When Canada's Gone

This is a poem I wrote when I was into those creative writing classes a few years ago, before I started writing romance. I belonged to a different sort of online writers' group then, a literary group, and members tended to be very polarized in their political beliefs and very vocal about them within the group -- which is one reason I'm no longer there. It was during the last presidential election, during which I kept hearing the comment, "If Bush is re-elected, I'm moving to Canada!" This hit my funny bone pretty hard because I'd heard the exact same comment from the other side ("If Gore wins, I'm moving to Canada!") many times in the previous election.
Obviously not too many people actually followed through on that threat, and I'll bet the Canadians heaved a collective sigh of relief that a buttload of intolerant Americans didn't head for the border.

So this poem isn't written from the POV of either the Left or the Right, because it could be from either. It has two titles because I can never seem to pick one.

When Canada's Gone
(or Heaven On Mars)

Where will we go when Canada's gone,
When the last frontier is our front lawn
And all the world's arable acres are taken,
Leaving us only the lands forsaken?

How will we find a place to be
Just what we want in society,
But free of society's bothersome rules
That govern our homes and jobs and schools?

How can they even say with pride,
"I'm an American on right's side!"
When all they ever do for me
Is hinder my individuality?

Can't they see how narrow their view,
Allowing no room for different or new,
Condemning my instincts as base or wrong
Just because I'm not singing their song?

Curtailing my freedoms, promoting their laws,
Is leaving me feeling angry and raw.
I'm about ready to leave this place,
But the only land vacant's in outer space.

I'd better get cracking on manned space flight
If I want a new place to live tonight.
Since no one here agrees with me,
I'll fly away and soon be free

To carry on just as I'd rather
Without a thought for whom I'll bother,
Escaping hate and rules and wars
To make my own little heaven on Mars.

But uh-oh, wait--I just remembered,
I won't get there 'til next September.
That's too long before I arrive,
with no guarantee I'll make it alive.

Perhaps there's nothing for me there,
No water, no food, oh yeah, no air.
At home, these things are always near--
Guess I should learn to get along here.

© 2004 Robin L. Rotham

The Stuff of Dreams

Today's poem is another exercise in catharsis for me. Back in the late '80s and early '90s, I worked for a man who just about gave me a nervous breakdown -- Angela Knight would call him a Bosshole. (Wish I'd known that term back then, LOL!)

His name was Will, and he was a "recovering" alcoholic and a diagnosed bipolar who regularly went off his meds because he didn't like the way they made him feel. It was a Jekyll and Hyde story -- Will was a very intelligent man, an innovative risk-taker, and he could be quite generous with his employees. Hell, sometimes he was even loving -- he'd break down into tears of gratitude for all of us and tell us how much we meant to him. We were his family, since he didn't have a family of his own. But when he got into Hyde mode, he was condescending, manipulative, vindictive, and paranoid.

Meanwhile I was the child of an alcoholic, so my reaction to him was predictably codependent -- I thought if I could just be more perfect, he'd be happy.

God, what a horrendous six years that was! I dreamed about him periodically for ten years afterward, dreamed that I was back at work for him and wondering how the hell that had happened. It wasn't until I wrote this poem that the dreams finally stopped.

But before I show you the poem, I have to tell you about the dream I woke up to on Mother's Day. It was a nightmare, actually. I dreamed that the kids and I were driving down the road in the Suburban, and when we came over a hill, we saw that the road was covered with water at the bottom. I crept closer, wondering how deep the water might be -- I couldn't tell because it was kind of around a curve -- when suddenly the road gave way beneath us.

I saw that the Suburban was about to be swept away in a torrent of water, so I yelled at the kids to jump out. I saw Randy and Erin jump to safety, but Jana wasn't with them. I searched the Suburban frantically but couldn't find her. In a strange twist, the Suburban changed, growing smaller and gradually morphing into a long piece of woven material that used to be a boat. I picked it up and shook it, hoping to find her, but she wasn't there. I was standing on the shore and Randy and Erin were still there...and I looked at the huge river of muddy brown water roaring by and realized Jana was in there somewhere. She was gone. I only had two children left, and it was my fault -- I shouldn't have driven so close to the water. I doubled over with the pain and started screaming her name over and over...

And that's when I woke up. Of course, I burst into tears. OMG, I've NEVER been so glad to wake up and discover I'd been dreaming! (Not even after the agent dream.) I tried to tell Mr. Robin about it, but I was crying too hard.

Then I tried to go back to sleep because it was still pretty early, but I was too shaken up. And wonder of wonders, Jana came down early, while everyone else was still asleep, and crawled in with me. We snuggled for a while and then she wanted to play one of her old favorite games; she likes to crawl up inside my nightgown and pretend she's a baby in my tummy again. Normally I'm not fond of this game -- she's about to turn six and it's a pretty tight fit -- but this time I was more than willing. She tucked her little body inside the front of my nightie, her head just under my chin, and asked, "Mommy, can I suck my thumb?"

"Sure, baby," I told her.

So she sucked her thumb and made gurgling baby sounds while I held her close to my naked breast, and it was so incredibly wonderful, I thought my heart would burst.

Then she started giggling and squishing my breasts and the moment passed. I laughed and told her to quit that and she giggled some more and said, "But Mommy, I like jiggling your boobies!"

That was when I decided it was time to get up and make breakfast. I discovered to my dismay that there were only six strips of bacon left, but Erin doesn't like bacon, so I figured I'd give two to Mr. Robin, two to Randy and two to Jana. I cooked them up and then scrambled some eggs before getting down paper plates. As usual, I went to make Mr. Robin's plate first, and when I reached for the bacon, there were only two pieces on the paper towel.

"Who ate all the..." I turned around and there was Jana, clutching the tail end of a piece of bacon and giving me a guilty grin.

"I just love bacon so much, Mommy," she said earnestly.

Any other day, I'd have been annoyed with her, but all I could do was laugh. Randy, the little sweetie, gave up his two pieces so that his dad could have some, and we all had a nice morning.

It was, indeed, the stuff of dreams.

So here's today's contribution to the Poetry Train.

Way Overdue Purging Acrostic

Mystical swirling dispatched by a scream.
Yesterday's drama is this night's dream;
Sweating the truth of a job gone wrong,
Trembling with anger I've swallowed too long,
Eyes dripping hopelessness stare in the dark,
Realize crawling is leaving its mark
In a psyche too precious to squander on Will;
Only in nightmares of him do I kill--
Until now, I recall, lying back with a yawn,
Sunrise will find my boss stabbed on his lawn.

(Oh, I needed that!)

© 2003 Robin L. Rotham

(I'm still using the same old Mr. Linky, so if you've signed in once, you don't need to do it again.)

Mathe-Manic Monday

No clever or insightful lead-in this week. I'm just too tired! But here's another egghead poem of mine. In high school, when I was deep into algebra, geometry, and trig classes, I did actually dream in mathematical symbols and equations, which was very freaky. My writing instructor told me that one day, this would be plastered on the doors of mathematics departments everywhere, but that day hasn't arrived yet.

Mathe-Manic Dreams

Triangle burns
with abstraction keen,
grappling with theory
and searching for mean.

Add me to tangent,
divide me by pi--
must be obtuse,
'cause I can't figure why

all these symbols are people
and functions, relations.
What's the solution
to all these equations?

Wake with a start,
wipe the drool from my desk--
yawn and keep cramming
for algebra test.

© 2003 Robin L. Rotham

My Poetry Monday

I know, I know -- I shared a silly limerick on my last post, which probably led you to expect more of the same today. Sorry to disappoint, but this is my favorite of my poems and I really wanted to share it. It's for someone I've blogged about before. If you need a refresher, here's the post.

Don't forget to leave a link if you're posting something of yours today!

Grandmother

More than thirty years have flown
since fate first found me
dreaming in your nest.

You, all wrapped in cotton
shuffling slippered down the hall,
still tuck me in.

Bathroom lights reveal the pins
in curls that always envied mine,
and tissues in your sleeve.

Rings not ever parted from you
spin upon your sparrow’s hand
as diamonds pat my cheek.

Balm of favored lotion
soothes my heart and it’s as if
I’ve never gone.

Eyes in hollows forged by age
and illness ever present
smile and know me.

Bending down, you offer one last kiss
without a word
and I am eager.

Toothpaste and a hint of you
speak comfort always found
beneath your wing.

I wake and know the stone that bears
your name is all my lips
can ever touch.

Still, I sleep within your walls
and hoard your kisses
till we’re home again.

© 2003 Robin L. Rotham


Mr. Linky is acting up in the dead of night, so if he's still on the fritz, just leave a comment and I'll hunt you down. :D

Jump Aboard the Poetry Train

The Creative Goddess and I are feeling the urge to bare our innermost souls (I mean even more than usual), so we're going to begin posting our poetry on Mondays, and we'd like to encourage all of you to join us.

Of course, it doesn't have to be poetry. Any sort of creative expression you've indulged in -- an anecdote, short story, cartoon, etc. -- would be great.

Just to get everyone in the mood, here's a little gem I wrote for Mr. Robin:


Romance (a limerick)

I knew that romance had departed,
Though the honeymoon barely had started--
As we flew down the road
My dear prince, now a toad,
Left the window rolled up when he farted.

Now, you've got to be able to come up with something better than that!