JOURNAL OF A MOM – RESTLESS HEARTED ~ BOJANA STOJCIC

In my previous post about my son B, I talked about our bad sides: having a short fuse, chronic impatience, stubbornness and ways of dealing with frustration. Now comes the good part. Maybe. You be the judge.

There are things the two of us absolutely adore and habitually put into practice, whenever.

We love puppies and often play with them. Though we don’t have one of our own, we’ll always find a victim in the street or parks we go to. Dogs over cats, of course! (Sorry cat lovers), whether they lick us, bark, howl, snarl or wag their fluffy tails.

We find Chopin soothing. There’s no better music to lull you to sleep, except in the evening when ‘Goodnight to you, goodnight to me’ will just do.

We are crazy about sand, and water. Leave us there and get lost. Don’t come back.

Our favorite pastime in the playground, besides playing in the sandpit, is the slide, and the swing (swinging at least 40 min till we fall asleep). While there, we might steal other kids’ toys (especially dumping cars, balls or sand toys) and flee the scene of a crime without being noticed and/or getting caught.

We have a soft spot for clocks and every time we see one, we’ll make sure everyone sees it by pointing it out and saying ‘clo…’ (k’s are so outdated anyway). Yes, we love pointing. Sue us! This includes planes and choppers, screaming aka aka, as well as trains. We’re completely nuts about trains (and elevators, riding up and down and pressing call buttons,…and cranes…and buses…and trucks, especially garbage ones. We’ve even been offered a position in solid waste management). FTR, we know all subway stations in the neighborhood and can unmistakably go to the nearest one from home (willingly) and back (reluctantly).

Our favorite places in the apartment are kitchen (foodies is right) and bathroom (loooove bubble baths, both alone or with mom or dad).

We love the sound of the rain on our bedroom window and could watch and listen to it for hours on end while mom sings: ‘Rain rain, go away.’

We enjoy brushing teeth together, swaying and singing: ‘Brush your teeth up and down,’ as well as toy theater with mom as the only/best actress.

When it comes to more abstract things, we’d say we value independence and unconventionality.

We go with the flow of life and are comfortable with ourselves.

We don’t profess to be free-spirited. We ARE free-spirited (and fun-loving, however impulsive).

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We like things our way and are fiercely unapologetic, as people often describe us.

We are not restricted by other people’s opinions and always have one of our own.

We’re allergic to bullshit. We have to speak our mind, one way or the other. It’s not that we don’t want to, we are simply not able to hold our tongue if we find something unappealing, untrue, stupid or boring (read: not in accordance with our standards). So we say directly what we think, that is, mommy does, while I (until I begin to say it loud and clear) will slap your face, pull your hair, take your toys, slam the doors, cry, scream at the top of my lungs, run around, run away, roll on the floor/ground, make a scene, stomp my feet, throw things around or break them down.

We don’t (can’t) pretend and are not trying to be mysterious. You see how we feel on our faces. Remember Meg Ryan in French Kiss? Happy, smile! Sad, frown! Use the corresponding face with the corresponding emotion!

When we don’t feel like doing something, however much we like it, we don’t do it. It’s ok not to be in the mood. Did we say we’re moody?

When we have nothing smart to say, we don’t say anything. We’ll start talking…one day. Don’t push us. We love doing things at our own pace.

Don’t underestimate us. We can do it and we will. In case we don’t or can’t, you will. Don’t overestimate us. This is stupid anyway. Besides, it’s your job. No objections, please.

OK, OK, we’ll say it. We are dominant and oftentimes order people around. That is, most of the time….OK, all the time. Jesus, didn’t we say not to push us?!

Don’t try to contradict us. We’re right. All. The. Time.

Last but not least, NO means NO. We won’t change our mind. If we ever do, it’ll be on a full stomach. Our demands are nonnegotiable. Period.

Slo Mo

Let’s make love suddenly
with all the lights on
and everyone home
Cross-legged, sprigged
thick like a leaf
skirting the horned edges
of that cracked
flower pot in the garden
where everyone else is
brunching on Prosecco
with tongues ready for deep gossip
while they work the runny
eggs off their chins
slo mo sizzle on a Sunday

Let’s, you and I, dip our fingers
in the punch bowl
Two, no, three body lengths away
Let’s grab the cherries
by the pits, my dear,
while the espresso roasts
and the jazz grinds slo

Let’s make it with our teeth
and tangle the stems into kinks
Let’s prick all the peaches
with our thumbs
And suck out the meat
of the oranges
And dance on
the pomegranate seeds
that slip out
from under the backs
of our thighs
As we shine the last
apple to sparkling
Toes to heels
Straight up

While the dank breeze hangs lo
And the music swells
up like a lagoon
Let’s raise our bellies
to meet the slo mo
burn of the rum
And the char of the grill
and the clink of the glass
frothing at the mouth
of the morning that’s rusting
like two dirty ankles beneath
the weight of our overripe
bodies begging
to burst like swollen plums
Caught in the pollen
of our two eyelids

My darling, let’s stare
at one another
until the ice melts

Originally published on The Used Life

The Knight’s (Dragon’s) Pedestal ~ Samantha Rose

It is a long down from this dungeon fortress,

captive behind bars of fangs and smoldering dragon’s breath,

sliced open on the glimmering edges of his scales –

 

I placed her gently in an ivory tower, saved by chivalry’ sword

and shielded under my cloak and protected from the mighty

brutes and beasts lurking in the oceans and on the earth –

 

He stole my wings and stitched them onto his own back,

my flight stripped and swallowed by his gnashing jaw

and boiled in the fire of his belly, the heat allowing him to rise –

 

And she, the purest of the sexes, soft, porcelain, breakable –

exalted on her feminine pedestal, I bow to her, lifting her handkerchief

as if bestowing a crown upon her delicate forehead –

 

His dagger horns form a cutting crown, belying his total power,

he ruler of the earth, I, confined by his decree.

But he forgets that I, too, breathe fire from the matches in my throat.

 

© Copyright Samantha Rose 2018


You can catch more of Samantha existing at her blog, Existential Poetry.

A Ghost to Haunt – Chris Nelson

I am the name you never said,

The one who slips from bed to bed,

The favoured book you never read,

A constant doubt within your head.

 

I am the cross upon your door,

The creeping root beneath the floor,

The tortured dress you never wore,

An icy vein that will not thaw.

 

I am the word you never spoke,

The mirror’s face behind its smoke,

The frozen time behind night’s cloak,

A laugh too late to catch the joke.

 

I am the time you never planned,

The days that slipped out of your hand,

The rusted icon on the stand,

An effigy on broken land.

 

I am the cry at dead of night,

The splintered dream lost in mid-flight,

The falling bird that knows its plight,

A final line you could not write.

 

I am the bridge you could not cross,

The path below grown old with moss,

The road behind grown cold with loss,

An ancient sign now lost its gloss.

 

I am the one you’d never court,

The fated friend you never sought,

The thief of time I’ll leave you naught,

A ghost to haunt your every thought.

 

I am the name you never said,

The one that fills your heart with dread,

The name in everything you read,

A ghost to haunt the days ahead.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

 

If you enjoyed this, thank you! To read more please visit chrisnelson61

Patchwork – The Used Life

abstract world

I don’t contemplate trees
or the latticework of a banana peel
like a tulip lined fence
under the bark of a dogwood
preparing to burst its flowering
buds in the wake of a blue bird’s
wing

I don’t like structure or formalism
or heavy expostulations or connect-the-dots
1-2-3 like academics and paper hangers
do abab and pundits and other well-read
people who are all big
draggy brains (like Ginsberg says)
and no music

I like people who can hear
the sound who move to the beat
who think in rhyme and dance down
sidewalks in scuffed up kicks and
who know that souls have their own shoes
and tap their own chorus and cut up
their own verse and who listen to the rhythm
with their long hair and see the words with
their ears like paper birds
dangling from the yellow pleats of their eyelids […]

Continue reading on The Used Life

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN ~ BOJANA STOJCIC

Change out of your ill-intentioned criticism
like you change out of wet clothes
Dispose of quasi-intellectual swordplay
imagine it’s hazardous waste you dump in someone else’s seas
if it’s gonna make it easier
Get rid of your flamboyant confidence, and
highly combustible speeches
like you’d get rid of lonesome socks and expired meds
forget them like promises and mom’s chocolate cake recipes
you’ll never keep
Stop hurling armies against armies
Do away with your racism and xenophobia
your country continues to be built on the backs of immigrants
Don’t kill hope, let
Lady Liberty do her job
Throw away your harmful kicks, and godlike omnipotence
like yesterday’s papers
like useless wire hangers for shirts you never liked
like worn out shoes however much you like them
Toss your bomb threats
like you’d toss old VHS tapes and business cards into the trash
don’t you know you’re disposable too
your expiration date is blinking No longer safe to consume
Throw them out like broken toys
while you still can
your children have children
Miss a chance to make a fortune
Let others pursue happiness for a change


 

* You can read more of Bojana’s work at Blogging with Bojana