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“your call is important to us, please stay on the line”
Frustration of hours-long holds to talk to a representative
call important to us
automated systems
convey upon my person
status as a customer
with perks for going
deeper into debt
toward their profit
when i feel like an individual
i merely try to ask a question
beyond their algorithm
after hours on hold
even i get the message
of cog-hood value only
pureed feast
throat too swollen to be able to swallow, patient finally able to eat
pureed feast
after a week of not being able
to swallow or eat
my Robyn grinned
at being handed a hospital menu
of puree choices
she ordered
smiled broadly as the tray
was set before her:
pureed fish, carrots, pears
tomato soup, pudding and biscuit
each swallow was deliberate
but tasted, oh, so good
mjNordgren 11/20/2021 Omaha
R’s comment on the pureed biscuit: “It tasted the way I imagine French toast would taste if it were a puddle.”
mj Newsletter -November
The monthly newsletter in Mailchimp is getting more and more fun.
Reader Comments:
“Cool” - Canada
“Well done!” - South Carolina
The monthly mjNewsletter in Mailchimp is getting to be more and more fun to write and gather images for (though that part still bugs me). It is a joy to hear from readers. In December i hope to feature several new small presses i’ve become acquainted with as a way for independent publishers to help each other. mj
be‘witching’ insight
people and characters are more complex and fascinating than caricatures
be’witching’ insight
seeing a witch doll
sprawled halfway up
a telephone pole
as though she’d lost
her way in the fog
and crashed her broom
i realized then
my favorite characters
sprawl the spectrum
of good and bad
noble and sneaky
gentle and nasty
just as my favorite
people do
our open wound hope
the reality of anger and wish for revenge
on all who may have hurt me in the past
or may lash out against me in the future
the reality of fear that assumes betrayal
and finds security only in conspiracies
and in signs and symbols
that only some can understand
such reality has been true for centuries, but hidden
perhaps, now that it is out in plain sight,
perhaps now we can learn to comfort, assure and include
high above enriches
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren at the Oregon coast
luncheon at the inn at spanish head
tenth story windows overlook
sweep on incoming waves
and irregular sand beach
for miles south
with lifts of evergreen hills
couples below walking
holding hands among driftwood
allowing white foam to caress
bare ankles and take them
to distances and lengths of time
that replenish perspective
and deepen commitment
mj toddler aware
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren remembering summer evenings on Kelley Island
(Kelley Island, Lake Erie, 1944)
camp songs and spirituals
sung in various keys
with doubtful harmonies
but deep feelings of sharing
around a campfire among the rocks
with vivid sparks leaping
to the black sky
and falling back, fading
to nothing
only memories
of belonging
mjNordgren 10/25/2021 n
gold moon song
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren under a full harvest moon
gold moon song
autumn moon
full chested as
an operatic bass
rising above the horizon
orange gold, gargantuan
even stealing across a pond
to create a duet
a huge, haunting
song of the night
accompanied by strains
of purple cloud
little leather books
a friend’s gift of little leather books of classic that fit in my palm
little leather books
three inches wide
three and three quarter
inches tall
dark olive-green covers
darker with age
and fading to brown
at the edges
and within, The Tempest
Stevenson’s Will o’ the Mill
The Coming of Arthur by Tennyson
treasures given by a friend
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ah, what a morning
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren on a pastel morning
pastel pre-dawn
muted by mist
over fields of fog
hiding autumn arrays
emerging energized
by outlandish orange orb
mjNordgren 10/19/2021 n
let ‘other’ speak
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren as a poet and novelist
i write each day for hours, pouring
my intimate insights and conversations
with patients and friends
and anguished strangers
into the dialogue of characters
hoping to help us learn
to empathize
with ‘other’
september sunrise
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren
faint yellow
resting on smudged orange
and shy pink on hazy violet
atop somber blue quieting
promise of sky-blue-pink
settled on dawn-promise indigo
of far distant hills
howl
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren about our response to others
i watch depression grow
as reality takes some lives
and alters function in others
loved and ‘undeserving’
of such pain
and again, personal fear
and anger blind so many
to recognizing others
as fosters of our best
selves needed to combat
if never conquer
entropy and loss
we’ve allowed
the despairing wolf
within us all
to howl
even more grateful
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren about lunch with family after weeks quarantining from COVID-19 exposure
even more grateful
retesting to reassure
gathering to joy
seeing love well
in each of us
knowing how we’ve missed the hugs
the delicious smoked pork lunch
the teasing of the waiter-son
of a beloved friend
the talk and laughter
laughter and talk
hours spent remembering
catching up
laughing
family is my world
In Memory of Shannon Brown
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren in memory of an incredible teacher and friend
Shannon Brown
I have terrible news
sit down before you listen
our friend…
gone, the quirky stories
of a teacher who saw
beyond the pigtails
and ponytails
and dirty nails
and tongues sticking out
as little ones labored
at mastering letters printed
by pencils as long
as their forearms
to the unique person
promise of each child mjNordgren 8/17/21
so many alone
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren
so many alone
bared of beach grass
sand dimpled
by multiple footprints
yet we feel alone
as spent waves
wash against
our human soles
gentlest rain
An original poem by MaryJane Nordgren
fog of tiny mist drops
suspended in air
slowly dampening arid earth
thirsty grass and trees
with early-browned leaves
sighing their thanks
do i know you?
odd how differently others see my childhood
childhood—an odd time
shared with magical friends
and monsters who carve
an exclusive niche in the history
of our world
and watched over
by adults we cannot comprehend
who later claim to know us
then as we do not know ourselves