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Kid
Baby
Child
Infant
Tot
Bother
Dupe
Jest
Mock
Even a baby goat!
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From the Outside Looking In
Looking through the glass
An abundance appears
Hot and cold, sour and sweet
An array of trays and aromas abound.
Looking through the glass
A vision appears
Swirling ball gowns and tails
They dance with glee and blissful sounds.
Looking through the glass
Tears begin to fall
As she stands in the cold
From the outside looking in.
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The Problem With ______
The problem with life
It is cyclical in nature
The problem with love
It really never lasts
The problem with rain
Can we ever have enough
The problem with this poem
It just makes no sense.
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Mrs. Beasley
Some might think she’s a doll
Just by hearing her name
In reality, she’s a cat
Yet a doll just the same.
I went to adopt a new kitten
When I lost my dear old friend
(I had her for 17 years)
I had my heart set on another
But she chose us instead.
When the kennel was opened
She leaped out with a bound
I watched in amazement
With the bond that she found.
Mrs. Beasley is now
Just shy of a year
She’s fun and she’s playful
And has filled a void right here.
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The Old Man
He sat proudly on top of the mountain
Watching all of the action below
His face is worn from the years
Of exposure to the elements
The sun, the rain, the snow.
A day came along
When he grew weary
From the years he spent there
And the Old Man of the Mountain
Slid silently from his perch atop
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The Tooth ~ A Haiku
Born with only gums
We grow into our teeth
And then we lose one.
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Mud Pies
Excitement grows as the rain falls
Anxious to get out and play
Anticipation for the mud that forms
Dreaming of the pies that can be made
Momma let’s her go outside
With a stearn warning to keep away
From the mud puddles in the yard
Knowing that she will play there anyway
An hour goes by, then two
And momma calls her little girl in
She walks into the foyer
Covered from head to toe
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Morning Routine
Wake up in the morning
Brush your teeth and hair
Pick out your clothes for the day
Eat breakfast on the run
Get to the office in a hurry
Push through until lunch
Back to the grind in an hour
Then leave for home at five
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She had a beautiful smile
Could lighten any room
Her laugh was contagious
Made everyone laugh as well
Her love was empowering
Enough to cause a swell
She took amazing pictures
Of people, of animals, of bugs
She gave of herself generously
Until the day she was gone.
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T.G.I.F.
What a cliché
Thank God it’s Friday
As if it were no ordinary day.
The work week has ended
And it’s to the bars we go
To drink away our sorrows
From the previous days.
What a cliché
Thank God it’s Friday
As if it were no ordinary day.
The weekend is upon us
The parties are planned
Which one should I go to
Do I even give a damn!
What a cliché
Thank God it’s Friday
It’s no special day.
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The Licorice Stick
Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do
That’s the first thing I remember
About my licorice stick
The first time I played a tune
Long, sleek and black
And a sound that tastes so sweet
Low droning tones to
High melodious sounds
Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do
The second scale I learned
As my fingers slid over
The shiny silver keys
Benny Goodman once stated
“That’s my favorite licorice stick”
Although one might think of candy
My favorite licorice stick is a clarinet
Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do
Now I think I’m ready
To make my licorice stick sing
And fill the room with song.
2 comments:
very interesting what you had to say
Thanks Mom!!
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