Eden, Where Have You Gone?

google labeled for re-use

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





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




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

Hot Fun in the Summertime


Hot Fun in the Summertime

Hot fun in the summertime
those song lyrics
or should I say, the first line
keeps running through my mind.

The days of youth and fancy are gone
replaced by a wrinkled, smiling face
and thanking the heavens
for responsibilities, ever so long.

But hey, it is never too late
to stretch myself again.
Being silly and giggling
for no apparent reason
is my favorite thing, ya know.

Joyously expressing mirth
and to have some good, clean fun
in the season of the sun.

I intend to capture a bit of this
by letting my hair down
no makeup or frills, my bed
is made from the earth’s solid ground.

We will fly kites today
play made up games
and toss a Frisbee around.

We’ll also dance in the moonlight
and blow rainbow bubbles
watching them float like clouds
before bursting and dripping
without a sound.

This time . . .
with my grandchildren
running all around.
Observing their contagious happy faces
being themselves
between cuddles and snuggles
and our familial love freely shared.

Blankets on the soil
for rest
night-time fire for light
and roasted marshmallows
crackling, singeing black
in an orange glow.

What a show !

Listening to the music
of frogs croaking, crickets chirping
children giggling
picking wild flowers
and greenery
putting them in our hair.
Our own halos, hand-made
so fair.

Telling stories of nature
and listening to the water’s flow
from the serene rivulet below.

I know, this is a time
that we’ll treasure
and worth a few bug bites
to experience the glee
of simple pleasures
in nature’s glorious treasures
with these grand-babies o’mine.

Boop-boop-ba-boop-boop, when i want to . . .
Hot fun in the summertime.

(c) Janet P. Caldwell April 24th, 2015

(Many thanks to Sly & The Family Stone, Sylvester Stewart and Mijac Music)

The Absent Gardener




The Absent Gardener

It was a late winter day

almost spring

the sunshine had cleared

the internal

and external clouds

the ennui subsiding

in hopes of what life may bring.

Though, I am embarrassed to say

and I admit

at the undergrowth of dead ivy


the ground cover

a tangled mess.

Where there could be annuals

perennials and bushes blooming

then the kneeling

and unearthing began.

I grabbed a trowel

with a wooden handle

and she a shovel to begin

the excavation of this small area

of vegetation in plain sight

seemingly a simple task.

Though with detritus, pocks and tares

buried deep within

without a gardener winnowing

tilling and taking care

over the years.

These things hidden

in the soil of our lives

produced unwanted pains and twigs

like gouging sticks, snaking roots

and choking dirt

nothing to foster hydrangeas

or a fulfilled life.

Yes, my daughter and I

had gardening to do

as the sweat of years apart

ran down our backs

into our eyes stinging

down our necks

and between our breasts

with salty stains

dripping from our armpits.

Then simply evaporated

or rolled off.

That day, drenched with our

perspiration and aching muscles

we carried on

to destroy the rambling weeds

with the roots so strong and deep

that were covered

by hardened earth

and not noticed

until side by side.

We got in the trenches

glove-less with fingers raw

exposing red skin

laboring in the loam.

Together and jointly agreeing

to trudge in the dirt

while tugging hard

exposing the roots

of dead and desiccated plants

that never yielded a favorable return

and to once again know

that we are not just M.A.S. but ONE.

Yes, it took the both of us

to get to the sides

and the bottom of

this destroyer of a flowered family

that ran wild and unnoticed

for far too long.

The roots were so deep

that they were not simply

under the ugliness

of what we referred to

as a ‘stick plant’

but were choking the beauty

of the infant buds aching

for sunshine all along.

We were determined

to yank them out

to be done with it

so we pulled

dug and tugged

until we got to the bottom of it.

It was not an easy task

but a necessary one

the work itself

is it’s own reward.

To have the garden of our hearts

clear and clean from all debris

and to enjoy

the resplendent beauty

of rediscovering love

and granting to us

the joy of peace

hidden beneath the dirt

of a vandal now eradicated.

We left on a good note

when the weekend was over

we smiled and waved, so long.

Whispering an “I love you”

knowing the flowers

of our love will continue to bloom

in the garden of our hearts.

I’ll be back and I love you, said the absent gardener.

Poem: (c) Janet P. Caldwell

Photo: (c) http://summercatesphotography.com/

Author’s Note: M.A.S. is an inside giggle between my daughter Summer and I.


I’m Not What You Think I Am



I’m Not What You Think I Am

Persona’s are a mask.

Something that I wore

and at times still do.

That well crafted image

that I want others to see

so that I can control

the hidden pain, the stains

and burdensome weights carried

like an authorized pack mule.

And also the scars buried beneath

my heart and face

have became an integral part of me.

This plethora of uncertainty, insanity

and vanity, leaking from my eyes

like a busted faucet staining . . .

peering through and at the eyes of insensitivity.

Where is the humanity ?

I pick my scabs until they bleed.

I rip and claw them off daily.

Like it or not in revealing myself

is not at all quiet, nor pretty.

For, I am not fully as I seem.

This mask has been on so long publicly

that it needs to be sand blasted off

like dirty concrete

on an old rooming house wall

where my thoughts gather the dust

of dying carcases and mistrust

to clearly see a hint

of the beauty underneath.

I lost my religion too

how could a god let this world

fall apart so casually ?

Thinking for myself, is scary at times

but shedding this propagandic skin

has been helpful to me.

Please, please don’t ask me

what I believe.

It has been a journey

and may change tomorrow

truths always do.

But I abhor the world of izms and vulgarity.

It is my perspective and judgmental still

but something that I need

for me, at this time to be real.

And I don’t want to be famous

but those who really know me

are aware of this

and to those who do not

quit pushing me

into your imagined bliss.

One last thing, being white

is not a blessing to me

though I never committed

the horrific atrocities.

I wonder, in a past life

what I did to deserve

this fate of inhumanity.

In reality, whatever that is

there is nothing to fear

but an unquiet mind

rambling and rolling

throughout the years.

To be ONE with all

I must drop the mask

the people pleasing

and unrealistic expectations taken on

like a rubber band stretching

to the breaking point

of insanity.

So, let me remove the saddle from my back

and to be myself.

With this . . .

the puzzled pieces

nicely fit.

And make up one race

that I belong to

called humanity.

These are just a few

of the things without the mask.

I am not what you think I am.

Most do not know me.

(c) Janet Caldwell – February 23rd, 2015