Skipping the Dam Tour

On driving in…rocks, rocks.
Lots of rocks.

Mountains majestic…and desert bare.
Rocks, rocks. Lots of rocks.

My origins from East
Make West alien.

Arresting, rugged, tall, these rocks.
Mighty H dam is dizzying in scope.

So the tour…signage thus:
DO NOT enter if you…
Have a pacemaker.
No, but I plan to need one.
Have a defibrillator.
No, but also on my to-do list.
Are claustrophobic.
Bingo! No dam tour for me!

But no worries…none.
Sitting outside taking in sun.
People watching while sipping the bean,
Contemplating in a state of serene,
How they tamed these rocks and made them mind,
A more interesting place you’re not likely to find,
Amid rocks. Rocks.
Lots of rocks.

Dorothy Hagan
March 13, 2017

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Posted in Desert, Fun, Hoover Dam, mountains, Poetry, Uncategorized, YOLO | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Healthcare Solution: CongressCare

It’s so simple. The solution to our access to healthcare dilemma is right in front of us: CongressCare. Why shouldn’t every person in the United States have the same access to healthcare that our members of Congress enjoy? I mean, really, why not?

How is it that the elected leaders standing there pushing ways to limit our access to healthcare are the same ones who can use their government insurance to go anywhere they want?

And before anyone says, well, the country can’t afford that, understand that Congress is being paid by our tax dollars. They are on the government payroll. All of them. And somehow we taxpayers can afford to pay for their insurance.

And before anyone says, I don’t want no government insurance, it seems to be working fine for members of congress, their spouses and their children. Has anyone in the US Senate not been able to get their child to the doctor? No, I didn’t think so.

Fellow Americans, I am as serious as I can be. Call your members of congress and your senators and your president to demand CongressCare for everyone. Flood them, overwhelm them, convince them that the American people are just as deserving as they are when it comes to access to healthcare.

CongressCare

Where US citizens get the same access to healthcare as the elected leaders we employ.

Demand it today.

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Jumping Jack Fancies

Inspiration is everywhere
It’s on my fingers and in my hair
It’s on the streets
It’s in the yards
It’s in the treats
It’s in the hard
Est parts of living, breathing, never sleeping.
Inspiration is jumping free
Springing from every pore on me.

Cannot write it fast enough
Now there’s an idea on my cuff
Of the dress I’m not wearing
Of the figure I’m not sharing
Because while ideas are plump
I’d rather not be.

Dorothy Hagan
March 9, 2017

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With My Buddy L’Oreal

In time to go from brown to blonde
I can ponder things of which I’m fond
Traveling, eating, writing, sleeping
Seeing friends with which to bond.

Wondering about the months ahead
Worrying over words I’ve said
Learning, planning, burning, scanning,
All this while colors bind my head.

Dorothy Hagan, March 8, 2017

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Lost Dad

Dad the Secret
Dad the Dread
Dad and empty words he said.

Dad the Absent
Dad the Lost
Dad I wanted at any cost.

Dad the Guilty
Dad the Frail
Dad who always seemed to fail.

Dad the Gone now
Dad the Still
Dad the Sorrow that always will.

Dorothy Hagan
March 7, 2017

Posted in indie author, Recovery, Regrets, Secrets, Spirts, Stephen King, Therapists, Uncategorized | Tagged , | Leave a comment

First Cats

First of own was Ringo Starr,

Whitest cat I’ve had by far

Before him though was Shashie black

First one I ever almost smacked

Took my bologna and scratched me good

Me just four so I guess he could

Snatch that meat with sharpest pinchers

My Aunty pegged him The Bologna Snitcher.

But Mom said to forgive him

Because he liked bologna.

 

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Of Birds and Bobcats and Offspring All

bradstreethouse

Of Birds and Bobcats and Offspring All

Inspired by Anne Bradstreet’s poem
In Reference to Her Children, 1659

I had four bobcats in my lair,
Two were toms and two were fair.
Off they’ve ventured far and near,
Seems unreal with not one here.
Three from litter, one was claimed,
Miss them all with pain the same.
Most solitary, each of them,
Just one mate in just one den.
Claimed tom now in desert deep,
Pray the Lord his soul to keep,
Safe as he hunts with those quite brave,
Wish he were now here in my cave.
Eldest tom is firm and lean,
Light of foot and eyes quite keen.
His den is close which brings delight,
Can take him food on a moonlit night.
Eldest female traverses far,
Across the spans to another star.
Her coat is red and of spotted hue,
She’s focused, sleek and agile, too.
Baby kit strong as the rest,
Playful, thoughtful, full of zest.
Bold and tender, small and swift,
She will make my spirits lift.
That’s my four to Anne’s full eight,
Birds and bobcats were our fate.

So universal a mother’s fears,
Perils change not throughout the years.
When they were wee I panicked all,
Certain each would trip and fall,
Into trouble of unending kinds,
How do mothers not lose their minds?
Oh, how dear when I stroked their fur,
Kneaded, snuggled and heard them purr.
Nestled snug in our den so tight,
Safe from dangers about the night.
But fate decrees they grow and flee,
Far from here and away from me.
Now trust is what I must embrace,
Believing full in faith and grace,
That they’ll live their lives with full aplomb,
As they make themselves a snuggled home.

At first I wandered lost in thought,
Paralyzed by the change this wrought.
My empty lair so stark and still,
I longed once more for it to fill,
With playful noises amidst the den,
How could I now live without them?
When hunting for a meal to share,
A rabbit brought into the lair,
But kits to eat were now nowhere.
Within me cries “How is this fair?”
Can a bobcat cry like a human lost?
Her entire purpose now since been tossed?
But, oh, how now this angst must end,
Replaced with thanks that kits now spend,
Their days in places they choose to be,
Coats shining strong and velvety.
They’ll bring rabbits to their own one day,
Groom them well, and hug and say,
“What utmost joy were my bobcats dear,
Who now are gone far away from here.”

I must thank you, Anne, for your theme so real,
For collective truth and broad appeal,
To mothers all in whatever form,
Who know the love of those we bore.

Dorothy Drusilla Hagan
February 11, 2017

And now follows, a brief commentary:

A Modern Comparison
to Anne Bradstreet’s poem
In Reference to Her Children

Written 358 years ago, Anne Bradstreet’s In Reference to Her Children is a tribute to her poetic prowess, and a testimony to the many universal themes of motherhood. Composed in forty-eight iambic tetrameter couplets, the poem is ninety-six lines in length. It is composed in roughly three parts: a description of her children, her fears as she brings them up, and her feelings as life slows down when this task is nearly done. Try as I might I could not exactly repeat her eight-syllable lines; for the most part seven syllables seem to come more naturally to me, and I feel perhaps that’s what I am meant to contribute.
Having had the privilege to teach Anne Bradstreet to my high school students, I was overjoyed to find this poem outside of class in another text. It has inspired me to try to imitate her theme, meter and rhyme scheme. The emotional trappings of motherhood are much the same over the centuries. Truly, I was struck by just how much her feelings were my feelings. Mrs. Bradstreet used the metaphor of birds in her nest; I have chosen bobcats in my lair.

Thank you with every shred of my being, Anne, for sharing your poem with me and inspiring me thus. One of your daughters shared my name, and I hope within this namesake I may reach across the ages, and offer blessings, from my family to yours.

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Posted in Anne Bradstreet, Bobcats, Children, Female Poets, Lairs, Motherhood, Uncategorized | Leave a comment