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Uzbeki Traveling Band

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2016

My  neighbor is in and out. I keep an eye on her house for her. Sometimes she tells me when she will be gone, and sometimes she forgets. One time I kidded her, in a most random fashion, that I was concerned she had been kidnapped by a band of Uzbekis.  She was out again and this word play came to mind.

The Uzbeki Traveling Band 

 
She left the ole’ homestead land
To take up, so they say, as I understand,
To ramble with an Uzbeki balalaika,
Tanbur, an’ tambour traveling band.

 

Each member wore a matching cumber band,
Rosey cheeks and skin well tanned.
With dancing feet and waving hands,
They whirled and twirled; the music outward fanned .

 

To the music both humble and grand, 
She danced with her heart on worn out rands,
On rock and sand and village meadowland.
Such their music journey spanned.

 

Watchers watched, drinking tea with gha’nd.
And when hearts melted by music strands,
Singing souls began to understand,
Why she traveled with the Uzbeki band.
 

 

They traveled the earth,-silk, sea, and sand.
Then, the day was done; it was time to disband.
They loaded the caravan well manned.
And she returned again to the ole’ homestead land.
 
 
 
 
Klavdy Lebedev Plyaska 1916

Klavdy Lebedev Plyaska 1916

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

My daughter had picked up the kids from pre-school the other day. While in the car, little Parisa had some gas which made its exit with noisy exuberance. She told her mother she had Minions in her tushie. I wrote this for her and her brother.

MINIONS IN MY TUSHIE

 
Looking around.
What was that sound?
It’s Minions in my tushie.
It’a hard to stop ’em
Once they start.
I ‘ll feel much better  
Once they depart.
Oh-ohhh
Minions in my tushie.
I can’t control them
Or make them go away.
They are getting louder!
What do they want to say?
Bplrrrrr. Bplrrrrrr. Bplrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Bplrrrrr. Bplrrrrrr. Bplrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Looking around.
What was that sound?
(It’ s only sound.
Nothing squishy.)
Oooo-oooops!
Minions in my tushie.
 
 
images-2
 
 
© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

An historic vibrant neighborhood is precious, glittering golden in autumn light. It is not just the sights, the sounds, but the smells. The SSB Drever and I walked in such a neighborhood today, the arms of the changing air wrapping around us, the falling leaves flitting down, waving before our eyes, flirting before dancing with our feet. The dusty, musty smells, fingers of earthy musk reaching up to us, inviting us into Autumn’s spell. Even the remains of vibrant Summer’s green succumb to the heady musk, numb to that which is to come.

 Redolent D’or

 

Woodruff in Autumn-© Jo Hewitt 2015

Woodruff in Autumn-© Jo Hewitt 2015

 
 
 
Delectable                                          
 
D’or Redolent 
 
Delicious Scent
 
Detritus
 
Days Diminish to
 
Dusty Debris
 
 

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

The SSB Drever and I were walking yesterday. It has been a lovely autumn with the middle of October feeling more like early September. Most of the summer flowers are long gone, but Asters are blooming abundantly. And they are covered with bees! We are so lucky to enjoy their beauty and the bees are so lucky to have nectar for a little longer. They looked so happy hopping from aster blossom to aster blossom.

Asher and Parisa, well especially Parisa, love insects. Parisa holds her fingers close to her eyes, holding them together to indicate somethong very small, and using a tiny voice, tells me they are little, tiny and cute. I thought Asher and Parisa would like this little ditty. (Sung to: We’re In The Money)

Bee Boppin’

 
The bees are happy.
Their flight so snappy.
They’re just buzzin’ along
Boppin’ to their ‘lil bee song
 
Autumn Aster with Honey Bee-© Jo Hewitt 2015

Autumn Aster with Honey Bee-© Jo Hewitt 2015

 
 
© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

The Winged Realm

 

Asher and Parisa at the sunshine spot. From- The Winged Realm © Jo Hewitt

Asher and Parisa at the sunshine spot. From- The Winged Realm. © Jo Hewitt 2015

 

Asher and Parisa ran to the sunshine spot. They had seen the butterflies appear and disappear from here before. They had wondered where the butterflies go.

They waited.

They knew the butterflies would be back because they had come to them in the dreamtime with soft butterfly kisses and said, “Come to us at the sunshine spot. Come to the edge where light meets dark. Fly with us to The Winged Realm.”

Soon they would know.

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

Small Town Girl Moves to City.  The headline should continue: And Changes the City. Well, at least my neighborhood. Tammi Hughes, as Executive Director of The East 10th Street Civic Association for 13 years, has given her time, energy, and really, her heart and soul in the growth and change along this section of East 10 Street and its neighborhoods, in and out of the office. On a personal level she has reached out to help people, anything from finding a place to live, mowing someone’s yard when that person couldn’t (me and mine), and comforted hearts when people have suffered at the hands of crime, poverty, and the other ugly children of ignorance and injustice.

It is hard to put on a super hero cape everyday and fight the good fight.  Tammi Hughes, yes you, I want to say thank you for all that you have done, for the community, with all the positive changes you have helped bring about, and for me, as my neighbor and friend, for being there.  (By the way, I took our super hero costumes to be dry cleaned so we can take a little break.)

Tammi Hughes, this one is for you.

 

The Spirit of East 10th Street

 
Star drop music night,

 

Dream and deed meet, dance in light,

 

Soul Light East 10th Street.

 
 
 
 
 
The Spirit of East 10th Street

The Spirit of East 10th Street by Jo Hewitt 2015

 
© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

Calamitous life events. During mine, I asked someone, “Does the pain ever go away?” “No,” he said. “But eventually you find a way to put it in a little box and store it away where it doesn’t hurt as much.” Another friend likened the hurt, the painful memories, to a stone in your pocket.

Stones in your pockets. You revisit each stone, taking it out, turning it over and over, looking at it from every side, scrutinizing it, analyzing it, holding on to it, holding on to the pain and then putting it back into the dark to weigh you down, you not ready to let go. Maybe you hold onto it because you feel you have nothing else to hold or hold onto.

You take it out again and  again. Each time cutting your heart on the shards of  broken illusions. But each time the edges smooth a little and then a little more until the stones of sorrow diminish, slip away, stone after stone, your life pieced as a path cobbled from those sorrows, from those stones.  The stones that had weighed you down were stepping stones, all along, to lead you to your life.

 

Stones in My Pockets

Time’s fingers reach for,
Turning over and over,
Stones in my pockets.
 
Rounding edges of
Heart shards aftermath pain path, 
Stones in my pockets.
 
Time alone softened stone
Let go echoes cobbled stones
Fall from my pockets.
 
 
 
Pebbles by West Country Photographic

Pebbles by Westcountry Photographic

 
 

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