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All posts by Nan Mykel

Re-Submission for d’Verse

Published September 6, 2018 by Nan Mykel

WHO’S LEFT?

If you can’t make jokes about crazy folks,

who can you joke about?

Crazy actions, crazy sayings, they’re ok I guess.

But not queers or retarded dears nor

blacks, browns, reds or yellows–

Hare-lipped. cross-eyed, club-footed

Hare Krishnas, holy rollers, jews and muslims,

they’re all off-limits, specially red necks and old biddies

and bastards, the lame and in-laws

and while poor white trash do cause me pause,

bleached blondes, fat folks, hearing impaired,

gods without humor and scary presidents do not.

But better keep me away from would-be poets!

AND THE ELDERLY!

Encounters Of the Third Kind – Verse

Published September 2, 2018 by Nan Mykel

ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND

I have a little snowman

Who isn’t made of snow.

I met a man who knew him

Before we two met, and so

I wasn’t surprised to find

He was the other kind.

 

When ‘ere the sun is out

His little arms they wave

And I guess this little habit

Will follow him to the grave.

 

Sometimes I want to stop him,

Offer him some tea,

See his black eyes twinkle

Looking back at me.

 

He follows his blueprint to a T

And just does what he aught

Alas I am  the other kind

who can’t do right for naught.

I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN…

Published August 30, 2018 by Nan Mykel

In order to respond to a recent blog posting by a survivor,  I got out a book I wrote and published in 2014, and re-read it.  Because the world is so threatened by anything that smacks of sex offending or incest, it’s basically never been read. I published it through Create Space and did nothing to publicize it. Oh, I sent a note to the local paper which was discarded, but I write, I don’t push.  After 4 years I have only 282 blog followers, but I love them all.   My county library was disinterested in helping to sponsor a presentation on the book, and I didn’t push.  A follower wrote something positive about the book but I didn’t know enough to pick up her review and run with it (thank you).

But the thing is, it’s good and valuable and I’ll soon be 83 and no one will have profited from it.  Sooo–I’m going to try and schedule a discussion of it at the county library, knowing that the incest offenders, for whom it was primarily written as well as survivors who I also believe can profit from it but are ashamed, will probably not show up.  I have one friend who I believe will attend–won’t you, Alexa?

The discussion will be based on the book Fallout: A Survivor Talks to Incest Offenders plus her journal including dreams, drawings, and reflections.  I treated sex offenders at Hocking Correctional Facility for 12 years, and spent two or three years researching the literature.  At first I began to write on just my experience as a survivor, and the damage incest causes, but then I realized that would be too easy to discount, so I began the research.

Since I used to be a clinical psychologist before I got too old, the session will hopefully involve give and take more than preaching.

I’m kinda scared to do it, but I figure if I announce I’m going to do it I’ll follow through.

(I think I can.)

SCHEDULED THURSDAY,   NOVEMBER 1 st,  6:30p.m.  Big Meeting Room, Library,

Athens, Ohio, but they want a sponsoring organization so I’ll push through that situation.

I’m Sorry …

Published August 30, 2018 by Nan Mykel

Beautiful and energizing. I’m re-blogging

jilldennison's avatarFilosofa's Word

The human heart has limits, folks.  We have limits to what we can absorb, how much we can feel before we finally just … burst.

Tonight, after many frustrating, sad, maddening news stories, after writing my post for this a.m., and just as I was about to head to bed, I got a notification that I had a Facebook message from one of my favourite people in this world, Rob Roland.  Rob used to live next door to us, and I always knew that as long as he was here in da hood, there was nothing and nobody that was going to hurt me or mine.  Though Rob stands about 6’8”, he always called me Grannie, always had a hug for me, and insisted that his three adorable little girls say “yes ma’am” or “no ma’am” when I asked them a question.  Rob’s wife Aundrea is a sweetheart and I…

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Child sexual trafficking : The Gatorland Waterski Show Team

Published August 29, 2018 by Nan Mykel

I’m not sure what the#metoo procedure is all about, but it sounds like this should be an addition to the list Me too, by the way.

window wept–reblogged poem

Published August 28, 2018 by Nan Mykel

I wonder–what is the equivalence of the window’s glass?  Apologies to Grumpy for getting carried away and adding one of my own photos.

A PROSE POEM–WELL, PROSE ANYWAY

Published August 28, 2018 by Nan Mykel

What does it mean that we can fuss

over protons being two places at once                                                    

when millions are starving and homeless?

Has our brainpower overshot its mark?

 

We could speak of kinship preferences

if we were taking care of our own

but I include myself among those who

worry about how trees can hear.

 

Or spend time wondering if the protons

who don’t do their thing if observed

would behave the same stubborn way

if the observer were a dog or baboon.

Could our brains be too big for our britches?

—-

(Going through old papers–don’t know if this has been posted or not).

Photo Google Source black & white trash

Working on a Haiku

Published August 27, 2018 by Nan Mykel

 

A follower kindly suggested I add a haiku to my post on the Angel (8-20-18), making it a haibun for d’Verse.  I doubt my ability but thought it might be fun to watch me squirm:

raindrop eats the light

firefly carries it

forest eats the fire

fire eats the forrest

 

NO, that’s connected in no way at all to the Angel story.  Try again, Nan.  (Besides, it’s not 5-7-5)

Choir of crickets blare

Two roads diverging at night

flat tire disaster

or

Angels in the night

Descend  Respond to cry needs unspoken

Hosannas  Don’t forget thank-yous.

but

it’s not supposed to directly continue the first part. So,

The old bullfrog belched

down the road over the hill                              

he’s and fat with insects

synchronicity

 

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