whimpering world resound of me--

    So when at last I'm muted by the all absorbing  ground

    My unaccustomed silence then will deafen you with sound

 

____________________________________________________

Priorities

The screen door is still unmended

So I have shut the door

The laundry lies untended 

In piles upon the floor--

I'm busy learning how to sing

Or working on a play

Or teaching someone else something

That I learned yesterday 

----------------------------------------------------------------

                     Depression

I pull it round me like a cloak of null,

This numbing void, this fine despair of mine,

A somber blanket folded thrice to dull

The knife-sharp edges of my dark decline--

     I need a nothingness, a time of naught--

A comfort place, an anesthetic buffer

To suffocate my senses, my every thought

For if I do not feel, I cannot suffer,

      And if I cannot try, I cannot fail

 And if I do not care, I'll have no pain

 And if I do not trust, then no betrayal

   Can pierce my unprotected heart again

      And if I do not hope, then no defeat

      Can mortify me in my sweet retreat

 

    ......................................................................................

BONKERS!

    Wadda ya know! Fio is back again, WITH POEMS AS FOLLOWS!

 

      Search in the Silence 

Sometimes in the silence,

In the darkest dark of night, 

When the black has slipped around me,

Inking over all. my sight--

Then I'm drawn  to the starry sky 

And am lured by every light

 

Sometimes in the waiting

For a storm that's drawing near

When all the earth is pensive

I am seized with sudden fear

 For wild within my deepest soul

  A strange new voice I hear

Sometimes in the drizzle

Of a dingy shadowed day

Then the murkiness repels the sun    

And screens out every ray--

Then I know that I must find my soul

However odd the way

 

_________________________________________

In golden shoes my feet are tiny

In golden net, my hair is long

In golden book my words are shiny,

And my poems become a golden song

 

____________________________________________

I think that I must warn you

So heed to what I say

I'm a very vengeful person

So don't get in my way

'Cause otherwise I'll find you

And knuckle you one day !

(Not really--just mentally)_____________________________________________

MOVING ON

How wonderful it is to hear from good friends from distant shores or latitudes who keep in touch with you even when when you are far, far, away. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU 💘!

Fiorella would also like to have her poetry, art, and music, recognized, but one has to have them on display to do so, and Fio doesn't have connections any more.

Ah, well. Maybe something will come along......

(Please excuse me if you've read these poems before)

__________________________________________________________________________________

              Quiet as the Grave

Quiet as the grave that holds me fast

When death has dumbed the drumbeat of my blood,

Beneath the soundless soil, still at last

I'll sink in silence upward the muffling mud--

But until then, I'll clatter through the halls

And shout hallo to friends and wail goodbye

I'll laugh aloud within the staidest walls 

And shriek my anger to the somber sky--

The dead are not notorious for their noise

And I will lie a long time quietly

So unto then I'll use my loudest voice

To make the whimpering world resound of me--

    And when at last I'm muted by the all absorbing ground

   My unaccustomed silence then will deafen you with sound!

_______________________________________________________________________________

THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER!

 Fiorella has run out of things to do. Sure, she walks the neighborhood cul-de-sac almost every day, but no one else does. She smiles and waves at everyone in the neighborhood too,  but only a few wave back. Inside the house, she watches TV every day, inside and out, and she's getting pretty darn tired out of watching Jessica Fletcher solve murder after murder with her hairdo remaining still as a cement statue.

In other words, your girl is bored, bored, bored, as she has often announced, and while Fio has no friends,  ol' Jessica is rounding up bad guys by the dozen. Sure, they're bad guys, but your girl could reform them. 

__________________________________________________________________________________

                                                                     

                                                                  Quiet as the Grave

  Quiet as the grave that holds me fast

  When death has dumbed the drumbeat of my blood

  Beneath the soundless soil, still at last,

  I'll sink in silence toward the muffling mud--

    But unto then I'll clatter through the hall 

And shout hallo to friends and wail goodbye--

I'll laugh aloud  within the staidest walls

And shriek my anger to the somber sky--

  The dead  are not notorious for their noise

  And I will lie a long time quietly

  So unto then, I'll use my loudest voice

  To make the whispering world resound of me

       And when at last I'm muted by the all-absorbing ground

       Mt unaccustomed silence then with deafen you with sound

MEMORIES OF LONG AGO

When Fio was a little girl in Ohio, then Waco, Texas, she usually walked to school, sometimes with a friend, but more likely alone. There were few women who could drive back then, and any cars in the family were reserved for the man of the family (the breadwinner). Your girl was lucky enough to have a neighbor down the street who was just a grade younger  than than she was and whose mother was kind enough to offer her a morning ride. (God bless Eve Paule.)

Junior High was easier because her school was only about five blocks (Fly-Taff) from school--close enough that your girl could run home during lunch and finish off forgotten assignments And avoid the clicks that were forming in preparation for high school.

Finally the war was over and the clicks were forming. A fair number of boys and a few of the girls had been presented with cars. Fiorella was not one of them, but she did take the the school sponsored driving course offered during the summer by one of the teachers.  

Now was the time to get ready for college, but her family had one just one car, so she was back at the beginning again. Luckily, her college roommate, Marianne, introduced Fio to a friend of her boyfriend and he and Fiorella clicked. In fact, they married two years into college and, after finishing their classes, they had three sweet children.

Fiorella wonder what their memories will be like.......