Tommia's Tablet

Who took away my mountain?
Because I would like to see
Blue skies, eagles fly,
Flowers in the Valley.

Who took away my mountain?
Because when warm days are few
It seems that’s when the city
Brings out ‘a hiker or two.’

Who took away my mountain?
Oh, wait, yes now I see
It faded, blended perfectly
Into Nature’s Masterpiece.

I‘m thankful for having made it through my formal schooling years without too much uproar of banned books. Granted, I did get the joy of reading The Dragonriders of Pern by Anne McCaffrey series before it was removed from the reading list. Our English teacher enjoyed the fact that ‘one more group’ made it through before the gates of administration closed it.

If I were to try teaching now – no matter the grade – I don’t know if I would have liked to go through the political quagmire:

•  Snow Falling on Cedars faced it hurdles
• Harry Potter caught in various spells of protest
• I’m sure The Chronicles of Narnia have been challenged at some point
• Some still argue, ‘what’s the point with Seuss?‘

While it is logical that maturity guides when a reader is ready for some things, to lock away books because you don’t like them; someone else shouldn’t get them does go too far.

Scattered on the ocean floor
Treasures small, treasures galore
Is it Fool’s Gold or a shell?
Or a glittering find worth going to hell?
Careful what you grab with your fist
Be it the gems below, stars above – you get the gist.
Are you sure? Are you sure?
That the path you endure will
Lead you to the depths, to the stars or
Some other place incredibly far
Than your imagination can already take you

For this month, thought a visit back to Tiny Town was in order.

At Peggy Puddin’ Pharmacy
A blue critter staring at me
As blue as the paint on the outer walls
It calls my name, making no sound at all.
I enter below; the bell sounds above.
In the back of the shop is the ice cream stand
I offer my lunch money in my outstretched hand.
I’ll order a sundae and dig right in
Covered in syrup that looks like a flower
With orange sprinkles, the dish I devour
For every other bite is mine
The first, many, last are Blue Critter’s -that’s fine.

“Criticism is the windows and chandeliers of art: it illuminates the enveloping darkness in which art might otherwise rest only vaguely discernible, and perhaps altogether unseen.” ~George Jean Nathan

What is it with the
House on the hill
Everyone sees yet
Rarely goes
Every day, despite the roses

The people inside have stories to tell
How some families cried, others swelled
Every stone there has a story.

Heaven and Hell
Eternity’s endpoints
Afterlife, limbo, purgatory
Ranging beliefs dictate that route
To whatever rest/unrest awaits.

Invitation’s sent.
Send a salutation.

For all the melodies ‘round the world
Amazing, the variations from a similar gourd
Neck, with strings and a big belly
Touched, tapped strummed
And so much more
Similar structure
Tunes oh so many
Interesting, isn’t it how
Common the love of music is

Sparkling, Rushing, Gushing
Sparkling dreams and blessings above
Like the many stars
Rushing time between yesterday and tomorrow
Like too many zooming cars
Gushing opportunities, obligations and obstacles
Like the path life tends to be