Hindsight Is 20/20

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If I’d worked my abs each day, I’d have a nice six-pack.

Instead, I tend to go ahead and fix myself a snack.

If I’d planted bulbs last fall, some flowers would have grown.

I waited far too long and now my chance for bulbs is blown.

If I’d planned my budget better, I would have those boots.

I just can’t seem to get my life and money in cahoots.

If I’d bothered setting up my cell phone warranty,

they’d replace my broken one entirely for free.

If I’d written down the passwords for all my accounts,

I would never write a check the bank would have to bounce.

If I got my head pulled out from so far up my ass,

I’d have stopped before we left and filled the car with gas.

If I’d checked my email I’d have seen the one from you.

I’d have read what you so kindly told me I should do.

It’s my own damned fault, which I wholeheartedly avow.

I plan to get my act together, if fate will allow.

I will make concerted efforts so I can improve.

I’ll try doing things of which I know you will approve.

Can I have some points for standing up and being brave?

 I’ve recently acknowledged your approval’s what I crave.

*picture courtesy of OpenClips on pixabay.com

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Honey-Do

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Honey bun, I need to get your help around the house.

Visitors are coming in a week.

Here’s a list, a couple things, that you can do to help.

Otherwise, I think I’m gonna freak.

I am with the kids from early dawn to setting sun.

I know that you have a job and all.

I’m still working all day even if it is inside,

teaching kids to speak and eat and crawl.

First of all, you’ve gotta mow the lawn, I’m begging, please.

Also, do the edging while you’re there.

I think I saw some anthills that “we” should get taken care of…

and I wasn’t quite sure if you were aware.

Also I’ve been putting off requests to mend the fence.

I know you’re already swamped at work.

I gotta keep reminding you so someday it will happen.

So, I’m sorry if I come off like a jerk.

Power-wash the house, ’cause dirt’s been caking on for years.

I just figure while you’re still outside…

Oh…and please take care of all the vines behind the fence.

Last year they dried out and all have died.

Sweep the back porch, clean the pool, and dust off that old grill.

Sift the sand box (to remove dog poop).

Then replant some flowers in the empty pots that sit and take

up all the room we have on our front stoop.

Propped against the carport are some boxes to break down,

underneath them there are leaves to rake.

I thought I’d take care of them but haven’t done it yet.

So I know their presence there is my mistake.

Hmmmmmm…….

When this started out, I had some indoor things in mind, too.

 But I don’t seem to be getting past our yard.

When I was a kid I thought my parents both were lazy…

I guess owning homes and raising kids is hard!

*Picture courtesy of Nemo on pixabay.com

I’m Begging You

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Please…please don’t come stand here this close.

Please don’t give me one hug or kiss.

Please…please no sensations like those.

Please don’t let me taste what I’ll miss.

Please…please put me out of my misery.

Please tell me that you feel the same.

Please…please, I know you aren’t at liberty.

But please, just once, whisper my name.

Please…please do it from over there.

Please let me have more than a yard.

Please…please let me know that you care.

Please…this is becoming too hard.

Please…please say it one time, then go.

Please. Then I’ll move on with my life.

Please…please…I’m just dying to know.

Then please run right back to your wife.

*picture courtesy of pixabay.com

Chronic Illness Blues

I’m trying to learn to use wordpress better and am admittedly computer-challenged. When I originally posted this, it wasn’t tagged.

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Nowadays, we’re everywhere: sickies who look fine.

With a glance, it seems that there’s no reason we should whine.

But if the world could have a trial living in our shoes,

they would find, most certainly, they had the chronic blues.

Friends and loved ones try and try, but never understand

the challenges and energy our illnesses demand.

It’s because we look just fine. They cannot see what’s wrong.

Only test results can prove we’ve been sick all along.

It’s hard for us, who lead sick lives, to say we’re not depressed.

We know the hell will never end, “not terminal,” at best.

You can’t forget it, any day; you never get a break.

It goes on while you’re sleeping, it’s here when you’re awake.

Decades pass, the illness lasts, and yet we trudge on through.

People sometimes say, “You’re brave.” But what else can we do?

Illnesses and hospitals…

View original post 277 more words

i did it!

i did it! i did it! i went out and i did it!

if you’d seen you would have been so proud!

i did it! i did it! i can’t believe i did it!

m’gonna say it ‘n’m’gonna say it loud!

i did it! i did it! now i can say i did it!

yesterday i’d’ve never ever guessed!

i did it! i did it! now i know i can do it!

so’m’gonna go back out and do the rest!

i’d rather

i’d rather feel grass betwixt all of my toes

tangible proof that from dirt new life grows

i’d rather be under a big tree tonight

watching its limbs sway, its leaves catch moonlight

i’d rather be looking for pictures in clouds

guessing what skeletons their shapes enshroud

i’d rather catch fireflies in old mayonnaise jars

creating a universe glowing with stars

i’d rather be hearing a nightingale’s song

closing my eyes and forgetting what’s wrong

i’d rather be holding your hand while I do

only one thing could improve them; that’s you

Unicorn

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Growing up, I had the finest mother that could be.

She was full of love and gave the best of life to me.

She told me that she never lived within a happy world.

She said she’d been depressed since she was just a little girl.

I have a sister, one, and she is older than I am.

When we were still just kids, she’d scream and hit me. Wham! Bam! Bam!

All these long years later we discovered that she’s sick.

She’s bi-polar, and in finding anger, she is quick.

Then there is my father who’s a mean and nasty jerk.

Always getting fired, he could never keep his work.

After he got violent, Mom would finally get away.

When I have to see him now, I don’t know what to say.

My first love was jaded ’cause he’d been abused at home.

Neglected and mistreated, he’d been often left alone.

Try, though, as he did, a healthy viewpoint was not found,

even though I did my best to keep him smile-bound.

Two long years I dated, then, a man who in plain terms

was crazy ’nough to make the most outrageous nutball squirm.

I almost didn’t notice ’cause I guess that’s what I knew.

Admittedly…my outlook, from inception, was askew.

So it’s no surprise that, first, I married a young man

who battled with depression and a short attention span.

I wished I could be enough to make him happy. But…

I couldn’t and eventually, we both just gave up.

Then one day, a man appeared…a man who’d change it all.

Immediately, to his arms, I’d run and swoon and fall.

A well-adjusted unicorn pranced up to my plateau!!!

I had always wondered what it’d be like. Now I know.

How nice it is to have someone who’s not depressed, instead!

We fell hard, and soon the two of us were newlywed.

Afraid that I will spook him, I approach him with due care.

To take my past out on him is a move that isn’t fair.

I try to keep it reigned in so he’ll stay right here with me.

He says he’ll tough it out if I should lose my sanity.

I don’t want to lose it. But I know that if I did,

I would not be garbage of which he’d want to get rid.

But despite assurances, I still get scared sometimes.

So I write my fears out using goofy, verbose rhymes.

Thanks go to my unicorn, for saving me, once more.

He’s proven life exists outside depression’s haunting lore.

*photo courtesy of jes872148 on pixabay.com

First Crush

I can see the gray that’s made its way into your beard.

I can see your middle bulging out.

I can’t decide if I should really tell you how I felt.

Read this and you’ll know without a doubt.

I had been in love with you since first I saw your face.

I was right there with you all along.

There were times I know you thought that you were all alone.

I wanted so to tell you you were wrong.

Sometimes you would say things that would give me grains of hope.

I would dream that you could love me back.

But I kept it fantasy in case you’d break my heart

by showing, where your love would be, a lack.

I didn’t think you’d want me so I never took the chance.

Finally, I realized, nor did you.

I took that as a signal and I moved on with my life…

the hardest thing I ever had to do.

But I did move on and I’m so very glad I did.

I see you there alone and growing old.

I’m so much more happy than I’d ever be with you.

I know that from your stance that must sound cold.

I still care quite deeply for you, and I always will.

I’m just glad I married whom I did.

Turns out, when you grew up, you’re a very different man

from whom I thought you’d be when you and I were kids.

I hope you can find happiness, however that may be.

I noticed that you haven’t found it yet.

Of all the people I could wish it for, I’d wish for you,

my first crush, whom I never will forget.

Relics of the Past

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It’s something that I’ve read about but never had been there.

You could say that I was academically aware.

But living with depression’s where I put my focus now.

I’ve been told to “let it go.” I go about that…how?

The demons that I’m fighting have existed for a while.

Somehow, though, in spite of them, I know I used to smile.

How was there a change and now I can’t control my face?

Two blank eyes and deep-cut lines have shown up in its place.

It won’t matter if the doctor has me take a pill,

one for which I know that I’ll receive a timely bill.

All my problems will remain, my relics of the past.

If I find reprieve, it’s fleeting. I know it won’t last.

That thought cancels any progress, so I hide and cry.

When I’m asked if I’m okay, I feel like I should lie.

No one wants to hear the answer that is really true.

They look like deer in headlights who don’t know what they should do.

So to make it easy on them, I just say, ‘I’m fine.’

Probably that night, I have a glass or three of wine.

Transitory fixes are the only thing I’ve got.

Increasingly, I find that’s an excuse I use a lot.

*photo courtesy of werner22brigitte on pixabay.com

Making Do

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Absence makes the heart grow fonder. That’s what people say.

I guess I’m forced to test the theory now that you’re away.

I know that it’s for business and you won’t stay past a week.

It’s still too long to go without your kisses on my cheek.

I’ll live in your blue sweatshirt and I’ll spray it with cologne.

I’ll bring the cats to bed with me so I won’t sleep alone.

I’ll buy another toothbrush and I’ll put it next to mine.

I’ll tell myself that while you’re gone, I’m gonna be just fine.

I’ll put on all the TV shows I know you like to watch.

I’ll wear your robe and slippers and I’ll sip your favorite scotch.

I’ll transplant my butt to your indentation on the couch.

I’ll ask myself each morning, ‘Who’s my favorite little grouch?’

I’ll do all those mundane things, like taking out the trash.

I’ll find out what the cats have done if I should hear a crash.

I’ll wind the cuckoo clock each day and sort through all the mail.

I’ll try my best to take your place, but know that I will fail.

You don’t have to worry. Your position won’t be filled.

It’s a job for which you’re most exceptionally skilled.

I knew right when I met you. To all other men, adieu!

No one brings to life the part of Husband like you do!

*photo courtesy of PublicDomainPictures on pixabay.com

Covert Ops

I learn about you everyday. The more I know, I find

I want to see in more detail the workings of your mind.

Just like none can judge a man who knows the game is on,

you reveal such nuggets when you think your curtain’s drawn!

I see whom you are inside and want to be like you.

At times I most admire what you’ve chosen not to do.

Genuine like none I know, you plot the course and stay,

all while living life like you accept it’s day to day.

You have self-esteem that’s real, from how you act and live,

the kind no school or trophy top could ever hope to give.

You’re forgiving. That I know. I’ve seen you be a man.

I’ve seen you set a lofty goal and give it all you can.

Though true that luck was on your side, so many gifts from birth,

you squander not, but shine instead, and give your life its worth.

Into dark I’d go with you. I’d follow without thought,

for you’re The Man, my whole life through, the one for whom I’d sought.

Even if you didn’t love me, I would love you still.

I’d have a wretched, gaping hole that none could hope to fill.

It’s because I love the you that you don’t try to be.

I love the you that sometimes you don’t know that I can see.

Thank you, Love, for having me, for making me your wife.

Thanks for being beacon fuel that burns and lights my life!

Twisted

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For those of you who’ve never been a clown,

it has inherent pleasures you’ve not known.

It’s great I can erase another’s frown,

no matter if he’s young or if he’s grown.

I whip out my balloons and grab my pump,

and blow them up before excited eyes.

I twist away and flip-flop any grump.

My schtick and sculptures seem to mesmerize.

When I arrive it’s smiles all around,

and when I leave they don’t want me to go.

To look at them, you’d think they’d never frowned.

It picks me up if I am feeling low.

Of all the jobs I’ve had as an adult,

the clowning yields the happiest result.

picture courtesy of OpenClips on pixabay.com

Déjà Vu

I wish I could stop thinking of the things I should have said.

But now it’s all I do; I keep reliving in my head.

Why is it that when I’m gone, I figure it all out?

I know so clearly what I should have said, without a doubt.

Even if I sit and plan the things I want to say,

when I’m in the moment, my words don’t come out that way.

Trying it a second time is never quite the same.

It loses any impact, like a slowly dying flame.

I tell myself that next time I will get my words out right.

And someday when I do it, it should bring me great delight.

Since I never have, though, hand-me-downs are all I’ve got,

sifting through, again, how come my words betrayed my thoughts.

Top of My List

I’ll kick your ass and take your name, so get out of my way.
You did your best to make sure things would end like this today.
Now you’ll point out all the ways I’m such a horrid bitch.
So go ahead and say it. Go ahead and scratch that itch.
Then when it is my turn, interrupt me. Cut me off.
When I try to make things better, roll your eyes and scoff.
As I’m talking, flap that puppet hand behind your back.
Then double-check your safety gear. Prepare for my attack.
I’ve had it up to here and I won’t take it anymore.
Check the lawn and get your stuff. I’ve thrown it out the door.
Don’t come back at any time. I’ll see you next in hell.
If you do, I’ll punch you. You can tell your friends you “fell.”
If I hear you’ve gone about besmirching my good name,
I promise you you’ll learn the definition of defame.
I promise when I’m done you will feel nothing but regret,
’cause I’ll unleash a shitstorm that you never will forget.
Congratulations! On my list, you’re now the first in line.
Crossing your name off will be a pleasure most sublime.
You won’t like what you’ll endure to make it off my list.
Watching how you suffer’s something on which I’ll insist.
Next time, that is if you find another when we’re through,
I might send a manual to show her what to do.
You can thank me later, for it’s not been written yet.
You won’t know when it will be, so just sit there and sweat.
It might happen late one night when you expect it least.
Once your amber beauty, I’m a vigilante beast.
No, this vicious side of me was not here all along.
If you think it was, you really couldn’t be more wrong.
I have never known an anger quite like this before.
Go invest in heavy guns, ’cause baby, this is war.

My Favorite Rendezvous

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I like to keep on dating my own spouse

(maintain romance…we live together now).

We drive a decent distance from our house,

use any time our schedules will allow.

We feel so young whenever we go out.

He sweeps me off my feet another time.

He’ll kiss my cheek and I’ll pretend to pout.

He proves he thinks I’m worth the uphill climb.

Our dates remind us why we tied the knot,

the promises we made so long ago.

My husband’s still the best friend that I’ve got.

He’s still the person I’m most glad to know.

We have these dates to keep our marriage strong.

They validate we’re right where we belong.

*photo courtesy of Stux on pixabay.com

The Saga of Fergus mac Léti

Once upon a time, off in a kingdom far away,

three races battled fiercely for a crown.

The chieftain of the third went to his ally’s land to stay,

an intrepid warrior king of great renown,

forcing brethren left to fight a war of his design,

after wreaking havoc, he would run.

Toasting with his tribe, he drank the last of supper’s wine,

and by next day, his journey had begun.

Protected by King Fergus, who does rule adjacent lands,

the chieftain watched his soldiers, brave and strong,

such soldiers, who respond whene’er their leader shouts commands,

who fought all day, and through the nights so long.

In Fergus’ strong protection, he returned to ask for peace,

calling on his own to back him up.

Reaching out, he asked his tribesmen for the fight to cease,

asked of those with whom he used to sup.

Five among his kindred folk decided he should pay,

and for such havoc, they, there, took his life.

Fergus heard the story, to his ears it made its way,

’twas his protected…murdered with a knife!

Taking an affront like this was more than he could bear,

and for his due revenge, he came to call.

He unleashed his armies and the blood gushed everywhere,

as all around him, enemies did fall.

As a further payment, he did take a servant maid,

and with her to his kingdom, he returned.

Now in his possession, he dismissed the debt as paid,

knowing that the lesson had been learned.

One bright day by chariot, King Fergus met the sea,

and there beside he laid and fell asleep.

Unknown to him, some leprechauns, whose sum amounts to three,

attempted dragging Fergus to the deep.

As his feet touched water, though, King Fergus did awake,

and soon he had the leprechauns in hand.

In return for those three lives that Fergus didn’t take

(he set them gently down upon the sand),

they, to him, did give some wishes, anything he’d like,

and so he chose to breathe beneath the sea.

With exception, only one, he swam henceforth with pike.

In one near loch, they warned it couldn’t be.

He was told to stay away, that this charm won’t apply,

to keep to any other and be fine.

The matter of this fact they did not dare attempt belie,

but consequences, they did not outline.

He could breathe in water with but herbs stuffed in his ears.

Full of pride, he swam where they forbade.

Unbeknownst to him, his face would soon be set for years,

a frozen, tortured mask his muscles made.

’Neath the huge, verboten loch he faced a savage beast,

a monster so horrendous to behold

that his look of terror could not ever be released;

his creases, caused by hubris, won’t unfold.

Once ashore, King Fergus knew. He felt his face was wrong.

He asked the driver, who confirmed it’s true.

The driver said that hopefully it wouldn’t last for long.

Perhaps sound rest would make the face undo.

But as Fergus slept, the driver took himself to town,

gathered an assembly of the wise,

told them all the story of the king’s unsightly frown,

of the tortured look of terror in his eyes.

With no kingly countenance, he could be thus deposed,

but his subjects liked their king so much…

removed were fools who may reveal how his face was composed;

they banished looking glasses and the such.

Blissfully he lived on unaware for several years,

till one day, he whipped that servant maid.

In revenge, she validated Fergus’ worst fears,

spoke the words of which he’s most afraid.

Flaring up, enraged, King Fergus slashed her with his sword,

splitting up the servant maid in two.

Confirmation– now he had the truth that he’d abhorred,

revenge upon that creature long past due.

To the loch King Fergus went to wage a fearsome fight.

Locked in battle, they fought on and on.

They continued dueling underwater through the night,

clashing still when light announced the dawn.

Waves so violent beat the coast, relentlessly they came,

till at last all settled down once more.

Withered up and spent, the king emerged, his face the same,

limping slowly on the soggy shore.

Water red and bloody, he’d become a mangled mess.

I am the survivor’s all he said.

Then King Fergus died, no intact frame to repossess,

dangling in his hand, the monster’s head.

Scarlet did the water run till thirty days went past,

evidence that heralded their fight.

Beyond that epic battle, neither beast nor man would last.

Only the retelling of it might…

***Note: This is the oldest story in which leprechauns can be identified…an Irish tale, no doubt. The earliest mentions aren’t like the leprechauns we think of today; they were more like sprites or fairies. I tried to find a version written in English that is readily accessible without looking up lots of old Gaelic and couldn’t find one, so this is my attempt. In truth, I think I may have some of the details off…because as I said, it was difficult to find a version I could understand. Hope you enjoy it anyway.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day from this Irish lass!

Shadow Play

When standing underneath the moon at full,

my shadow came to rest upon a weed,

and it inspired antics I could pull.

To play a props game, I would then proceed.

Behind my head, in silhouette…a bun,

a fig leaf when it covered up my crotch.

So I would end my day with something fun,

the weed and I performed for none to watch.

A flowery corsage had graced my wrist.

A guinea pig sat poised beside my feet.

Within my lung I grew a nasty cyst.

Fried onion blossom had appeared to eat.

I thought about the game when I had gone.

Tomorrow I should really mow the lawn.

when pigs fly

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when i win the lottery, i won’t need me no job

i’ll only wear eccentric things and keep house like a slob

when i get my superpowers, i won’t need no car

if i want i’ll rope the moon and catch a shooting star

when i run for president, i won’t need me no press

i can reach the masses fine, broadcast my own address

when i solve the deficit, i won’t need no new bills

i’ll devise a way it can be paid off with cheap thrills

when i conquer wall street, i won’t pick no stocks or bonds

i’ll take pay-outs and dividends, then buy what corresponds

when i’m made queen of the world, i won’t need no gold crown

i’ll use the kind made from balloons and get one from a clown

when i stop world hunger, i won’t need no fish or bread

i’ll feed them words and poetry and rhyming prose instead

when i make my maiden voyage, i won’t need no sea

i’ll sail amongst my words and post my poems here for thee

photo courtesy of Engel352 on pixabay.com

Evergreen Clovers

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Tried and true friends are like four-leafed clovers,

lucky to find and so rare.

Only a few will you find on this earth

though you may feel you’ve looked everywhere.

Treat them with care and they’ll stay evergreen,

not just alive in the spring.

It’s worth the effort to tend to their health

for the benefits that friendship brings.

Tell all the ones whose lives matter to you.

If lucky, they feel the same way.

Though they may know you can make it a habit

to tell them again everyday.

How I Know You Love Me

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 It’s in the way you speak to me, the way you treat me right.

It’s in the way you smile to see my face at first daylight.

It’s in the way you care for me, support me everyday.

It’s in the things you say that bring me comfort, come what may.

It’s how you call out “Mar-co” when you look for me at home.

It’s how you smile when reading through another silly poem.

It’s all about your hips and bum, your shoulders…all so fine.

It’s how you like to getcha some, and make sure I get mine.

It’s all about the things you do that bring me to the brink.

It’s how I’m crashing overboard, all swollen, wet, and pink.

It’s how your fingers pet me, sending shivers down my spine.

It’s why you are The One For Me, and I’m your sweet frauline.

It’s in the way you research things to get us what is best.

It’s how the me-shaped nook is there between your arm and chest.

It’s how you sit so patiently and hear about my day.

It’s in the old and tired things you make fresh in some way.

Of all the men who’ll ever be, it’s always you I’ll choose,

to be my husband, my best friend, my captivating muse.

So how I know you love me, Love, is easy to divine.

They say “in vino veritas,” and you drink lots of wine.

picture courtesy of OpenClips on pixabay.com

The Waiting Game

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When sitting in a waiting room, I dream.

It doesn’t matter what I’m waiting for.

I know that things are never as they seem,

that anyone could open up that door.

I hope that grand adventure waits beyond

and all I have to do is walk on through.

I wish that I had brought my magic wand

so I could go embark on something new.

But even if I just get on a scale

or have to see a person I dislike,

my wild imagination will not fail,

’cause everything makes inspiration strike!

While waiting, I imagine what could be.

My body’s sick. At least my mind is free.

*photo courtesy of TryJimmy on pixabay.com

All Hail the Engineers!

engineers
There are such folk who must take things apart,
those men who have to see the inner gears.
To put stuff back together is an art,
a thing, that if I could, would take me years.
The engineers have kept me cool and dry,
invented cars to get from here to there,
accomplishing things I would never try!
Of my vast ignorance, I’m well aware.
I’m glad that handy folk like them exist.
Or otherwise, we’d all lead different lives.
Quite luckily, their help we can enlist,
and from their efforts, our great planet thrives.
So…next time that you see an engineer,
just doff your hat and buy the chap a beer!
picture courtesy of pixabay.com

Hello, Paper, My Old Friend…

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Though I mostly use computers for my writing now,

I sometimes like to write things out by hand.

If I don’t, from time to time, I fear I’ll forget how,

and that result, I simply couldn’t stand.

There is something magical ’bout paper or a pad,

just a blank slate ready to receive,

somewhere to set down my daydreams, memories I’ve had,

things I now or never will believe.

And no matter, right or wrong, the page will not protest,

never has opinions it will force.

No spellchecker tells me that I haven’t typed my best.

There’re no grammar rules I must enforce.

I am free to doodle, write in margins, strike through text,

using routing arrows if I please.

I could sit here all day with my writing muscles flexed,

filling up lined pages with such ease.

I don’t have to know if I have recently hit “save,”

never need a chair that reaches plugs.

I don’t need a battery or program to behave,

never troubleshoot, nor check for bugs.

I’ll go back and use my ‘puter after this, today.

Writing out by hand was just for fun.

I want to remind myself there is another way…

Like most pursuits, there are more ways than one.

picture courtesy of PublicDomainPictures on pixabay.com

Road Rage

It makes no difference in which lane I drive.

The one I’m in will be the one that’s slow.

It feels just like I never will arrive.

If I’m too late, I shouldn’t even go.

The cars whoosh by in the left passing lane.

So I move over when I get the chance.

The right lane speeds past, and I go insane.

The lane I’m in just never will advance.

I know that I should find a different route,

a better way to get from here to there.

For now, instead, I come this way and pout.

It feels so good to get worked up and swear.

The strangers who can’t hear me get my wrath

’cause they, caught up in traffic, blocked my path.

Enough

I’ve often seen a raindrop weave its way down window glass,

building speed and growing fast in size,

picking up the others as it wends its weary way,

down to earth it falls from darkened skies.

I’ve often seen a rainbow bring the promise of the sun,

its energy so vibrant and alive…

showing light waves’ majesty in all their glory, true,

witnessing how nature’s colors thrive.

I’ve often seen the sunrise usher in a brand new day,

spreading warmth across my face and land,

getting the world moving as they take on what may come,

both things they do and do not understand…

If I live I know I’ll see these more times than a few.

I know I can always ask for more,

see another rainbow after counting raindrops fall,

and feel the sunrise heat my very core.

I’ve never seen you sleeping after giving you delight.

I haven’t held you, kissed away your tears,

I haven’t had the nerve to tell you what I really want:

to be yours as we wile away the years.

If I could do these things, I’d give back all my raindrops now.

I’d throw away my rainbow for your love.

I’d banish my warm sunrise, and I’d get my heat from you.

Your love for me would surely be enough.

Prednisone and I Have a Hate-Love Relationship

Infections, too much acid in your stomach and your throat,

oh yes, those steroids offer something for us all…

whether you are in the market for some nerve disease,

or you just want some bones to break with every fall.

Sleeplessness comes right away to those who have to swallow

lots of prednisone to keep themselves alive.

Your appetite is screaming and you want to eat up everything,

and then another two…or four…or five….

You will have some family members question why it is

you’ve turned yourself into a raving lunatic.

Scream out that you’re ragin’ ’cause you’re on the ‘roids you hate

and that you only do it ’cause you’re really sick.

Oops, you’re stomach’s bleeding, and you’re diabetic now…

so…those are just a few more bonuses you’ll get….

The person in the mirror’s face, enlarged and puffed and red:

she looks just like someone you never, ever met.

You could have some cataracts or dabble in glaucoma

and you may not have an age past twenty-two.

You really didn’t have a choice; you had to take this drug

because your doctor says that’s all that you can do.

So, a hump is living on your back and neck all day

and now you feel just like a camel or a freak.

Your distended abdomen has bloated up your trunk.

You watch your muscles become atrophied and weak.

And you may get hypertension or anemia,

random muscle problems or a slow heart beat.

You will build intolerances to all temperatures

until you cannot take the cold, nor take the heat.

Then there’s this annoying thing that happens where the

side effects can mirror all the symptoms that they “cure.”

So you keep on taking them ’cause you and doc lose track:

it’s disease, or side effects? None can be sure.

Sitting here today I know without the steroid doses

I have had to take to stay here on this Earth,

I’d have been a goner when I’d no more years than nineteen

from the day mine was a celebrated birth.

I could never list them all, the damages this drug can cause

while using it to maintain life and heal.

All that I can do as I throw back my daily dose

is move my fingers and write out the way I feel.

Look on the Bright Side

dental-hygiene-156103_150

In a costly leather chair, I must accept my fate.

TV on the ceiling blaring; I sit here and wait.

Mom was right to tell me young to always floss and brush,

even if I haven’t slept and shower in a rush!

But I didn’t listen, so I sit and pay my dues,

leaving with a new toothbrush I know I’ll I never use….

Sure, I’m grateful you will give me shots of Novacaine,

nine or so to make me numb, to disregard my pain.

But what really makes me happy while you work a drill

is nitrous oxide from a tank. Just put it on my bill.

I’m already sending money till the day I die.

I could try to do without, but it makes time fly by!

Put a tiny mask around my nose, and make it tight!

Then I’ll open up my mouth, submit without a fight.

Take your evil instruments wrought from a horror flick,

then scrape and jab my teeth and gums with that big metal pick.

Blast me with that awful drill until I smell tooth burns,

while you work away and think “That girl! She never learns!”

Go ahead, while you’re up there, and set my hair aflame.

I will sit here patiently and won’t know you’re to blame.

Thanks for being liberal when turning up the gas.

I can easily remember that this, too, shall pass.

And for all the torture you’ve inflicted for today,

I will smile and thank you. Then I’ll pay! Pay! Pay!

photo courtesy of OpenClips on pixabay.com

Up The Drive

When up the drive my lover’s car does pull,

emerging from his door I see him stand.

The limits of my heart are far past full.

His lunch box and his coat are in his hand.

I run so I can meet him at the door.

I’m always eager for his loving kiss.

He’s everything I want in life and more.

Now in our house, his love I no more miss.

He works all day to give me what he can.

I’m here for him to make his evening right.

I’m ever grateful this is my sweet man.

I’ll sleep embraced by him throughout the night.

And every time his car comes up the drive,

it keeps the love inside my heart alive.

Good Vibrations

i have a strong connection with the earth

when working in my garden everyday

i often witness miracles of birth

and see resplendent colors on display

there is no way to leave things undisturbed

’cause just my very presence leaves its mark

the energy we trade is quite superb

if possible i garden till it’s dark

as humans we have used the land for gain

not just for food or shelter from the cold

i think i should give back at least a grain

before my body tells me i’m too old

i love to feel the ground beneath my feet

and share with plants the sun’s amazing heat

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