The Wonder That Is Around Us

Hey, isn't it about time for Stormy Daniels to pop up again?
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Please don't be mean to Fio or she will have no choice but to cast you as a villain in one of her books and, ultimately, kill you off.
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I glance around the den, and my mother's voice lectures me from the grave about how messy it is. Obviously, she didn't write.
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I didn't know my mother was a young woman when I was a child until, as an adult, I saw a photo of her with me in her lap.
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It's nice to have great gobs of hair
Because then there'll be some hair to spare
When I get old and start to shed
To warm my head when I am dead

Fashion Notes

I've gotten bolder
As I've grown older
But unlike before
And do not care
What I wear
Anymore

Nice sentiment, but not quite true. It's just that Fiorella is perfectly capable of putting together cute outfits from what she has left of the decades-long accumulation she calls her wardrobe and she's not about to waste her money on new stuff. Besides, at Fio's age, personality is paramount, and she still has plenty of that.

New Lyrics

Hello, anger, my old friend,
You've energized me once again
And I will scream and write and fight
Because I know that left is right

OBSCENITY

The children sit in an iron cage
Day after day after day
While the fat old man rides a cushioned cart
Around the links to play

Sorrowfully

Fiorella wrote this a year ago, and it bears repeating:

I thought that I would never see

A president as dumb as he

Putin's hand in his hand, Putin's ring in his nose--

He shall have riots wherever he goes

Morning Prayer

I close my eyes and then I pray
How can I, in my meager way,
Set the world to rights today?
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Fiorella is all abour relationships. Her art involves relationships between spaces and colors. Her music composition involves relationships between pitches and time. Her languages craze involves relationships between words and cultures, and her books involve relationships between people and people.

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The rule of three
Is calling me
But I have naught else to say
Today

Evil, Dancing, Attendance

Why do people do vile things like steal all the money out of the savings account of the nation's oldest veteran? Like shoot a random teenager dead at a gas station? Like massacre five journalists in their office? Like imprison young children? Like make fun of someone who is disabled? Fio doesn't understand people like that, never will, and really doesn't want to.
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There'll be dancing in the street
When Trump is gone
Dancing on the street
And dancing on the lawn
Dancing at dusk
And dancing at dawn
Glad to see the last
Of Putin's pawn
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According to Mother's school attendance records, she was never late nor did she miss a day from first grade through eighth. A worthy record, and she expected the same of Fiorella, who was sent off every day, rain or shine, in sickness or in health--except, of course, for scarlet fever, chickenpox, measles, whooping cough, and a couple of bouts of the flu. Yep, Fio never got those extra points for perfect attendance on her report cards.

Back to the Womb

How I love my soaker tub
This is how it must have been
Swimming in my mother's womb
Before the pain of life set in

Electronics Can Be Evil!

Fiorella is angry. Fiorella is mad
Because Isadora is acting bad
Or maybe it's not the computer at all
But Windows 10, it's natal install
Whatever the problem, it better go
Beacuse your Fio's about to BLOW!

Prediction

Humpty Trumpty has bet on a wall
Humpty Trumpty will have a great fall
And all the king's horses, all the king's men
Will refuse to put Humpty together again

Frustration

It's not that I am lazy
But inaction drives me crazy
Especially if I'm the one
Who can't get anything done

Further Instructions

If ever I
decide to die--
Which I'm not planning to--
Remember me
with charity
As I, my dear, will you

Instructions

If when I die, you weep for me
And mourn sweet times that never more will be
Please dry your eyes and go about your day
And smile at everyone you see
And wish them well to bless my memory

Pledge

I do not care
What you weigh
Or what you wear
Or who you say
Your parents are
Your shade of skin
Your breed of car
Or even where you've been
I only ask that you speak true
As I, my friend, will speak to you

Alone in the Silence

Fiorella is on a writing binge, which means she's in hog heaven. Not only is she moving along on Phillipa's story, but she's pulled some of her old short-shorts out of storage--you've already read a couple of them--and is dusting them up for possible publication. And in the back of her mind, Marisol and Tony's story is taking shape. Then there are the completed--and prize-winning--romances she's still got in her Documents file. The only thing that could make her happier than she is right now is if  a fabulous poem popped out of her ever-fertile brain.

What has caused this literary avalanche, you ask? Well, probably that Fio has set aside defined time slots for herself when she goes upstairs to the attic room, where nothing is going on and she can't hear the television. Yes, your hyper-social Fio needs privacy when she writes. It's inspirational.

Halloween

Our gap-toothed pumpkin face is carved and lit
And witches' squadrons ride our windowpanes
While vampires, devils, ghouls--in counterfeit--
Seek treats or trickery at our door again.
My children hold me tightly by the hand
As I escort their Halloween debut
And shrink from every boisterous beggars' band
Because they fear the trumpery is true.
So I explain and soothe and hold them close
And tell them all is clever-made deceit--
Each Frankenstein, a playmate grandiose
Each ghost, a neighbor child wound in a sheet
But yet--a sound, a touch, a shadow--hark!
I glance behind my shoulder in the dark

Change of Seasons

Fiorella heard the rustle of some leaves falling this morning, and wrote:
Be of good cheer
Autumn is here
Which means, my dear.
That winter is near

This little poem might not be as meaningful to Fiorella's friends in the northern reaches of the country as it is to her, but remember, where Fio lives, "cold" starts at 70 degrees and rarely sinks down to the freezing point.

Post Surgery

Fio is having a blast
Her eyes are in full bloom
She knows it will not last
But she looks like a racoon

Morning Prayer

Thank you for the peaceful night
Thank you for the bright new day
Guide me so I broadcast love
With all I do and all I say

POLITICIZING

Putin's hand held in his
Putin's ring in his nose
He shall have riots
Wherever he goes.
I thought that I
Would never see
A president
As dumb as he