Monthly Archives: February 2014

Food for Thought


Slathered in yellow mustard;
Pale pink sugar spun on a paper cone
Melts like a snowflake on my tongue;
A hot dog smothered ‘neath a mound of chili, topped with onions,
French fries generously coated in catsup, and
Soft serve chocolate ice cream swirled into a sugar cone,
Deliciously melting down my chin on a collision course with my new dress;
Such sweet childhood memories
Taunt me here in my Never-Again Land,
A world where calorie count and fat content dominate the menu,
And where bikes are stationary
As I ride I close my eyes, and
Occasionally wipe my face with a terry cloth towel.

© photo and words by Pamela Ferris-Olson
February 28, 2014




Once a measure of manual dexterity for ten nimble fingers,
Practiced with rigorous exercise to gain speed and accuracy;
keys to success with no autocorrect or text abbreviations.
no more are lessons mandatory BAK the world ruled by two thumbs bet they can out gun you can i watch you try LMFAO

© photo and words by Pamela Ferris-Olson

February 26, 2014

Language Lessons


I love the rhythms of foreign language
‘ Tho the words are unfamiliar,
Have no meaning for me,
Their music strikes an emotional chord;
Others are tone-deaf, for them
There is no music, only disharmony,
Their discomfort plays out in words that slowly crescendo
A belief that their volume conveys meaning
I cringe to such sounds and hope that such discordance
Falls on deaf ears.

© photo and words by Pamela Ferris-Olson

February 25, 2014

Wither My Love


A bite of bread, a sip of wine
That is all you ate when we sat down to dine
I expressed my concern, you said I needed be
It was just that tonight your appetite was only for me;
I wished that was true but you don’t fool me anymore
I watched as you sized yourself up in the cafe’s glass door
It’s never good enough, you’re never lean enough
It’s made our life together particularly tough;
It’s hard to be angry with someone as frail
I’m torn up inside by your face so drawn, so pale
The whole thing’s a mess and you, YOU stink
I’d like to know truthfully what do you really think.
Do you know the smell is your body in decay?
You’re depleting your energy reserves each day.
You think self-control is what makes you strong
I’m here to tell you this notion is deeply wrong;
How sick must you be before this problem you will admit?
There’s no resolution until you own up to it.
I am torn what to do
‘Tho I know it’s really up to you,
So please, my love, please find your way
As for me I can think of no more to do but pray.

© photo and words by Pamela Ferris-Olson

February 24, 2014






Springtime, Midwestern-Style


With the emergency radio and the dog,
who doesn’t care why we’re crowded together
she’s just happy enough to climb into my lap
me with a fifty pound lap dog,
Cranking the radio handle for a weather report
Wondering if the damn siren has stopped blaring or
has the blessed siren saved our hineys?
I sure do need something to save my hiney
frozen and numb from sitting on the cold, tile floor
pressed firm from my super-sized lap dog.
How is it that the only safe space is the most uncomfortable
like the only healthy food is the least tasty?
A robotic voice continues to issue warnings to take shelter
my loyal companion and I remain in our porcelain safe room
waiting for the all clear or until I lose my patience
can’t stand the numbness in my legs
can’t withstand the dogs breath;
Ah, springtime in the Midwest.

© photo and words by Pamela Ferris-Olson

February 22, 2014

Coping with Weeds


“We don’t like your kind,” They said.
“Why not?”
“We don’t like your look or your taste,” came the reply.
“Says you.”
“Yeah, that’s right. You’re not like the rest of us.”
“You’re a W-E-E-D! You’re lowering the quality of the neighborhood.”
“And, who put you in charge of quality control?”
“That’s just the way it is,” They said.
With that they tried to blow the Others away.
But the Others were already rooted in the place.

© photo and words by Pamela Ferris-Olson

February 21, 2014

With Eyes Wide Open


You say I am an puzzlement
That you cannot comprehend the pattern of my mind
Yet, this is what draws you toward me
You are intrigued by the game
Your desire is to make sense of me,
And, though your eyes seem wide open
Your vision is blurred, and while
You may make out the shape of me
You miss the substance.

© photo and words by Pamela Ferris-Olson

February 20, 2014