Life

All posts in the Life category

TO LIFE

Published September 15, 2019 by Nan Mykel

I’m happy.

I want to stay a while longer.                     

No lightning bolt from the sky, please.

Let me linger

in the sweetness of the days and nights

and the coolness of the old shade tree.

Praise be to

whatever there is out there, in here

just over the horizon of my ken.

I play with you

in this sandbox, and together we make

do with what it seems we have.

 

Image:  Ken Karr.com                                                                                                                      Nan- Time Wrinkles,  2015

 

Oh for Snow!

Published August 12, 2018 by Nan Mykel

Hi ho hi ho

I’m an old Eskimo.

Sleepy after sleeping

Down words a-bleeping.

Shades of hell in New Mex

Like the rest of the text

Life in the heat with fires

hidden life behind tires

Wha’ happened to pretty

thoughts in the ditty?

If things get much worse

I may have to curse

and go back to bed,

c-pap on my head.

 

 

Back in 1946 or 1947…

Published July 15, 2018 by Nan Mykel

I received a letter from the Charlotte North Carolina’s Writers Club congratulating me for being the youngest entrant to their short story writing contest.  I didn’t win, but I got a letter.  My story was possibly a page long, but it involved two rivalling forces–one entirely good and the other entirely bad, and they had equal power.  As it turned out, despite their equal power the good force won simply because it was good.  How little did I know about life…

I KNOW BIG RED RIDER DOESN’T RHYME

Published April 13, 2018 by Nan Mykel

BIG RED RIDER

Not so long ago, in the normal

world of things, a little woman

on her way to visit grandma met

a big red wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“You can trust me,” he said with

a grin, “She’s my grandma too and

I want to see who she voted for.”

 

The little woman became scared when

the wolf’s teeth began to show from

under the sheep’s pearly white skin,

and she feared for grandma’s health.

“I’m going on a picnic” she protested,

“on a restful picnic.” “Well who did you

vote for, my pretty?”

 

“I cannot tell a lie: Bernie.”

Big Red huffed and he puffed and he

grew red in the face too.  “Can you prove

you’re a citizen and not a wetback?

Your hair is black, unlike mine, so

the ICE team may grab you and grandma

too. If you’re not for me you’re ag’in me.”

 

Oh where was the brave hunter who

would step out and save her?  Was he

already fired for being too sharp?

“Fie fie, sir” she cried out hotly—

“How many of the 10 Commandments

have you broken in office?  Mueller,

my brave hunter will arrive at last.”

 

So perhaps the normal world of things

will return without whimper and

the denizens of Make Believe Land

will shine with the child’s regained hope

that love can be gentle, respectful and

honest, and that truth is no longer a

carelessly tossed flapjack.

 

Kinda Preachy?

Published April 3, 2018 by Nan Mykel

While continuing my discard trip through ages of hoarding the written word, I’m about to discard the following, but cheating and saving it here:

The majority of people are born with one head, two arms and two legs. They have two eyes, two ears, one nose and mouth.  But there across-the-board similarities appear to stop. (Of course they stopped with the first sentence in some who have had to struggle from birth with physical differences).

Inside, however, great differences can and do exist. Our nighttime dreams are unique to us, as are our combination of innate temperaments, our perceptions, intellectual potential, educational and family environments, and our genes. (Scientists have even identified a gene for “happiness.”)

It is natural to assume that most of us are as alike inside as outside. We begin to feel different soon after exposure to other children, however.  Temperamental differences are one example. With age, some children learn to hide their unique differences; differences which appear unique to themselves; differences which are viewed negatively by others.

Become aware of your feelings as you read the following: cross-eyed, epileptic, club-footed, hare-lipped, retarded, crippled, senile, pock-marked, abused, victim, bow-legged, leper, old nag, brain-damaged, psychotic, neurotic… I wonder if the feelings differ if you’re inside one of these categories or outside.  Probably not, because we soak up society’s perception of us. You think, therefore I am.

Eric Berne developed the concept of life scripting, in which people assume the scripts and characteristics that others expect from them, early in life. Some people start out physically and mentally healthy, but along the way are shamed into dis-ease.*

When we feel diminished, we are diminished. When we feel shame, we are shamed. The carpet of our life rolls out until the ragged end unless we can somehow intercept its path.

*Of course, our parents play a big role in this

 

 

The Trolley Ride – a haibun

Published January 3, 2018 by Nan Mykel

If you ride a trolley long enough you’ll come to the end of the line.  You can then remember the sights and stops, the riders that come and go.  Maybe trouble on the line, cross words or banter, perchance the frozen grim look of out-of-sorts folks. Perhaps that little girl with lollipop all over her face. But search the faces–all of them–whose do you want to see?

poppinjays alight

the limb too weak to support

night slides into day

 

 

Kintsugi – the Japanese art of mending with beauty – reblog

Published September 21, 2017 by Nan Mykel

Incredible.

fantasticmetastaticme

I have been considering
kintsugi, and how
we heal ourselves,
we who are no longer whole,
and if we can
be beautiful
and flawed
and flawed
and beautiful.

I have considered
my scars, not golden,
not joyful,
not thoughtful, but
silver pale, glistening,
secret lines,
hidden from view,
and wondering
if I can be beautiful
even though
I can never be
mended, not entirely.

I am broken,
re-made,
broken again,
mended. I am
burnt, cut,
poisoned,
damaged.
I am not
who I was,
and yet I am
still here,
beautiful
and flawed
and flawed
and beautiful.

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You Are Not Your Scars (Re-blog)

Published August 5, 2017 by Nan Mykel

Taking this to heart:

The One in Four

“Youhavescarsonyourarm.” People sometimes approach me, whilst staring at my limb. My first and foremost reaction is to look down at my arm in fake surprise and panic, pretending I hadn’t previously realised the marks. Thank you Captain Obvious for your insightful input.

Sarcasm aside, I am more than happy to explain the cause of the raised streaks: when I can tell that a person is genuinely intrigued-and not intending to belittle me. I am comfortable with admitting that I did this to myself at low points in my life. That’s what happened. Why should I be ashamed of that?

I do not blame those who stare, or those who sneak a peek when they don’t realise that I can still see them out of the corner of my eye. It’s different. It’s human nature to feel that desire to take a second glance at the…

View original post 263 more words

I JUST DIED

Published July 11, 2017 by Nan Mykel

I JUST DIED

What’s it like? Like nothing else.

I’m liquid, and by the way I am we, not me.

Not gotten used to it yet

It’s kinda like I’m my own blood stream

–or, I mean we are. Life is everywhere,

and alive.  We were like bumps, sticking

out of the stew. Now we are

interchangeable, if that makes any sense.

Shut your eyes and feel the force field?

We are it.

 

 

Nan

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