My grandmothers are
standing there ,
mother , maiden , crone .
Wisdom , transformation
and they are guardians
of the doorway .
☆
Black Crow waits patiently
outside .
New Moon in
Scorpio ,
the blank rune , Judgement ,
spirits of the earth and
material existence .
☆
Destiny is power and using
Chaos ,
like the three fates ,
or cutting a thread ,
only realising it was always
this way .
☆
My grandmothers are
standing there .

Just like a flea I’ve been taught not to jump higher then the limit that was set for me,
That to live is to be realistic,
So as I get closer older,
I discard those dreams,
Allowing them to slip uselessly through my fingers.
And when I have kids,
The cycle will continue,
I will teach them how to live,
So that their heads won’t hit the top of the lid.

I have no stock in a generation
Who does not care whether
There is social security enough left
To secure my retirement,
A system I have paid into tiringly.
If you want to end it
Be sure I receive my back checks,
Or risk being strung by the neck.
I have no assurances
I will even be allowed to retire,
Only assured those in the house
Could not care less
As to such questions of great importance.
They busy themselves with war,
While we suffer and only grow more poor
And have no interest in developing industry or infrastructure here at home.
They know nothing of the branch
Only the rich fruit of the olives,
Whatever ripe can be harvested.
Yet, they know not how to sow.

I cannot say if things are worse
Than times that went before
For I saw not that bygone world
Nor what they did endure

Where once their sight was short,
Now it's growing nearer
Starter homes that once held court
Go "green" like silver mirrors.

Elixirless were garden hoses
Plastic cups, no holy grail beneath their noses
Now all you have left are pictures
That time has robbed of hue
I study them now, and try to suppose it
The complexion hides no trace of youth:
Just spoiled cream and rotting roses
A foul-odored truth.

The trade was fair when young were the eyes
That fixed upon that crest, their prize
Now turned white with cataracts,
Still they **** it dry
And turn to bottles for babes set aside,
Begging pity for the old and blind
And anyone too far gone to toil.
"It shall be hard time," or so they cry,
"Served beneath the soil."

It's hard time indeed, that which is served
Beneath the ravaged soil;
So tell me:
Can a head that sold me, the undeserved,
Anoint itself with motor oil?

Quit yelling at your kids and expect them to sleep well
Quit yelling at your kids in the morning right after they wake up, before school and expect them to have a good day
You set the tone for your children
You set the tone for YOUR voice that they will always remember in their heads
You become their inner voice
Don't be their inner critic
Let's raise kids who don't need therapy to heal from their childhoods
Speak Life,
Speak Love,
Speak Bravery,
Speak Kindness,
Speak Hope,
Speak wisdom and,
Speak Truth
Most of all listen to your children. Be their safety net. Be their Home

-Michelle Sorenson, M. ED

sometimes i wonder when i cry, does god listen
but maybe i should quit crying
go back to rutland, where we all suffer
where we all ache bullet wounds
named after our mother
where we all love snow and
it often rains
so when the sun does come
it's a subtle pain
warmth unfamiliar
unaccustomed to change,
unprotected from the elements,
we are all one in the same-
the sisters and brothers
from the other side of the tracks
who got unlucky and missed the train.

sometimes i think god just went blind
or maybe he forgot our names
but at least we take cover in
the trauma of one another,
our broken bones
and broken veins

sometimes i wonder when we cry, does god listen
if we can ever heal in the arms of each other
if we shattered the sky could we
stop the rain

I try to choose kindness
I try to take deep
breaths
and let my anger wash out

But, my there are wasps in
my brain

there is a buzzing
hot
hot
heat
settled where my neck and head
meet

I swim laps in the pool
I walk the road and back
I hope that maybe I will
make it back
kinder

I walk foot trails with
my son
the leaves casting dappled light on his gold-spun hair
I feel my chest break at the sight
He is so kind but he is mine
will he feel this buzzing

will it lead him to break every day
I try to quiet my voice so
he doesn't learn
to yell

but I never learned quiet.
I am teaching myself. I am learning
He is patient with me
that is not his job

I see the sun on his hair
He jumps on my back in the pool
he giggles and wails
love incarnate

I think I will remember these times most
I will feel nostalgia bathed in dappled gold
when my bones are brittle and old
when I have finally learned
to quiet the buzzing

but will it be too late
will his giggles cease
will his small hands turn into fists
will he become me

I am teaching myself. I am learning.
I hope he is learning too
I hope he is seeing me try, seeing me take deep breaths
seeing me scramble for kindness
kindness!
I thrash against these angry chains and I hope he knows

but
I watched my father thrash his whole life
It is how I knew to try
I still carry his anger in me like
like wasps in my brain

I choose kindness
I take deep breathes
I swim laps and walk trails
I hope that kindness will
chose me back