Tag Archives: bedtime

Grandchildren (and Others) on the Loose

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22

Digitally painted photo: Granny at PlayAt Granny’s House

That impish twinkle in her eyes

might lead you to hypothesize

that Granny’s up to something good,

and you’d be right, oh, yes you would—

There’s something in the oven now,

sweeter than Mama’s rules allow,

and some wild playtime to be had

surpassing anything that Dad

prefers, as well, and there’s a tree

you’ll climb, you and your sisters three—

Before your parents spoil the romp,

she’ll make her funny false teeth chomp,

make goofy faces, mad as yours,

all five will then get on all fours

and roll around the living room—

Eight-thirty! chimes the clock, and boom!—

Just as their car pulls up the drive,

you all head for the couch and dive

into a tidy line, as calm

and placid as a Dad and Mom

could hope to see, and Granny’s eyes are

twinkling. Parents?

None the wiser.Digitally painted photo: Playtime

Fly by Night

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7

graphite drawingBeguiling Moonlight

Every autumn evening, at the end of day,

The moon’s pale eminence sends out a silver-shining ray

A-glinting through the branches and glimmering on leaves

And shimmering on spiderwebs tucked underneath the eaves

And calling all the kitty-cats from shadowed alleys out

To torment all the night-birds still fluttering about,

And drawing from their houses the dogs behind the slats

Of shuttered sleepy windows to torment all the cats,

And pulling on the heart-strings of every sleepy child

To call each one to play out in the moonlight, in the wild,

To dance among the cat-kins and soar among the birds

And leap among the moon-mad dogs and sing the magic words

That cast a spell of loveliness on creatures so, and soon,

We’ll fall asleep, each one of us, under the autumn moon.

It’s Not Just Dragon-Breath that Scares Me

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12

graphite drawing

Night Terrors and Morning Madness

How odd, arising in the morning, to look in the mirror’s glass,

To see someone so unfamiliar, so unkind, uncouth and crass,

So ill-mannered and repellant, full of grossness, grease and grunge,

And to wonder how on earth I can begin to clean, expunge,

Remove, ameliorate; to salvage any goodness I could hope

To find in such an unfit carcass; rescue with what bar of soap,

What fell razor or belt sander, what hair shirt, what whips and chains

Aimed at purifying putrid monster madness, would what else remains

E’en resemble who I used to think I was, have any grace?

What relief, when after coffee, I come back and see my face!

Under all of it, thank heavens, lies the self I onetime knew,

With its kindly dragon scales and bony crest familiar: Whew!