Category Archives: poetry

Boston April 2013

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This should have been posted some time ago.  In doing blog maintenance, I discovered this still in draft stage.  Somehow, I failed to publish this short piece, which is a reaction to the craven cowardice of the perpetrators of the Boston bombing and salute to the those who rushed to the rescue.

When these lines were written we didn’t know that there were two bombers–brothers that share the same surname.  Here is Boston April 2013

The cowards fled while heroes sped
Their goal the innocent blood
That flowed from the grievous wounds

Such great shame now stains the name
That dealt such treacherous blow
Our spirit bent but not our will

Let us sing the heroes’ praise
Our voices united raise
Justice reign and freedom ring

 

Monday Musings

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Dreaming of days of plenty

The garden may be covered in snow, but I can still dream of those wonderful summer days of last year.  Warm days and a garden yielding a bumper crop of good eats.

Thanks  to Lin for the comment on last Friday’s post.  She told how after her foot surgery the doctor had suggested she purchase two pair of inexpensive athletic shoes–one in her regular size the other a size or two larger.  I thought about that overnight on Sunday and this morning I drove to Walmart and bought two pair of shoes.  For now the larger one goes on the right foot and the smaller on the left.  After the next foot surgery, the unmatched sizes will be reversed with the large shoe on the left.  I like that I’ll be able to use all four shoes–eventually. 😀  Isn’t that a great idea?

Maggie relaxing on her bed.

It is with sorrow that I pass on last week’s report from Shark of My Quality Day that her dog, Maggie has passed.  Shark and Maggie were visitors here at the home of Secondary Rds in early December.  Maggie was a sweetheart and a lady.  I’m glad that I had the chance to meet her.

Finally, here is a poetic rerun for my cousin, Beverly, who missed it the first time around.  Do you remember this bit of fun?

Don’t Wok On My Kitty

 

Don’t wok on my kitty,
Please don’t wok on my cat.
I love my furry feline friend,
I’m here to tell you that.

I do not want her baked or broiled,
Nor cooked up in stir fry.
And if you wok my kitty,
You know I’ll surely cry.

You may have exotic tastes,
And go for things like that.
But don’t wok on my kitty,
Please don’t wok on my cat.

Have a good week and keep looking for Spring.  I’m sure that it’s coming soon.  Isn’t it?  Please!

Thoughts on Bloomers

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It was Thursday evening, and I was sitting at my computer.  I’d been there for about an hour and desperately needed to get up and stretch.  The relay that controls the water pump clicked again.  Sylvia would be watering the garden.

The camera lay beside the computer keyboard.  I picked it up and stepped out of the basement into the walk-out area.  The evening sun was to my right.  I looked, liked what I saw and took a photo.

Sylvia was in the garden.  We talked for a bit examined the plants–especially the new asparagus bed.  It is coming along nicely in most cases, but some of the roots (what we planted) have not sent up shoots yet.  It’s nice to see the marigolds and salvia adding their brilliant color.  Red peppers are in blossom as are the golden zucchini.  Now if the garden will keep its promises. 😉

This Weekend

The other day, Sylvia showed me the card that we are sending to her father.  It’s a nice Father’s Day card with a nice sentiment printed inside.  She asked me if there was anything I’d like to add.  I thought for a few moments and then said,

Some folks like roses,
And others like pinks.
Flowers are fragrant,
My poetry stinks.

Sylvia opined that she’d pass on adding those lines to the [otherwise] lovely card.  I agree.  Wise choice. 😀

How Does Your Garden Grow

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Mary, Mary quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle shells
And one bat-eared begonia.

It was evening as Sylvia and I sat side by side in our recliners resting after working in the garden (Sylvia) and mowing (me).  She said to me, “I had to haul rocks back to the garden today.”

“Why?” was my reply.

“To keep things from blowing away in the wind,” she answered.

Sylvia had put down the newspapers that we had at hand and all of the landscaper’s cloth.  She does that to control weeds in the area between the rows and even around the plants.  It’s an effective mulch and saves a lot of labor.  The newspaper we already have, so it is economical.  The landscaper’s cloth can be used for several years.  It allows water to pass through and into the ground while preventing weeds from growing.  The cost is greater, but so is the benefit.  The garden does look good now.

Not much newspaper you may observe.  We recycle and that’s what we had.  Perhaps if we were to plan ahead . . . ?

Tiny little asparagus shoots are up and the rhubarb is showing signs of life as well.  It’s going to be a great year.

Echoes of Spring

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I had taken these two photos earlier this spring. I had planned to use them for a Wordless Wednesday post. But the best laid plans . . . as they say.  Indeed, events overtook my plans and I never did post this.  If flowers make you happy, then this is for you.

A crocus, and another crocus

There is an explanation for that silly caption.  The truth is I don’t know if the plural of crocus is crocuses or crocii.  The spell checker indicates a preference for the former wouldn’t the scientific approach lean toward Latin and the latter?  Can you help?  One thing for sure, the crocus on the left is not going to work today.

What's that on the lovely flower?

As you can clearly see the crocus on the left has a bug.  Cough.  Cough.  I’ll try to make it in to work tomorrow boss. 😉  Pity these pix weren’t posted on a Wednesday.  If that had happened, you would have been spared such horrible humor.

Crocus

Lovely Miss Crocus,
Announces arrival of spring,
With merry colors.

What Do You Do While Waiting?

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Each one of us will at some point be found in the waiting room.  What do you do while you await the call to pass beyond the door to the inner sanctum?

If there is a TV, I’ll choose a spot that puts my back toward the infernal contraption.  I prefer to enjoy the company of my own thoughts.  Those thoughts may go to the scene of the hawk diving upon the young rabbit in the field beside the road that I saw as I drove to the doctor’s office that morning.  Then there were the five young deer I met on the road.  We examined one another carefully before they moved on to complete their rounds.  Sometimes, I think of rich dark earth and green growing things or dark blue skies on a sunny summer day.

On occasion, I remove the notepad and pen from my pocket and write a note or start a poem.  I find that far more enjoyable than watching daytime TV.  Or TV at anytime for that matter.  Here is what may come from a moment like that.

In the Waiting Room

While I sit and wait
I kill time by taking notes
Might write a haiku

Don’t Wok On My Kitty (rerun)

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I posted this some time ago, but it seems good to me to re-post this today.  I hope you enjoy this bit of whimsey.  How would caption the picture above?

Don’t Wok On My Kitty

Don’t wok on my kitty,
Please don’t wok on my cat.
I love my furry feline friend,
I’m here to tell you that.

I do not want him baked or broiled,
Nor cooked up in stir fry.
And if you wok my kitty,
You know I’ll surely cry.

You may have exotic tastes,
And go for things like that.
But don’t wok on my kitty,
Please don’t wok on my cat.

Facing a Dragon

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Dragon and Angel

There it stands in the road before me
The dragon blocks my way
Nor will he suffer me to pass

I cannot assault such mighty foe
My strength will not avail
Must I abandon hope?

I walk not in my strength alone
There is one who loves and cares
His messenger before me goes

He bids me go and I obey
His messenger is well armed
And in confidence we advance

Fiery dragon flames do not harm
The shield upon the messengers arm
Another step forward

The dragon strikes
The messenger deflects the blow
His sword is strong and his shield holds

Another step another strike
Once again the dragon attack fails
The rage in the beast is growing

Once again another step is taken
The dragon lunges with a fury
Gleaming sword strikes between scales

An angry serpent’s lunge
Which also fails
The fire grows

The red-eyed beast strikes
The reach exceeds the others
The shiny shield protects

Once more a strike
Again repulsed
Another sword blow strikes home

A most might attack
The messenger steps aside and turns
Advantage to the sword

The advantage is not lost
A swift thrust wounds the fearful beast
It retreats from the field

The way is now clear
And so I go on
But I do not go alone.

Still Busy . . . Still Happy

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                  Tic-Toc

Tic-Toc, my how the seconds fly
  Tic-Toc see how fast they go by
    The seasons come and quickly go
      Why this is so perhaps you know

Why should it be?  Please help me grasp
  Why busy moments speed so fast
    While time that’s spent in idleness
      Treads slowly on toward nothingness

Lord grant me grace that I may live
  A life of service here to give
    And fill my hours and days and years
      Living a life that knows no fears

Keeping Busy

In this last week, Sylvia and I have organized her mission trip presentation.  It is formatted, captioned and only needs a few final touches to be ready to go.

I have scanned a huge stack of photos for the upcoming wedding reception for our pastor’s daughter.  It has been work, but also fun.  When my hands and wrists start to complain, I go veg with Midnight in front of the TV or go outside to play.  Still a lot of work to do out there.  All the time the grass gets greener.  And taller.

As you can tell by the verse I wrote, I’m all too aware of the fleeting moments.  Yet, I celebrate the time that flies.  I do not want to spend this part of my life doing little or nothing.  My prayer is that those who know me best will one day say, these were my best years.  It is toward that end I press on.

Another Child Suicide

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Photo courtesy of Psychology Today

Last night I learned that a 14-year-old boy from this area had committed suicide.  That is the second boy in that family to perish at his own hand this year.  Earlier, a 16-year-old had acted similarly.  I can’t even imagine the grief that family members are experiencing.

As I thought about the loss, I wrote this haiku on a piece of scrap paper.

Broken teen age heart
His world shattered, despair reigns
Gun in hand, the end

My thoughts and prayers go out to the family.