It is s a lofty title, competitions an all time high.

The Chaos Queen is crowned tonight at the corner of high and dry.

My horse is in the running. No shackles are on her toes.

She will lead from wire to wire, and then lose it by a nose.

She will claim a great injustice, policemen will be called.

The crowd will be disjointed with most feelings left appalled.

The winner will be all smiles with a twinkle in her eyes.

The Chaos Queen will wear her crown made to fit most any size.

I’ve shared the story before about not recognizing myself in a school picture when I was 8 and because it seemed so unusual; I wondered the cause.

Last month I mentioned this to an actress who shared that as a young woman she lived in a nuns convent for a few months and there were no mirrors there.

“Were there any mirrors where you lived. ” She asked.

I could remember a small one above the pantry sink.

Ernistine said, “There were no mirrors in the house… maybe one in the parlor.”

“Yes! You are correct. I didn’t know what I looked like because there were so few mirrors in the house.”

Ernistine sold the last piece of land of that farm and now for me that farm has disappeared into the vestiges of the past… No reasons to go back there now that I can think of.

I want to tell a story; a novel.

I need to write it, to experience it again.

The first time I was in awe…

Just along for the ride.

The thunder rolled on night sky.

The lighting cleared the air.

We just layed there sleeping.

Somehow, with whom, somewhere.

We left with moon and stars in sky.

To the place past Thunder Cove

In my dreams, I heard of distant love

And on to home we drove.

She’s been quiet in the suburbs; walks a dog on cul-de-sac.

She’s getting wise on wine and proverbs; and she’s not coming back.

There’s a smile on my face now; I’m afraid its here to stay.

The cul-de-sac goes round and round; so quiet far away.

Today; got mad at nothing.

My voice it made that clear.

Sometimes you have to search it out…

But it always ends at fear.

Its a thing like pain at failure.

When that thing don’t go my way.

I have such big expectations.

How they arrived is hard to say.

I fear if God is watching then he must be plenty bored.

Not much new is going on, still driving that old Ford.

The bums are still out hangin and the drunks are down and out.

The lovers have all gone inside and the agnostics have their doubt.

The investors lost their money and the leaves are turning brown.

The church it seems so empty and that sun is going down.

The older the fiddle.

The sweeter the tune.

Don’t know who wrote that.

Probably left us too soon.

There is color in the flowers.

And moisture in the rain.

The rocks are hard and heavy.

And the soil holds all pain.

I’ve been dancing in the meadows.

I don’t dare to stay too long.

And only under darkened skies.

Where the thunder plays my song.

No more confab with the foolish.

Or the prideful, boastful voice.

I take it to the world at large.

And pretend I have a choice.

Sometimes, I miss delusions.

In the busy city streets.

And the chaos and confusions.

But not the phones and texts and tweets.

The bad luck raised suspicions, on a path that was beat down.

No one dared to look within or see the wise men in the town.

It was happening for eons, as long as Grandad could recall.

Like a dark foreboding plank walk or a dream in which you fall.

Until the child spoke her words that, “Maybe somethings wrong with me?”

So we made a meeting with the Doc, down at the Family Psychiatry.

The doctor raised awareness and we all took a look.

Things are looking so good now, might take Grandma off the hook.

Now life is far from perfect however the family’s not so sad.

Looking in the mirror, not blaming blind luck, good or bad.