Buddha Knows Best

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waiting for first coat to dry

pegging out clothes on the line

ivory tint in ponytailed hair

clotted cream scones tasting fine

 

pen and a coffee at hand

doodling flowers in the sun

soda and lime and ink on a page

ecstatic that summer has come

 

music chosen by kids

buddha sat under tree

lotused repose in semi-closed eyes

replete and contented like me

 

windows of soul opened wide

faint breeze to filter on through

leaves of green gratitude canopies all

wishing the same for all you

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The Grandmother

she doesn’t know what happened to the life she planned and hoped for

but somewhere on the route she lost her way

somewhere, over time, years voided girlhood and her reasons

while she watched and waited for those better days

those halcyon of yore that she was promised

by the fairy tales she’d heard and read, imbibed

where the prince is true and saves deserving maiden

and the perfect ending meets the perfect bride

instead she is the tarnished, disillusioned

more imprisoned now than then and saviours few

passed her way or loitered with intention

she was trapped inside and still the briars grew

confined inside a castle of contention

sojourner in a land that sees unveiled

every yarn that once began with once upon

nullifying happy ever after tales

a cinderella always, now grandmother

no fairy guardian to relieve the mess

pumpkins flourished, rats were rats and lizards reclined

there was no transformation, no new dress

surrogate to another willing victim

still the stories spun like threaded silk to bind

while she wondered what had happened, where salvation

where relief for careworn, worried mind

she fretted now and quite forgot to hope for

a future since her past had cast its spell

as she meditated where had all that time gone

then promises no more fables will she tell

she’ll let the child run ragged, even barefoot

oblivious to vows and promises that fail

she’s the mother of the son of errant daughter

and the child, though wild, is carefree, this tale tells