I am so tired of ice and snow.
I’d like a way to make them go.
I’d like to send them straight to hell,
But that would cool things off down there.
And when hell freezes over, well,
What happens then it’s hard to tell,
For lots of folks have said they’d do
All kinds of things if that came true.
So, darn, I guess I have to wait;
Ice and snow melt at slow rate.
But if they last much longer here,
I still may send them straight down there.
I’m working on a brand new Coffee book, which will include a good deal of coffee poetry. I’m thinking about including this poem in the mix. I haven’t decided for sure yet because I’m not positive it’s clear and understandable. If any of you who read it on here have an opinion about whether the point is clear — or confusing — let me know in the comments. Thanks. And — hopefully — you’ll enjoy it.
A CUP OF JOSEPH DANIELS???
I heard the story this way,
And perhaps it’s mostly true:
That way back when, in World War I,
Coffee’s popularity grew.
It seems a Joseph Daniels,
Navy Secretary then,
Made efforts strong to change some things
And bolster moral men.
He instituted new rules
So Navy guys would think,
And contemplate the consequence
Of inebriating drink.
Banned alcohol consumption,
And, naturally, that led
To stewards brewing coffee more
For sailors to drink instead.
According to the legend,
This mark the guys did toe,
But much disgruntled at their loss,
Nicknamed their coffee “Joe.”
Well, what can I say? I just wasn’t in the mood for anything serious this evening. In fact, I think “silly” would define my mood best. So, I threw caution to the wind and just wrote out this little ditty to lighten up the day. I couldn’t seem to get away from that old cliché “Love is just around the corner,” so I decided I might as well put it to use for my NaPoWriMo offering.
LOVE DRIVES A BLUE CHEVY
Love, they say, is just around the corner,
But I’ve found that is simply not the case.
I’ve walked around about a million corners,
But none has led me to love face-to-face.
I’ve run into some mighty friendly people,
And into quite a few who were rejects.
Then there were some mentally unstable,
But such variety one must expect.
But as for love, I’ve simply never found it,
Turning corners, going ’round and ’round.
However, when I crossed the street last eve’ning,
I heard some horns and then a screeching sound.
I stopped and cringed and closed my eyes completely,
Expecting to be hit both hard and fast,
But when I realized I was still standing,
I looked up and was instantly amazed.
Love sat behind the wheel of a blue Chevy.
He’d stopped it just one inch from me away.
But not to worry; I’m not pressing charges,
Because tomorrow is our wedding day.
I really enjoy taking part in the National Poetry Writing Month 30-day challenge. The idea is to write a new poem every day for 30 consecutive days. I’ll have to admit that I usually don’t manage to write 30 brand new poems during that time, but I do manage to write a lot. It’s great fun. Some years I’ve used the national prompts that are listed on the site I’ve linked to below. But other years, I’ve gone my own direction entirely. One year, I did only cinquain and wrote a new one each day.
This year I’m probably not going to work with the prompts because, frankly, I’m not sure I can stay with the program for the whole month this time. Other things are challenging my time and attention. But I’m at least going to jump in and get started. If you are a poet — or even if you’d just like to try your hand at poetry for the first time — you might want to check out the host site for the NaPoWriMo challenge at this link:
Let’s get started and have some fun. My poem for day 1 is below, and in since I’m almost to the end of the day already, I’m taking the easy way out and resorting to cinquain — but at least I’m offering 3 stanzas. 🙂
CAUGHT BY SURPRISE
It’s here!
NaPoWriMo!
It caught me by surprise.
But I can trust my old standby:
Cinquain.
It’s short,
And sometimes sweet.
But when my syllables
Don’t add up right, I get a bit
Stymied.
Today
I’m doing fine.
I’m finding words that fit.
So my verse for day one I can
Submit.
I longed for a garden for spring,
But I don’t like to dig in the dirt.
I don’t want to plant seeds and wait;
If they don’t turn to flowers, I am hurt.
So I pondered on what I should do.
I was stuck for a while — ah, but then,
I decided I’d create my garden
From my paints and my trusty ink pen.
Now I sit and enjoy with delight
All the flowers I have planted with care.
They have patterns and shapes quite unique,
And my garden will never be bare.
The heat and the cold can’t offend,
And I never need to fertilize.
Horticulture has reached a new plane;
As a gard’ner I’ve turned out most wise.
Politics ruffle my soul.
The worst of most people they show.
But when I get stressed and uptight,
I know what will make it quite right:
Please give me Coffee!
I need to lean back and breathe slow.
For Presidents will come and go.
Some are corrupt and hell-bent.
I’ll pray they’re removed, but ’til then,
Please give me Coffee!
I look back on hist’ry; alas:
We should have learned more from the past.
But I haven’t given up hope.
So with four years of crap I can cope
If I have LOTS OF COFFEE!!!!!!!!
Well, Sundays now just never seem like Sundays
‘Cause church online just isn’t quite the same.
And Mondays don’t seem right ’cause I’m still home
Instead of working; what a lousy shame.
When Tuesday rolls around, I think it’s Thursday
And start to wonder where the week has gone.
By Saturday, I feel it must be Sunday;
Go online to watch church, but it’s not on.
When Sunday finally comes, I’m more than distressed
Because another week has passed me by,
And I recall that plans I’d made for Wednesday
Have come and gone; I missed them. (Heavy sigh)
And now the holidays are fast approaching,
But they won’t be the same for anyone
‘Cause all the rules for shopping, eating, visiting
Require that we abstain from all that’s fun.
I must admit I don’t do well in lockdown.
Is this the paradigm for staying well?
If so, we need to reevaluate it;
‘Cause life worth living’s going straight to hell.
Alas,
It’s almost June.
And that means summer’s here.
Can’t stand the bugs and heat, so let’s
Skip it.
But wait,
I’ve had a thought:
If I delete three months,
It could throw off the universe.
Oh, gee!
All right.
I will admit
I should not mess with time.
So I guess I’ll just grit my teeth
And sweat!
If I had known in days gone by
The things I know today.
I’d have thought and felt and acted
Sometimes, in quite different ways.
If yesterday’s tomorrows
Hadn’t come ahead of time,
If they’d waited ’till I’d learned some more
And had made it to my prime,
I would have done a better job
Of living properly.
If wisdom from today had been
More than a mystery.
And now, I’d like to put a hold
On life’s full speed ahead,
Just ’til tomorrow brings me
Wisdom from what’s up ahead.
Why, I could guarantee success —
I could live the perfect way —
Could I just get my tomorrows
To become my yesterdays!
I am
So frustrated!
Normal things take longer.
Technology does not work right.
Bummer!
I tend
To think the cause
Is lock-down atrophy.
I find I yearn for simpler times
Long gone.
“Brace up,”
I tell myself.
And sometimes I obey.
But sometimes I, instead, just take
A nap.
Mushrooms:
They are a treat
In almost any dish.
But I don’t know how to hunt them
Safely.
😦
It’s been raining here for two whole days, so I thought it was only fitting that I write about rain. Since I’m in a poetic mood, I decided I’d give myself a little workout and do one haiku, one cinquain, and one simple iambic pentameter verse about that subject.
HAIKU
Everything is gray.
Rain hanging like a curtain.
No sun peeping in.
CINQUAIN
Raining!
Again today!
I just have to complain:
All is gray and wet and dreary!
Boring!
IAMBIC PENTAMETER VERSE
Another boring day of endless rain.
We don’t need this much water every day.
Sunshine is now a fading memory.
The birds won’t even come out now to play.
I know some tribes have dances that they do
To bring the rain when grounds are parched and bare.
I wonder if there is another dance
To end the rain and turn the weather fair.
In a moment of whimsy, I painted this little cartoon-ish watercolor and wrote a few words to express my feelings at the time. Sorry the page shows a few wrinkles, but it’s in one of my art journals, and those pages tend to wrinkle a little with the watercolor. Hope this little post adds a touch of lightness to your day.
Huge cup of tea,
A piece of cake,
A cookie — two or three —
Some chocolate bonbons in a box
That’s labeled just for me —
I think — perhaps — I’ll make it
Through this day adequately.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I am a writer.
Yes, I am; I know I am.
So why is it that
I’m so often in this jam?
I start new novels;
Then, alas, the muse runs dry.
Three novels just sit,
And I have no idea why.
I am a writer.
I’ve said it o’er and o’er again.
“I am a writer!”
Pounding, pounding through my brain.
Since writing novels
Doesn’t seem to work just now,
I’ll write a poem.
They’re much prettier anyhow.
photo courtesy of “WildOne” @ pixabay.com
Thanksgiving in the U. S. is exactly three weeks from today, so I think it’s only appropriate that I revisit some of my Thanksgiving poems from over the years — and maybe even write a new one.
This week I’ll begin the series with two: one quite serious and one just for fun. Hope you enjoy them, and if you’re one of my own countrymen, I hope they add to your expectations for a happy Thanksgiving celebration.
AH, THANKSGIVING, HOW I LOVE YOU!
Ah, Thanksgiving, how I love you!
Golden crowning jewel of Fall,
Beacon of warmth and cam’raderie,
Sending glad invitation to all:
“Gather to worship; gather to visit;
Gather to focus on all that’s worthwhile;
Feast from tables resplendent with harvest;
Feast on the love in a touch and a smile.”
All the year’s labors weigh heavy upon us.
All the world’s problems seem bigger by far.
But out from that wearisome struggle you call us,
And laying it down, we run to where you are.
And whether in cottages, mansions, or churches,
Community buildings, or tables in parks,
We gather with gratitude full – overflowing;
To the Giver of blessings lift voices and hearts.
Then we return to life’s pattern awaiting.
Filled up with joy, we set off on our way,
Warmer and richer and kinder in spirit
For pausing to celebrate Thanksgiving Day.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
WHAT’S FOR DINNER?
I spot him there, behind the barn,
A full-plumed, regal bird.
He looks up, straight into my eyes.
I speak no single word.
It’s happened thus, in passing years —
At least for two or three:
Each mid-November I’ve set my mind;
He’s been there to greet me.
Now, lifting his head in challenge strong,
He gobbles loud and long.
I lower my gun and heave a sigh:
To kill him would be wrong!
So, wrestling with my double mind,
I trek home to my wife
To explain why, once again this year,
Ham will greet the carving knife.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
~~~
It seems Old Age is calling me,
But I just cannot go.
I have too much of childhood left,
So much that I don’t know.
Why, I still love to color
And to play with paper dolls.
I still delight in bubble pipes
And bouncing rubber balls.
Ah yes, Old Age is calling me,
But I just cannot go.
I still feel like a coed,
Full of life from head to toe.
I hear Old Age a-calling me,
But my decision’s made.
I’m just too young at heart to go.
Old Age’ll have to wait!
~~~~~
~~~~~
Dreams, like water-colored paintings,
Wash away when days are raining,
Unless I rise immediately
And capture them in poetry,
Or in a novel plotted out
So that the dream’s fully lived out.
For when I use dreams for my muse
And more imagination use,
I find that, if I captured well,
My dreams give products I can sell.
Coming and going,
To-ing and fro-ing,
Thoughts in a dither,
Stomach aquiver …
Scurrying, worrying,
Phoning, conversing,
Weighing last doubts,
Last chance to bow out …
Checking all pockets,
Fastening lockets,
Rosebuds and bouquets,
Fragrant, sublime haze …
Guest in their places,
Smiles on the faces,
Music on swelling tide,
“Here Comes The Bride.”
POETRY BY AHYOKA 