The Puppet

Corporate Drone
Do my will
Dance on your marionette string

Obey the voice
Outside your head
Give up your will to change

Dance, little poppet
Wave your arms
Lift your legs, don't run

Cubicle homes
Were made for you
Outside here, you'll have none

Type, little fingers
Push your mouse
Think with a mind just for us

Believe in direction
That never looks out
Focus, remember, you must

Work hard
Work harder!
Forget family, friends

In here, focus only on one

purpose, you have none
Will, none but ours
Dance, marionette, for my fun

-- Marie Tai

The Laid Off Song

Wobble, wobble, wobble
Is the sound my heart makes
As my head is spinning at
the changes I didn't choose to make

Wobble, wobble, wobble
So unsteady is my path
But I will regain footing and
I'll recalculate the math

Tossed out into the alley
Meeting secret in the dark
I see the faces I will miss
The place I'd made my mark

But they have not forgot me
and I take with me the tools
I gained in five long years of work
by following the rules

And now I'm free to choose
my path, and I feel good and right
I know a door is opening
to my left and to my right

I can make the choice
that I forsook for what I thought
was stable though a bore
and now that boring thread is cut

I fell but it was not on thorns
I found a road to take
And where it wound, I did not know
But wobbly heart did spake

And sang me songs of
happiness, of freedom bright and light
Of taking risks, of making friends,
Of fighting the brave fight

So though I'm sad that
things have changed and I
do fear what comes, I turn
my eyes towards the light
I won't give in, I'll hold the fight
I know my value, have the sight
Good-bye, dear friends, good-bye!

--Marie Tai

The Girl and her Book

In a little boat
with waves all around
sits a small girl and a book.

The waves toss and turn
and the boat's mightily thrown
but she doesn't even blink an eye.

The book tells her stories
of princesses and fairies
fine princes and stallions white.

The boat throws her over
and she sinks into the sea
holding tight to the book
that keeps her safe.

She drowns
and the mermaids
carry her to a castle
and her body is laid
to rest.

-- Marie Tai

Sometimes life is so terrible that we must escape in order to cope. For instance, in Pan's Labryinth, the little girl's imaginary world runs parallel to the more bloody, dark, and violent reality of war and her mother's death. While her imaginary world could be equally dark and menacing, it gave meaning and explanation to many of the unimaginable terrors occurring in her real life.

The past few weeks, I have buried myself in books. I read all eight of the Sookie Stackhouse books, and burnt through Lisa See's Snow Flower and the Secret Fan (which I totally recommend that you read). I found a safe place in these stories. Everything in them happened to somebody else, whether good or bad. I was just a spectator. At the same time, I identified with some of the characters and tried to make sense of my life through trying to understand these fictional people and circumstances. V. didn't think that doing this would be much good for me, and I can't explain how it helped me, but it did. I'm rather sad that I ran out of Sookie Stackhouse books to read. Perhaps it's like the end of a movie when your popcorn bucket is empty and you have to get up and return to real life.

Michael Jackson

Michael, Michael,
You were a star.
You danced in backward strides,
Drew images of horror with your feet,
Sang songs of denial,
Didn't care if girls were black or white, even if you thought
it mattered for you.
Or were you sick?

You died.
You lay there unmoving,
and people cried.
They mourned a saviour,
A King of Pop,
Someone they danced with, and sang with, and saw
on news, on magazines,
fall.

One day a black child,
A later day a black man,
with one white glove,
an artificial nose,
and a dream
to blur the lines of colour.

Oh, Blanket,
Do you miss him?
Oh Lisa,
how you cry.
The nations,
we mourn.

Listen to his songs,
Remember his legend,
and wonder
That such a man
did live, and sing, and die.

--Marie Tai

*******************************

"Michael Jackson is dead!" announced a co-worker.
"No, that's just the name of a drink." another replied.
"Oh." And minutes later, the first returned with more information. "No, he's really dead. It's on CNN."
"No way!"

And everyone hurried to Google the question of whether the King of Pop had indeed died. None of us could believe it when we discovered the truth. And Farrah Fawcett was dead too on the same day. It was tragical news.

I entered an elevator and a stranger asked me, "Did you hear the news about Michael Jackson?" The news of his death brought people together. Everyone knew who Michael Jackson was. He was famous. He was the originator of the moon walk, of famous black men painting themselves white, and of naming children Blanket. There were the child molestation allegations, the strange antics, and the failed plastic surgeries. He was everyone's favourite joke, and yet we loved his music. He was part of our shared history.

I'm sad that Michael Jackson has passed on. I wish his family and friends the best, and know that he will be remembered forever. His songs play on, and his reputation as a musical prodigy precedes him.

Rest in peace, Michael. Thank you for your gift of music to the world.

15 Minutes to Live - The Morning Gardener

15 minutes to browse the garden
15 minutes to live

Check on the cuttings
Geraniums, roses, impatiens

Look at the ants busy at work

Flip the orange peels to check for leaf eaters

Then off to work we go!

-- Marie Tai
The past few mornings, I have been taking 15 minutes to check on all my plants before I go to work. I find it really refreshing to do so. I love to see how all the propagating plants are doing, and it's a marvel to see how the other plants in the garden are coming to life in the mild, sunny Spring weather. The seeds I planted are starting to sprout their first leaves, and I'm regretting dumping in 3 packets of old flower seeds into one tiny pot. I thought the old seeds wouldn't grow, but there is a dense population of tiny plants starting to erupt from the soil. Oops! I wonder if it's all three varieties growing? I guess I'll never know until they sprout their real leaves. The marigold seeds I saved from last year's blooms are growing too. I'm a bit surprised, but very delighted. It's going to be a very floral summer!
My chives are also in full bloom and the purple posies among the long, green shoots is really pretty.

The little break in the early morning is wonderful to me - it gives me life and courage to face another day. If the plants can do it, I figure so can I.

Have a wonderful day!

Enter New Life

Tick tock, tick tock...
EXPLOSION!
(and that was the end of the story.)

It seems every newspaper speaks of sure doom-
If not recession depression, then flu.
What happened to happy news?
Baby pandas and flowers,
Spring, gardening, and food.

Instead, single people cannot find love.
Instead, young people cause harm.

Predators come in the depths of the night
to prey on your twelve year old child.

A man says the church should spread more news of hope.
That preachers have let masses down.

And all around me, doom, doom, doom!
(BOOM!)

The downward spiral ends in a twist.
The people return to the earth.

And I in my garden, dig up dark earth
and plant seeds I'll save on the morrow
Adding sky water, and adding sky light
to grow a life brand new.

--Marie Tai

This poem, for me, is about the tension that is building up everywhere around me. At some point, I think it will be too much. I know already, for a lot of people, the stress of everything going on is really too much to bear. So there is an explosion in this poem, a breaking point of sorts that releases the tension and repetition. And when that happens, everything becomes simpler. People return to their roots and find joy in things like playing in the dirt and growing things, and they forget how traumatized they once were.

Drowning In A Bowl Full Of Chili

I'm drowning in a bowl full of chili
My blood pressure's through the roof
She heaped up my bowl with the kindest intentions
I paid my salt-lunch unworthy attentions
I swallowed it down like a fool, like a goof
The sodium-potassium pump cannot save me

--Marie Tai

Fried Brain For Supper

Shall we have fried brain for supper?
Will it be my brain or yours?

Whose brain has been taxed more?
(I've been working on my taxes.)
Whose brain is the crispiest cooked?

Didn't you have your midterms,
write papers galore? And
didn't I edit them all?

Didn't I work overtime,
and pull out my hair
trying to troubleshoot crap?

Oh, yes! We've both burned out.
Our limits are maxed.
Tomorrow is our breaking day.

So let's break bread and
pull out our brains, fully mashed.
And hash out our troubles
times three.

You look at my brain,
And I'll look at yours.
Together we'll pick brains for supper.

--Marie Tai

Lullaby

No stress, don't cry
The day will be over soon

Hush and hushaby
Close your eyes
Tonight you'll have sweet dreams

Don't think about your worries
Everything shall pass
Tomorrow will be sunny
You'll have blue skies

Your dreams will come true
You'll find true love

Dry your tears and look forward
No need to be afraid

No monsters in the closet
No skeletons either

A pretty dress, perhaps
And shiny, new shoes
Roses and lace
Cakes and pies

Don't cry, dry your tears
It's okay to smile
Today can be whatever it wants
Tomorrow is yours.

--Marie Tai

It Seems We All Have Problems

It seems we all have problems,
You and me, and he and she.
We sell our soul daily for pennies.

Slaves at our labour,
Cowards of our pasts,
Scared, beaten down, and lost.

We search for the meaning
of why we exist.
We ask questions with answers
we'll never find.

You've lost a loved one,
I've lost my job,
He can't find love,
and she can't forget.

There's no end to the passing
Each day to the next.
Onward it goes, tick by tick.

Closer it comes,
is it death or success?
It is for one and not for another.

Closer it comes,
will I live 'till tomorrow?
Or is tomorrow just another passing day?

It seems we all have problems,
You and me, and he and she.
We sell our soul daily for pennies...

--Marie Tai

What Does A Mother Say?

You called me to your side that night
What did you want to say?
I didn't hear you calling
Though I dreamed you said goodbye.

Did you want to say you loved me?
Did you want to say, "Take care!"

What does a mother say to her child
Before she goes away?
What does she say?

What does a mother say to her child
the night before she's gone?
Does she tell him all her worries about his life
About not being able to watch him grow?
Does she ask about his loved one
And about his plans for life?
Does she say she's sorry for leaving
That she didn't want to go?
Or does she just want to see his face?
To see her baby now a man.
To know that he's okay; she did good.
What does a mother say?

What do you tell your child
When you can't live forever?
When God calls your name
And you can't say no.
What do you say?

How do you tell them you love them
And you'll always be there?
Maybe not in person
But always there in heart.
How do you say it when you're already gone
And they're standing by your grave?
You watch them place the flowers.
You watch them shed their tears.

What does a mother say to her child
When life is over and death is come?
What does she say? (Goodbye, goodbye.)

What does a mother say?

--Marie Tai

I Will Remember

(This is a poem in memory of my friend's mother who passed away this Saturday. My heart goes out to their family.)

I will remember all of the times you cooked for me.
I will remember all of the times you showed love to me.

All of the moments that you sacrificed,
All of the times you worked over time,
All of the moments I'll never have with you,
I will remember.

I will regret all the times I should have told you I loved you.
I will think hard and blink back the tears I should have shed for you.

All of the times that you washed my clothes,
All of the times that you held me close,
The way that you looked when I made you proud and you smiled,
I will remember.

Mother, you made me, you loved me, and I loved you too
Mother, I wished I had made you prouder and taken better care of you

All of the times you rocked me to sleep,
All of the times you taught to me to live,
The way that I'll miss you now that you're gone- I miss you, Mom-
I will remember.

--Marie Tai

You're Gone

You grew frail.
You stopped to eat.
You told me that your life was over; you were beat.

I beat my chest.
I pulled my hair.
I told you life was not worth living if you weren't there.

You closed your eyes
Like in your sleep
You murmured words to me that in my dreams I'd keep

Close to my heart.
I'd not forget
The day I'd set my eyes on you, the day we met.

But then you left
And didn't turn back
Death came.

Opened eyes
Took breathe
Died

Left me empty inside.

And now no one can heal me except you.
And you're gone.

--Marie Tai

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

This is my favourite poem by Dylan Thomas. I think of it often, whenever I am faced with losing someone dear.

The history of the poem (as I remember it) is that Dylan Thomas was angry at his father for dying so complacently. He felt like it was giving up on life, and he wanted his father to have fought it bravely instead right to the very last instant. He wanted his father to "rage against the dying of the light" like an angry beast, or a soldier in the heat of battle.

After reading this poem, I was quite taken with it. The idea of fighting valiantly against Death appealed to me.

My friend's mother is quite ill right now and we fear the worst. Please keep her in your prayers.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

--Dylan Thomas

Putting Down Roots

I'm putting down roots that wriggle through dirt,
that swell and expand and reach down.
The soil can be hard, dry, brittle, or moist.
The roots can still penetrate deep.

The roots are so white, with hairs feather-fine.
They are pure, crisp, and light in their form.
Easy to tear, in numbers they hold
the plant in its upright unfolding.

I'm putting up vines, they are growing, expanding!
Deep green, how they twist and wrap tight.
Creaking and groaning, writhing and moaning,
they sigh at the weight that they hold.

Wring and they'll rain tears.
Cut and they'll bleed.
Chop and the vines downward fall.

But deeper the roots grow, reaching for water,
and outward they'll sneak, sideways climb.

One day, post rainfall, one day, warm sun.
I'll be a vine once again.

--Marie Tai

Wait

Three decades ago,
I waited for you.
In the womb, you were late,
And I waited.

Three decades have passed,
And you're impatient
And you
Can't wait,
And I
Can't bear it.

--Marie Tai

One Calling

Walk the path that lights up for you.
Remember the days for which you live.
Speak the words that help others,
and lend the hand that can change.

--Marie Tai

Raisin Eyes (or, The Cookie Speaks)

You cannot match my raisin eyes,
those glistening lumps of prune.
They seem to smile with secret clues
of how an oven bakes.
They're dried, they're hard,
with chewy hearts.
But bite them and you'll see,
my raisin eyes aren't just good looks.
They'll land in more than your good books.
My raisin eyes are great to eat!
But then I'll have to kill you.

--Marie Tai

Up and Down

A car drives by
The leaves go up
They tumble in the air

A man walks by
He glances down
Leaves crush underfoot

--Marie Tai

Fat Eating

Stuffing my face with chocolate eclairs,
Regard! Another pie arises!
I reach out and take it,
and open my mouth.
The hot steam burns my tongue.
I open the fridge and I take out some cream,
whipped, cool, refreshing and sweet.
I envelope the hot pie and resume my sweet path.
The pie is now one with eclairs.

--Marie Tai