The Cultivated Ones

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The Cultivated Ones

The pampered roses are are all bred
much like step-ford wives to look alike.
From seedling to flowering
with abundant care, they do survive.

The gardener making sure they lay in measured mulch
are properly watered, holding the moisture
to prevent unwanted weeds from drinking and growing.
Halting the choking of a prized dressing of a cultivated lawn.

Unaware they are slaves to man’s idea of beauty
and never serving themselves.

Now, look at the daisy, some say she’s ugly,
just a wild, uncultured weed.
I say she’s a beauty, bending with the wind
growing sturdy through arid ground, so wild and free.

She’s the clever one, she’s cast off conformity.

Janet P. Caldwell December 16, 2015

Grateful and Pleased

grateful-watercolour

Grateful and Pleased

I have lived a good life
been loved by many
have 2 great children
and 4 grandchildren.

I have you, a song in my heart
and more than plenty.
There is nothing that I need and for that
I am eternally grateful, so pleased.

(c) Janet P. Caldwell

Pic: Free Google Images

For the Lady who ironed my Shirt

esra palace 2

 

For the Lady who Ironed my Shirt

You sat quietly on your appointed throne
fussing over your guests
to make all of us feel at home.

Little did you know
what a treat this was for me
as I do my own ironing
washing and cleaning.

I was treated as a Queen
from beginning to end.

When I think of you
it brings a tear to my eye
my sister, my friend.

As I approached you
crumpled shirt in hand
the ironing board seemed
to appear out of nowhere.

You arose as if to set my worries free
I smiled, extended my hand
and your soft eyes gazed at me.

We had a language barrier
but not for long . . .
who could not read
the needs between sisters
and the task set before you
was immediately understood.

Within minutes, there was a gentle
rap on my door. Your smiling face appeared
with my crease-less shirt
on a hangar, dangling from your arm.

I thank you and thanked you
and in your own way
you said that none was needed
it was your pleasure to help me
to begin fresh, to start my day.

Again, When I think of you
it brings a tear to my eye
my sister, my friend.
I love you and your giving ways.

(c) Janet P. Caldwell

Authors Note: While attending the International Poetry Festival in Rahovek, Kosovo, I had the good fortune to stay at Esra Palace and the staff could not have been more courteous.  This day a beautiful sister not only ironed my shirt but when I was looking for the hair dryer, she misunderstood and offered her own comb to me, later to find the dryer in my own room. The day before we left, she washed, dried and ironed all of our clothes. It was all we could do to give her a tip.  I cried at her selflessness.

I hope to see her again one day and wash her clothes. The waiters were just as gracious and on point. They would not even allow me to carry a coke or ashtray to my table on the veranda over-looking the beautiful vineyards of Rahovek, Kosovo. We almost had to throw money at them and run for their tip, which they more than earned. I highly recommend Esra Palace as home away from home.

Eden, Where Have You Gone?

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Eden, Where Have You Gone?

In this world of change

we are constantly

testing the waters

of what is and isn’t

politically correct.

You can not say this

you must not say that

or you will be labeled

divisive

ageist

racist

sexist

a plethora of things

all propelling hate crimes.

I long for the day

when we are all simply kind

loving, accepting, caring

of all peoples

and those other words

would never enter our minds.

Eden, where have you gone?

Are you within me, she and he?

I want to return to the garden

of love, where all know

they are divine

without being told

in the Know-ing

loving life and showing

the dream was not a lie.

(c) Janet P. Caldwell

Pic: Google Images – Labeled for re-use / No copyright Infringement Intended

Fireworks

fireworks

Fireworks

The minute the fireworks show had begun
I was mesmerized, they reminded me
of shooting stars.
Or what I imagined them to be.

Lying back on an old soft quilt
all carefully stitched by the gentlest hands
the one that grandmother made for me.

I watched as the colors exploded
into the sky above. I saw them all
red, pink, yellow, blue and green.
Some were even shooting through the trees.

Some were shaped like spiny flowers
others like my psychedelic posters
of an earlier age
and the drugs that went with them
in the crazy daze of the seventies.

At one point, someone set off
a bottle rocket that zoomed passed my face.
Freaked me out a bit
but I calmed down
and refused to let it bother me.

Summer fun is memorable
and the heat lets you know
that you’re alive.
With temples pounding
eating ice, skinny dipping
and wide awake tonight.

(c) Janet P. Caldwell

Free Images: Google