My Penny Lane Love Song by Carla Sarett

Lucy Jones

I wanted to go to Penny Lane 

with you, my ears and my eyes.

You'd find that picture of the Queen

How the barber would smile!

You'd make friends with the banker

In the blue pouring rain,

You'd have the right umbrella

And rescue the fireman, 

And you'd drink suburban tea, 

And wave to the meter maid.

Then the blackbird would sing, 

And you'd know the tune.

We could fly to Penny Lane 

We'd call it the moon.

for laughs: I am done with Nature by Carla Sarett

 I’m Done With Nature

Fires up North, COVID, and can we talk about pollen?    

What is it, why is it, where does it come from?  

(China, like everything else? Or Mexico?)

Why is there a thing called rose-fever? 

Why not get rid of roses 

Or wherever the fever-part comes from?

House-plants: why are they so needy?  

Like I should plan my brief time on earth around them. 

They grow, while I get shorter, my bones thin.

Because...Nature intends to terminate me!

(Which no one explained while I was out saving trees.)

I will be extinct, and they will be still be here.*

*Although right now, fires, so not an issue so much.  See Line One. 

Poem: In San Francisco's Tenderloin

In San Francisco’s Tenderloin, 2020

If homeless people were only dolphins

Think of what would be.

Gwyneth and Matt and Brad, maybe even Jen 

(Well, maybe not Jen)

Would hold a huge fundraiser,

Write a song, We are the dolphins!

Donate millions,

For a lavish new center

For the dolphins, of course.

So they could be happy and well-fed,

So they could be safe,

Because dolphins deserve a life!

Because dolphins matter!

And everyone’s Facebook profile

Would say, I am a Dolphin.

Because...well, dolphins.

Even if the homeless had the sense to be poodles,

They’d be better fed.

But bad luck for the homeless,

They’re human.

Carla Sarett, 2020

Morning Meditation in Quarantine by Carla Sarett

Beginner’s Mind.

Start from scratch. 

Do not assume where the mind is headed

It just might go to yesterday’s burnt chicken thighs.

Half an hour, the difference between triumph 

....and failure!

Now I’ll have to brave the market and face the crowds, 

They’re hoarding gluten-free bread and toilet paper,

For their season of discontent and Netflix 

Reading about Tom and Rita’s lovely virus.

I am not sure why everyone’s in a state, 

About a state that’s never permanent,

And why should it be? 

It’s frittered away in the good times,

Therapised in the bad, with doctors and faith healers and snake oil.

Mostly snake oil.

Well, snake oil is fun,

Maybe I’ll try it for dinner.

Carla Sarett, April 2020

For laughs only: Ode to Quarantine

Not much to do in Quarantine, except have a laugh.

Ode to Quarantine

Am I the only woman

Who during Quarantine

Takes out her sponge and bucket

And madly starts to clean?

Louise Stanley, “Falling on Hard Times”

I could improve my mind

I could memorize a poem

Instead of dusting baseboards

And tidying my home

But Shakespeare and Homer

I fear will be unread

While I embark on laundry

And vacuuming my bed

Some may think it curious

To make my home pristine

When no one gets to visit me

And all my work’s unseen

But visitors would only scuff

My newly polished floor

So let me go on cleaning

At least a few days more.

Carla Sarett, March 2020