It is snowing!!
It is snowing again!!!
This is our third snow in one week!!!!
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.
It’s almost June.
And that means summer’s here.
Can’t stand the bugs and heat, so let’s
I’ve had a thought:
If I delete three months,
It could throw off the universe.
I will admit
I should not mess with time.
So I guess I’ll just grit my teeth
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!
Normal things take longer.
Technology does not work right.
To think the cause
Is lock-down atrophy.
I find I yearn for simpler times
I tell myself.
And sometimes I obey.
But sometimes I, instead, just take
They are a treat
In almost any dish.
But I don’t know how to hunt them
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.
Everything is gray.
Rain hanging like a curtain.
No sun peeping in.
I just have to complain:
All is gray and wet and dreary!
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 …
Weighing last doubts,
Last chance to bow out …
Checking all pockets,
Rosebuds and bouquets,
Fragrant, sublime haze …
Guest in their places,
Smiles on the faces,
Music on swelling tide,
“Here Comes The Bride.”
Welcome to my second poem in this series.
Orange is the only color I don’t like.
I’m not exactly sure why that should be.
I love the color red, and that is pretty close.
And often something pink will pleasure me.
But orange — well it somehow seems to agitate.
It makes me restless and so out-of-sorts.
And I feel bad, because it isn’t orange’s fault,
So I do orange occasionally just to be a sport.
But there are some orange things of which I am a fan:
The round, ripe, juicy fruit that we pluck from a tree,
The brightly orange-wrapped Reese’s peanut butter cups,
And candy corn eaten by the handfuls pleasure me.
I’ve written a few poems about colors, but not a complete rainbow. This past week, however, I started considering writing a whole series. I decided to challenge myself with that endeavor and to put together a group of at least 10 ‘color’ poems, including one each for black and white. I’ll use the others I’ve already written as a jumping off place, and as the first in this series I offer my “Yellow” poem.
Yellow sun, yellow moon,
Yellow ribbon on yellow balloon;
Yellow crayons for coloring,
Yellow bird that chirps and sings.
Yellow squash ripe on the vine,
Yellow daffodils — all mine.
Yellow hair, with cheeks so pink,
Yellow lemonade to drink;
Yellow duckies, yellow chicks,
Yellow grapefruit freshly picked;
Yellow butter drips and drops
From tender, yellow corn-on-cob.
Yellow curtains, crisp and bright,
Yellow anti-bug porch light;
But yellow has its ugly side:
Yellow fever; could have died;
Yellow-bellied, yellow streak,
Yellow-livered, backbone weak.
And sometimes yellow can’t be seen:
It hides in blue and turns to green.
There once was a girl named Loraine
Who was wild for engineers of trains.
They could be short or tall;
Loraine just loved them all;
To have one for her own was her aim.
Now, the guys who drove trains all agreed
That Loraine was no prize; no indeed;
So precautions they’d take,
Each to make his escape
When Loraine for a date came to plead.
Then a young engineer came to town
Who was clueless when she came around.
He became so beguiled
When right at him she smiled,
That right then on one knee he went down.
Oh the wedding was really a beut.
On a honeymoon now they’re enroute.
As they sit side by side
Engineer and his bride.
Down the tracks, at full throttle, they scoot.
There’s a moral to this little tale:
That a woman in love never fails.
If she’s made up her mind
And she’s true to her kind,
It’s the end for those poor, helpless males.
I just can’t seem to tell him how I feel.
Hearing myself say the words
Makes it seem so real.
And if he doesn’t feel the same for me,
It would be an unhappy fate
That spoken words would seal.
So what to do about it I’m unsure.
I’ve thought of possibilities
But nothing quite secure.
But wait! I’ve found the answer to my need:
I’ll say it with some candy hearts —
So childlike, sweet, and pure.
(If you’re not familiar yet with this new poetic form that I created last year, you’ll find information about it at this link. Maybe you’d like to try writing Tso’i yourself. If you do, feel free to leave a link to your poem in the “Comments” section below.)
photo courtesy of Tama66 @pixabay.com