Weekly Writing Challenge: Perspective Through The Ages

Once again, the Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge has inspired the poet inside of me.

sq peg

As you may or may not know, while my name is Miss Fit, my legal, given name is Margaret. As some of you may also know, the name Peg is sometimes used as a shortened name for Margaret. When I was a young lass, I went by my middle name “Marie” for largely functional reasons. First of all – Marie is 5 letters and Margaret is 8 letters. When letters seem insurmountable as a general theme, the more of them there are, the more pain-inducing it can be. I could stop here and just let you all assume I cant spell anything over 5 letters… but, thank goodness I outgrew that limitation rather quickly only to find another barrier in my way. See, I was born in 1987. Dennis the Menace came out in 1993.

Margaret Wade from Dennis the Menace

Margaret Wade from Dennis the Menace – note – also has red curly hair and glasses…

There was a character arguably more annoying than Dennis. Her name was, as luck would have it, Margaret.

At any rate.

Over the years I suffered from somewhat of a mild identity crisis. By the time I was 19 I had gone by somewhere in the ball park of 8 different names – all dependent on context, desired outcome, and levels of intimacy. Those names included but were at no time limited to: Marie, MAGS! [always yelled in excitement], Mar-gret [my legal name said with stress on the last syllable rendering the second “a” useless and always muttered in annoyance most frequently by a parental unit], Missy [as in “missy Prissy” also uttered by a disgruntled parental unit], Maggot [don’t ask], Toots [really don’t ask], Mag-a-toon, Peanut Head [the picture below should answer any questions you may have], and the occasional Margaret Marie [in which case all bets are off, I’m either winning a major award or in serious trouble…]

Beneath all that red curl hair, yes, my head is shaped like a peanut.

Beneath all that red curl hair, yes, my head is shaped like a peanut.

Alright, well now that I have sufficiently embarrassed myself out here in cyber space, I will cut to the chase: the inspiration for the title of this poem came from posing the question “Why is ‘Peg’ a shortened version of Margaret?” to a somewhat philosophical friend of mine. See, I have always felt a bit… well , out of place [Hence the name Miss Fit] and there is a common metaphor use to describe misfits – “a square peg in a round role”… how had I never seen that before? Philosophical friends are good like that.

Well, my dear readers, over the years I have matured – as have my views of the word, and I have since adopted the name “Peg” quite proudly.

My views are not necessarily popular. But then again, neither am I.

Here’s hoping for Pure Poetic Justice:

  Square Peg Girl in a Round Hole World

“Which is Better”, Peg thought:

To buy what you want, or to want what you bought?

To have a fine house – the envy of the neighborhood – you know, the kind people drive by and mutter, “My, they must be doing good”…

Or to have a place that you call home, a modest car or maybe two, and a best friend to ring on the tele when you are feeling blue?

I’m sure written out in the way I’ve just done;

Yes. I’m sure when asked this same question of your daughter or son…

The Answer seems simple and matter of fact.

But what would you say, dear siblings,

Yes, my Brothers and Sisters;

Just how would you react,

When I tell you this tale is not so simple as a matter of fact.

I’m afraid some of you will find the story of Peg to be rather sad;

For those of you who do, you simply never realized the choices that you had.

Born to be Good,

Or inherently Bad?

Born to be Happy,

Or inherently Sad?

These are the kinds of Questions that filled Peg’s head,

Questions like these that entered in one ear, then took root when She was lying in bed.

More Questions than Answers, there was always a Theme;

A thin, yellow Thread woven throughout a Dream.

I once sat with Peg over a cup of tea;

I had no way of knowing just how special my time with Peg would be.

You see, Peg told me about the woman from whence I came;

She shared truths with me that ensured I could no longer view the World the same.

You see, she said, her name is Mother Culture;

She birthed us all.

Funny thing is, without Us,

Mother Culture wouldn’t be here at All…

Peg asked me to name a few things I despised.

I quickly belted out, “Poverty, Abuse, and Lies!”

Peg smiled.

Peg then asked me to list one thing I felt was supremely unfair.

I looked her straight in the eyes in a dead stare and muttered,

“Parents burying their children is never Fair.”

Again, Peg smiled.

I wasn’t sure what to make of this encounter – was Peg really taking such atrocity so mild?

Or was it that Sweet, Square Peg had every reason to Smile a lot

Because Sweet, Square Peg knew something I did not.

You see, Peg had seen Mother Culture when she was Invisible to the masses;

Peg knew when to take the somber approach and when to wear the rose-tinted glasses.

Peg knew the ultimate question shouldn’t be about how to get above;

The ultimate question must stem from our inherent Need to Love and Be Loved.

Peg taught me to ask why We do the things We do;

To question the multitude of actions performed at Society’s Cue.

You see, I understand now that in many ways We inflict the Evil that surrounds;

Much the same as we impart the Happiness that abounds.

I no longer turn away as I feel Peg’s intellectual advance throughout my day.

I no longer scoff or wish her intuitive messages would just turn off.

Peg, I embrace You for the unique difference that you represent –

Be that a figment of imagination, a demon, or an angel sent.

For it is now that I boldly admit,

This Entity, Peg, is in I

And I in It.

We are the Square Peg Girl in the Round Hole World,

Waiting anxiously to help Destiny Unfold.

HOT POTATO

Another Weekly Writing Challenge I Could’t Resist

I dedicate this post to a great friend of mine who, like the very challenge suggests we ought, taught me to see things as more than they appear to be…

hot potao man

Hot Potato

We’ve all been kids; all played the Game

Had lots of Fun

Getting your chance to have the Spud, give it a Go, give it a Run…

Yes we’ve all been kids; all played the game

But what would you do if it was your name?

Hot Potato Man

Passed around from hand to hand

Giving hours of entertainment to everyone in the land

“But what of me”?

He would say, choking back his dry spud tears with raspy pleads…

“What about what I need”?

The others never get there though; never stopped to think,

Just what becomes of those cuts, bruises, and nicks

Hot Potato Man

Passed around from hand to hand

Giving hours of entertainment to everyone in the land

But, the Game, its precept – did you ever consider –

Just how he could possibly be anything but angry and bitter?

Knowing that the Loser is whoever holds him in the end

Is it really that surprising he has trouble making a friend?

Knowing that as soon as someone feels the uncomfortable burn

They send him along – someone else’s turn.

Yes, I am the Hot Potato Man

Who, after years and years of being passed around from hand to hand

Happened upon a grain of Sand

The grain stuck to my skin with all its might

And after just a little time and some sunlight

Well that grain of sand became a small shimmer of glass

And suddenly the Hot Potato Man realized

Something new had come to pass

Now when he was shuffled from hand to hand

He had a distinguishing mark – this shimmering grain of sand.

While most remained subtly, subliminally entertained

There were a select few that saw this spud had undergone a Change.

Yes, a select few in this superficial land

That realized this was not a Hot Potato

But a Man.

Weekly Writing Challenge

I chose an originally drafted poem of mine for Today’s Writing Challenge

NIGHTINGALE’S SONGnightinggale

It’s true what They say,

Whomever They are,

They’re right when they say: To Be Still is to Go Far.

Our World, so fast-paced

With the 3G, 4G, and telecom interlaced.

Our Children are learning how to love more things, but understanding less how to Love

Caught in the hustle and bustle, the traffic-jam mess,

We Work more and Live less.

To turn off the noise, to shut it all out,

One must cease to rush, to pass, to shout.

So different from what arrogant-laden society boasts,

We must seek to give Humility our high toasts.

Find the things that make your heart smile,

Be it knitting, painting, swimming a mile.

You won’t find Life’s answers at the end of a bottle

Nor will you find Life’s passions at a drug rave,

Amidst sweating bodies full throttle.

Listen,

Lie Down.

Not to Sleep.

Just to Wonder.

Open your Mind’s Eye to the years gone by.

Breathe Deep.

Drink it all in.

You are who you are now because of where you’ve been.

Slow Down.

Body and Mind

Feel yourself removed from the daily Grind.

Shut off the peripheral sounds.

One

By

One.

Until the last floorboard has creaked

And the nightingale’s song is gone.

For it’s true what They say,

Whomever They are,

They’re right when they say: To Be Still is to Go Far.