Po-M (by guest blogger CMM)

The laziness of man
will be our downfall.

We choose to take the easy way out
every time.

We tell other people not to pollute
as we throw our trash
behind us for our
grandchildren to care to....

Why care?

It's not our problem,
why give a shit?!

Hell, I don't even think I'll finish this poem........
Is  it even a poem?
I don't see any rhythm or rhyme!

truth is
it is a poem and I am going to finish it
and with that attitude
I do care what happens to the planet even if half the people who read this don't.

Please care!
It's the only chance of there being a future!



Imagene is its name but it doesn't really need one.
It's there when I need it to be 
and I've never had to call for it before.

It doesn't call me Crissy
or Crystal
or Sissy
or Crissygirl....
it just sort of communicates in its own way;
the same way my stuffed animals communicate to each other
and to me
in their own way.

With Bic inked tongue 
Imagene keeps account.
Story ideas,
blog post thoughts,
poetry prompts,
journal entries,
and driving directions are first
spoken by me
then issue forth in the form of brilliance covered super paper
 from its slightly billed mouth.
Kinda like a duck bill
with adding machine tape running out,
but with brilliance added.

With a glitch-less satellite feed
Imagene leads the way to everywhere I need to go
except Allentown.  
I don't know why
 but it won't go.
So I run Mapquest in full view so it knows my frustration at
having to venture to Allentown alone.

Imagene smells like freshly brewed coffee
and autumn leaves
and sea breezes
and fried chicken
and Steve.
Not all at once, mind you,
but when it wants to
at random times,
and it's always nice to be reminded it's near.

Imagene is 'feather pillow' soft
and 'newly stuffed pillow' plump
for me to rest upon.
so am I 
so Imagene
rests  back on me.

It keeps the stuffed animals in line
and entertained
and can hear what my son is up to from a mile away,
but it's not a snitch
so it won't tell me.

The most educated vegetarian chef
Imagene could whip up three 
perfectly healthy,
energy abundant
 meals a day for me,
but I never let it.
It reminds me that chicken is a meat, too
and I've started to cut back a little.

It never worries;
it knows I can handle myself.
It never judges;
it knows the strength of my conscience.

I feel it hugging me when I cry,
and my cat sees it 
and chases it away
so she can come back to comfort me instead.
The cat is jealous and territorial.
Imagene doesn't take it personally.
Imagene is great like that.

Do you have an imaginary friend of your own?  Introduce them to the rest of us!!  Join in on 'The Imaginary Challenge' at www.inspiringchallenges.blogspot.com.  Post in the comments section a description of your imaginary friend.  Or, you could email me your description (crissygirl@care2.com)  and I'll post it for you.  Maybe they'll all get to know each other and hang out and stuff :)


To Breathe Again

Fresh from the land of the dead
he appeared.
Or reappeared?

Only supposed dead,
not zombie-like, to offer a comparison
but gone.

Still in my mourning,
days later I rub my eyes
in disbelief
and a little trepidation.

What changes must have taken place
through the journey from old life
to new life
to new beginning?

What transformation took hold through the loss,
the acceptance,
the divine opportunity to begin anew?

Perhaps life and death will continue to battle before our eyes.
Perchance Loss is merely taunting us,
allowing us a renewed hope
to fully introduce
a deeper pain.

No matter.
My hand is once again in yours.
Miraculously, we breathe again
as the land of the dead stands vacant
until our united return.


A Little Slice, Please

Looking down at the near blind but youthfully frisky feline I remarked
on 'you and me and our little life'.

The little life that stays within the limited blocks of
grocery stores,
a bakery,
the honest mechanic that remains the only commonality
between my divorced parents,
and of course
the vet.

With two out of a few of our loved ones
slumbering in the adjacent little rooms
the cat, still in a sleepful haze
lazily makes her way to the door
to watch birds
she has no opportunity
or real desire
to capture.

I follow faithfully
to pull aside the blinds
and let the view in
or out
depending on who's view.

My little life consists of Scrabble again
because it's Thursday
sleep again
because there's work tonight
and hope again that this day will favor
or fortune
 to advance this little life to a size a little larger,
but not by much.



Strong-armed by Time,
that petty thug pushing
another victim down an alley,
I'm manipulated forward

Half a heart beating
serves as inadequate propulsion
for anything more than
one step forward, sometimes;
a halted gasping for air, at others.

But the seconds continue their march.
Always the tick of Time
indiscriminate in Its prodding forth
the stragglers and the eager
the surviving aside the thriving

Always, Today begins again.
Having chosen to enter
I brave
the almighty metronome.
Perhaps two steps could be managed.