Unpolished

I saw you in the mirror just today.

You’d love the way the curls surround your face.

You wished you had my hair, you’d always say.

You do, your countenance now set in place.

 I came across an article last week.

A fascinating study had been done.

I quoted some statistics, like a geek;

your legacy is not to be outrun.

Engrossed in my beloved TV shows,

I’m caught off guard: I hear you laugh out loud,

for ev’ryday my laugh, more like yours, grows …

so many traits of yours I’ve been endowed.

Elusive still, your wisdom’s what I seek.

I haven’t quite yet mastered your technique.

 

 

 

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I Had It Coming …

“Dear Mrs.,

     I am going,” said the note left by my couch.

“You suffocate me all day long. I’ve got to get away.

Throw pillows didn’t care to leave; for them I’ll no more vouch.

                                      Farewell,

                                           ~from your (old) Couch

P.S. I’ve something else to say.

Your sneakers up and left last week. They both made up their mind.

They feel so useless here, they’re gonna find some other feet.

You didn’t even notice. You just sit on your behind.

They waited till they had their chance and beat a fast retreat.

Your microwave is overworked. I’d watch out for him, too.

You’re stretching out your underwear. They hate it … so you know.

                                      And finally I leave you,

                                           ~Syonara! Bye! Adieu!

P.P.S. When  the others leave, just think: I told you so.”

possession

losing grip like an icicle melting in the sun

crashing down, striking man rather than hitting the ground

a surprise, the ancient asteroid, crack of a gun

splitting flesh, tearing what did not belong to him down

 havoc wreaked, spoiling ruins strewn about, a shipwreck

waning yelp, the lion mangled his voice with that roar

turning red, the scarf blazed an autograph on the neck

termination. absence of fodder for an encore

Mean Mister Blues

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Mean Mister Blues pitched a tent in my shoes

last night as I did sleep.

Now in my womb, he made it my tomb.

He came for emotions to reap.

I’d try to fight to keep light in my life

but that result wouldn’t come cheap.

The windows unlocked, I just couldn’t act shocked,

and over the sills poison seeped.

I would scream out but that’d give him no doubt

and he’d find me before I could go.

Gnashing my teeth with such pain underneath,

that could only set Blues’ heart aglow.

If I lie still and give up my free will,

the tortures I might undergo

would leave me a shell while my pain is excelled

until agony’s all that I know.

Trapped in my mind with so much undefined…

it’s my happiness I will forsake.

I let him come and consume till I’m numb,

stoking his fires with…

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Acid Rain

The tension flows freely and fills up the room,

condensing like dark clouds that bully the sky,

with clustering pustules that fester and bloom …

those unanswered questions about how and why.

Expanding balloons grow enormous and pop,

broadcasting a mist over all in their wake,

refusing to wilt, as their poison, they drop,

corroding facades, and exposing the fake.

Acidic remarks lash harsh stripes on the wall …

transmogrify love into caustic defeat.

They crush good intentions to dust where they fall,

ensuring destruction is swift and complete.

Stripes become solids, their coverage increasing.

Resentments pile high, exponential in growth.

Permanent statements– they live without ceasing–

obliterate all that was precious to both.

Unearthed

I constantly discover whom I am,

each new experience, a catalyst,

a psychoanalytic self-exam …

an invitation I just can’t resist.

 I learned, one year, that both my thumbs are green,

that horseradish and mustard stole my heart,

that I’d maintain an exercise regime,

that really, it is not too late to start.

But other things, I didn’t want to know,

like how harsh I can be when it gets tough,

that things I’d hoped were always, I’d outgrow,

that sometimes, words would never be enough.

 It’s tempting, to avoid perceiving more,

to skulk back in my cave and latch the door.

By The Gate

We stood there waiting for our boarding call,

the flight before not fully deplaned yet,

when something happened that would make me bawl,

a moment that I never will forget.

We heard the thick applause from near the gate.

It spread, all heads directed toward its source.

Six soldiers marched, returning from Kuwait,

their uniforms: Untied States Air Force.

A little girl stepped up, who’s maybe five,

and all at once a hush fell on the crowd.

She said, “Please Sir, my daddy’s not alive.”

And down to her, the gentle soldier bowed.

“Can I please have a hug before you go?

You look like him. I miss him really bad.

I wish he could be here to see me grow,

and with a hug, I wouldn’t be so sad.”

No eye within the crowded gate was dry.

The soldier swooped her up and held her tight,

as even he, too, would begin to cry,

along with all the men who fought the fight.

Saluting to the mother and the girl,

the soldiers left our gate with hard-earned tears,

the men who fought for freedom ’round the world,

immersed in grateful, patriotic cheers.

Before the men would disappear from sight,

they turned to find the girl and give a wave,

a gesture that would fill her with new light,

which she returned in kind back to the brave.

The Inevitable

Again, this May, I gained another year.

An extra inch or three are on my waist.

The lines upon my brow grow more severe.

My keys and purse are constantly misplaced.

I have to have these bifocals to see.

My sunglasses near cover my whole face.

At times, when I am tickled, I will pee.

I always carry safety pins, in case ….

Just yesterday I found a hair that’s gray.

I value having comfy underwear.

  Those memories I’ve cherished fade each day …

if there’s an app for that, I’m unaware.

I wish  I could remain composed and calm.

The problem is, I’ve realized I’m my mom.

Freeze Frame

I’ve never seen you look so sexy as you do right now,

your sweet blond locks combed back with not one hair that’s out of place,

the signs of effort showing in the lines that grace your brow,

the sideways glance that’s hinting at the smile upon your face.

The muscles in your arms are taut, and ripple as you flex,

as they would do if anyone would use them as you are.

The light from o’er your head has caught your eyes’ soft hazel flecks,

illuminating, on your cheek, your fifth grade gym class scar.

If I could freeze this moment, I’d relive it everyday.

I’d take it out and cheer myself if I am feeling blue.

Of all the special characters that you, at times, portray,

the one that washes dishes makes me want to say, ‘I do.’

Spontaneous Combustion

Without a warning, I can feel my heart explode in flames.

The tendrils curl and lap, consuming all its bitter juice,

incinerating ancient scars incised by lovers’ games,

extinguishing emotions that were never any use.

As lipids, dense, and rife with fuel, will burn and smoke so long,

my heart continues smoldering each day and every night.

But if enduring heat like this will make me brave and strong,

I’ll stem this conflagration raging on, no end in sight.

Asking For Help

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Asking for help can be harder than not,

because both cause a pain that is real.

I hate to admit this is all that I’ve got,

and that this is the best I might feel.

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I’m a young woman and shouldn’t need help

since most strangers assume that I’m fine.

I feel like a dog squeezing out a sad yelp

’cause I realized this body’s now mine.

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At once, overnight, I became old and weak,

so I didn’t have time to adjust.

Suddenly, I couldn’t chew food, see, or speak,

and into Sick’s midst I was thrust.

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 A placard at 19: admitting defeat!!!

It’s a thing I was so loathe to do.

I’m now twice that age, and perspective, my seat,

as I look back on what I went through.

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I so wish that back then, I’d let ego go.

I wish I’d not cared what they thought.

I wish I knew then what I’ve since come to know

and the truth that the future has brought.

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It’s not a character flaw to be sickly.

It’s okay to ask for a hand.

I’ll get there eventually, slowly or quickly.

Who cares if the world understands?

askingforhelp6

Sometimes I’m weak and I need extra time,

and sometimes I park by the door.

Sometimes I can’t talk, and it’s not a crime,

and some days, just to eat, is a chore.

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But here, from my seat, in this tower of age,

with the wisdom I’d hoped would shed light,

I see the intensity’s not been assuaged.

Still, to make myself ask, is a fight.

Mating Rituals

You see the bowerbird collecting trinkets to adorn

his bachelor pad so he’ll attract a mate?

He only picks blue glass and wrappers, ribbons that are torn,

arranges them obsessively, then waits.

Now look at tall giraffes, who have some curious foreplay.

A male will smell her urine, have a taste.

If he detects she’s ready, it’s a go for them today.

He then proceeds to mount her with due haste.

My human male, anticipating intercourse tonight,

prepares, like any species on the prowl.

With music playing he will get the ambiance just right,

complete with Kleenex, candle, and a towel.

All Those Things We Never Said

Let’s say all those things we never said.

Let’s sit down and talk until we’re done.

Let’s rewrite our history instead.

Let’s pretend our lives have just begun.

All those things we never said are here,

all those things we owe the other’s heart.

All those things we held back are so clear.

All those things demand that we re-start.

Let’s carve out new paths that intersect.

Let’s embark on journeys as a pair.

Let’s embrace those feelings we neglect.

Let’s no longer hide the love we share.

When We Kiss

I so love the way you still look at me when we two kiss,

’cause each time we do, there’s a wonder alive in your eyes,

as though no lips brushing on yours ever felt quite like this,

as though I intoxicate, giving you fabulous highs.

I think of a child with his presents when Christmas time comes,

your face lit, so grateful to find, such a treasure, you own.

The whole cake is not what you run for; you relish the crumbs,

like tasting my kiss is the greatest one pleasure you’ve known.

It makes me so tickled to know my lips bring you such joy,

that they are the cause of the grin you display on your face,

which shines through your manliness, showing your sweet little boy

who’s spent all his life searching for my warm kiss and embrace.

Home, Sweet Home

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There’s nothing like returning home when I’ve been far away …

no, nothing quite as comforting as that.

I breathe in those familiar scents. In dark, I know my way.

I relish being where I hang my hat.

homesweethome2

My mattress isn’t perfect but I welcome every lump.

I know what to expect when I sleep there.

I never need good posture; I can slouch and droop and slump,

and check my email in my underwear.

homesweethome3

I need not amble through the lobby if I want to eat,

I make my own food and it tastes just fine.

I go about my business with no shoes upon my feet,

ecstatic to be in this place that’s mine.

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When I must leave here on my way to do this thing or that,

if I could pack and take my house, I would,

complete with driveway, mailbox, and of course, my welcome mat.

I’d even bring my quiet neighborhood.

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But it might be a good thing I can’t bring that stuff along,

that I must go without things I adore …

for being far away from them, and not where I belong,

just means I, then, appreciate things more.

Splat

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*picture courtesy of PeterDargatz on pixabay.com

I’ve never observed you before with that look in your eyes,

your hair at attention, the veins bulging thick on your neck.

It took me a minute to comprehend, for me to realize

that you threw the punch that had put him face-down on the deck!

I promise you we were just talking; it’s not how it looked.

But still, it’s a compliment, you so protective and stressed.

I know that if he’d laid a finger, his goose would be cooked.

You sure made your point. He’s aware it’s for you that I’m dressed.

I’ve never before had a man start a fight for my hand,

and now that one has, there’s no need to repeat all this fuss.

You let me know that when it counts, my man will take a stand

and fight to ensure we two live our lives out as an “us.”

Scentsational Escapes

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There are many reasons that a garden’s worth my while,

several ways to use a bright bouquet.

When I need some R&R, I like to bathe in style,

with petals in a colorful array.

I tear off stalks of lavender to beautify my tub.

I prune some fragrant roses still in bloom.

I gather up some blossoms from my charming fuchsia shrub,

and crush all to release intense perfume.

Just a snip of spearmint to temper all that sweet,

water warm, enticing, steeped with peace,

I lean back and inhale their scent, immersed from neck to feet,

basking in my quiet, spiced release.

*images courtesy of dhomi and robert102 of pixabay.com, respectively

 

Colonel Beauregard Bojangles

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I love my big, fat Ragdoll cat, named Beau.

His fur is gorgeous shades of crème and flame.

By far he is the softest cat I know.

His countenance is referenced by his name.

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 He tops the scale at 19.5 pounds.

Stretched paw to tail, in inches, thirty-eight.

When Beau is brushed, he makes a trilling sound.

His waddle is the most endearing gait.

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 A cranky boy, he speaks up when first touched.

From his great effort, when he jumps, he grunts.

A Ragdoll, Beau will dangle when he’s clutched,

but turns into a beast each time he hunts.

aa5

 He loves to have his big ol’ belly rubbed.

We do it all the time so he’ll feel loved.

A Modern World

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Once upon a time in a modern-day world, I logged onto a dating website.

I looked for a friend or companion to hang with. I didn’t expect Mr. Right.

I read through the profiles. I flipped through them all. No one stood out from the start.

Then came an “interest” from someone I’d passed on. He set out to capture my heart.

In only two days, we’d exchanged several emails; he asked for my number to call.

The first time we spoke, this man asked me to dinner. Already, I knew that I’d fall.

Our date was so lovely, we both needed more. So I met him again and again.

In only three days from the day our eyes first met, I left behind all other men.

Somehow I knew that my life was completed. He voiced aloud what we both knew–

though we had just met, we intended to marry. Ecstatic, we both said, “I do.”

My friends and my family all thought I’d gone crazy, and nobody thought we would last.

I knew what they meant. I could see that, objectively, we got engaged way too fast.

After our marriage had lasted a few years, our story improved with passed time.

Now when we’re asked how long we’ve stayed together, we tell them, “This year makes it nine.”

Sleep, How I’ve Missed Thee!

sleepy sheets

*picture courtesy of  weinstock on pixabay.com

When I’m in the hospital, I never get good sleep.

I am poked and prodded two to four times every hour.

That translates to me not having snoozing that is deep.

Changing this is not within my doctor’s awesome power.

It’s ironic, since I’m here to rest up and get healed;

one would think a different set of rules would be in place.

The creaking of the door ensures my eyeballs both are peeled,

 exhaustion evident upon my drained and weary face.

Nurses come and ask me if there’s something they can do.

I say, ‘What I’d most enjoy is being left alone.

I would like to sleep, if I could, for the whole night through,

sans machines who scream in that obnoxious, high-pitched tone.’

Yes, the nurses follow rules I know they didn’t write.

I know they do what they’ve been instructed that they must.

Still I long, when I’m this sick, to sleep through just one night.

My body would be shocked, but I’m quite sure it would adjust.

I’m grateful they look in on me and want to be of use.

But TLC is one more thing from which I’ll have to heal.

Two more days until my treatment’s done and I’m cut loose.

I’ll beg the doc to send me home, no matter how I feel.

I’ll draw the curtains, use earplugs, and crash until I’m done,

snoring loudly, dreaming, getting all the rest I can.

Slumbering till noon has passed is my idea of fun,

 holding hands and skipping with that marvelous Sandman.

 

 

Pretzels

Pretzels

Image

The Pearl

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Do not be fooled by its messy appearance,

papers and plastic and tools.

They’re merely signs of robust perseverance.

Rather than chaos, think: jewels.

This is a pearl born of craft and creation,

a simple, white table the seed…

where projects and visions are brought to fruition,

following impulse’s lead.

A Regular Day

*picture courtesy of GLady on pixabay.com

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  I breathe him in and taste his chest and face.

The forehead kiss he leans down to bestow.

That signifies that we are both in place.

I’m ever grateful on this ride to go.

(He says he wants to absorb me.)

The shadows catch the contours of his neck.

I take the role of lock, and he, the key.

I am but here on Earth…I have to check.

How still, his head, whose body’s slamming me–

(He could balance an egg on it.)

A glutton he has forced my body be.

I’m ruined now for any other sport.

Still twice a day…this gift he gives to me.

Methinks that none would credit my report.

(The look on his face is Mercy.)

I thrust and pull his body into mine.

He’s fluid, steady, powerful and hard….

We seat ourselves where lovers come to dine

and go about our love with no holds barred.

(I want to be absorbed.)

 Men since the dawn of time have wondered how,

and wanted to give what he gives with ease.

Of all the men, then, he should take a bow.

His lady’s first and he is set to please.

(She is also second.)

A healthy beast with stamina untold,

his graceful ways are far beyond just apt.

At full stride, he’s a vision to behold,

and when he’s done, I’m nothing less than rapt.

(He’s one of those people who’s good at everything.)

Funkytown

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Undoubtedly, I’m always in a funk,

existing in a neverending haze.

For years I’ve been accumulating junk,

the residue and scars from awful days.

I struggle to detach them from my life,

but still I am beholden to my past

emotional and health-related strife.

I helplessly obey. The die’s been cast.

Thus left with no escape, I organize,

identifying causes and effects.

I cannot win, so I must compromise

in hopes I’ll find the peace my health rejects.

Great callouses have formed and left me tough.

At times, I find they’re simply not enough.

*picture courtesy of Julianza on pixabay.com

The Best Plan We’ve Got

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I received a sharp blow yesterday.

My insurance will no longer pay.

My nurse called to give me the news:

the right medicine, I cannot use.

My doctor tried all that he could.

The response to his pleas was no good.

“It is way too expensive,” they said,

“but if she’s in a hospital bed,

we’ll accept the claim, and we’ll pay.”

I’ve been told I must do it that way.

We all know it will cost them much more

when I’m jailed on the third or fourth floor.

 They’ll spend more than they would in a year

if they’d kept it from getting severe.

Yes, the medicine does cost a lot…

though in my case, it is all I’ve got,

’cause the others aren’t options for me.

They’re as bad as my illness could be.

All traditional treatments have failed.

In the end, illness always prevailed.

So, I must steer toward death and then flirt,

tempt disaster, risk my life, and hurt.

I must point straight and drive down that road

to encourage catastrophe, goad.

Once that sick, my life’s so tough to save.

It’s so hard to keep me from the grave.

And yet nobody asked what I thought.

I’m just told it’s the “best plan we’ve got.”

Thank You For…

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 Thank you for loving me even when I’m at my worst.

Thank you for always forgiving and then moving on.

Thank you for quenching all my intellectual thirst.

Thank you for skyping your love to me when you are gone.

Thank you for reading a book if I’ve told you you should.

Thank you for trusting my judgment when you’d rather not.

Thank you for being so tall and for smelling so good.

Thank you for cheering me up when I’m sad and distraught.

Thank you for wanting me when I was so overweight.

Thank you for saying I’m beautiful all of the time.

Thank you for being so patient when I’m running late.

Thank you for eating junk food as my partner in crime.

Thank you for being my rock when I needed one so.

Thank you for taking me, with my old baggage and all.

Thank you for being the wittiest person I know.

Thank you for running so quickly whenever I call.

Thank you for doing some yoga and buying a mat.

Thank you for helping me plant those vines growing so high.

Thank you for finding my keys, wherever ’tis that they’re at.

Thank you for giving vegetarianism a try.

Thank you for knowing so quickly that I was The One.

Thank you for sharing the interesting things that you learn.

Thank you for solving most problems before they’ve begun.

Thank you for sharing with me all the money you earn.

Thank you for planning our finances for when we’re old.

Thank you for settling in with me right where we are.

Thank you for putting your dreams, when you have to, on hold.

Thank you for living life’s story with me, your co-star.

Thank you for promising you’ll be with me till the end.

Thank you for holding me tight as we both fall asleep.

Thank you for being a loyal, compassionate friend.

Thank you for thinking I’m pretty as my wrinkles creep.

Thank you for all these and thank you for what is to come.

I know you so well and I know I’ll have more to add on.

Though this is still incomplete, it is far better than none.

But I’ll stop for now, as I see it is finally dawn.

*picture courtesy of OpenClips on pixabay.com

Deus Ex Machina

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You don’t have to do this alone.

I’m here for you. I’ll be your crutch.

  I know you’d get by on your own.

I just want to help you so much.

No, I cannot say how you feel.

I know that I’ve never been there.

But I know my love for you’s real.

So please keep in mind that I care.

Grown men are allowed to cry, too.

It doesn’t mean that you are weak.

Just say what you want me to do.

I’ll be the warm comfort you seek.

I’m here in this difficult time.

 I’ll be like a harness for you,

I’ll give you support while you climb.

I promise that I’ll see it through.

So when you are ready, just lean.

I’ll catch you before you can fall.

I’ll be your own godsent machine

and smash through that treacherous wall.

*picture courtesy of flamenco on pixabay.com

What I Love About You

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   There are so many things I love about you, my sweet dear.

After much deliberation, my results are here.

I love that you delight in learning new things everyday.

You actively seek knowledge, and to you, it counts as play.

I love that you don’t ever mind admitting you don’ t know.

Through your quest to find the answer, I can see you grow.

You teach yourself such complicated things just from a book,

the kind, that for the author, a live teacher’s what it took.

When you make your mind up and decide to learn a skill,

you display such monumental focus and strong will.

When you learn to hone a craft, you’re always so damned brave.

Every bruise and scrape you get is dismissed with a wave.

I can’t count how many times I’ve seen you take a fall.

You get right back up and then again, you do it all.

I love the way you quickly fell in love with having cats.

I love the way you think I’m extra cute when I wear hats.

I love the way you give the things I love an honest chance.

I love that when we’re cooking we break into song and dance.

I love the way you know when you should scowl and say, “That bitch!”

I love the way you scratch my back when I can’t reach an itch.

Living with you means I always have great tech support.

I love the way that you don’t care at all ’bout watching sports.

I love the way you pet my hair each time we watch TV.

I love the way your very favorite hobby’s always me.

I love you never caring there’re no Anglos ’round for blocks.

I even love the way you wear your flip-flops with your socks.

I love all your encouragement to make me sit and write,

and that you love my cooking, and you tell me every night.

I love the way you pump my gas, no matter rain or shine.

I love the way you knew that I’d be yours and you’d be mine.

I love the way you love the chance to try a different food.

I love how you still treat me like when I was first pursued.

I love that you’ll come home tonight and take me in your arms,

exposing me in full to your sweet scent and manly charms.

I love that you’ll get up again as dawn announces day,

and work such long hours to provide and bring home hard-earned pay.

All the things I love about you, I could never write,

no matter if I never stopped and worked all day and night…

’cause there’s just no end to all the things I love ’bout you.

Through my words and poetry, I’ll see what I can do.

*photo courtesy of PDPics on pixabay.com

 

To Me From You, Part I

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Husband: I would write you a beautiful love poem like the ones you write me.

But I’m no good at it. It would be weird…uh…fiddle-dee-dee.

So anyway you’re a lot better at it than I am and it would be great,

if you did it. I’m sure you could write something that would really blow you away. So, I can’t wait.

Me: Well, my brilliant, darling man…I know that you do all you can

to make me happy everyday. So if you’ll kindly clear the way,

I’ll write myself a lyric rhyme that’s fit to stand the test of time,

just like you would want me to. It shall be called

To Me From You

( ahem…)

You are the perfect combination, all I want and more.

Your life and mind just fascinate me. It’s you I adore.

The first time that I met you, I hungered to imbibe

your every last detail and then upon your heart inscribe

my name for all of time, to take up residence right there.

I had to, for you’ve since possessed my only source of air.

I longed to pledge my love. It was so strong, I couldn’t wait.

I told you by the time we’d gotten through our second date.

One more day and I would ask for you to be my wife.

You’re the only person with whom I could spend my life.

Now that I have tasted of a love as sweet as yours,

I know a woman’s love can be enough to bring on wars.

Helen has got nothing and could not compare to you.

To have you here, there’s not a single thing I wouldn’t do.

I’ll do what’s required so you’ll live life by my side.

Before you, all the times I’d said, ‘I love you,’ I had lied.

In my ignorance, I thought I knew what passed for love.

Then I met you, and your heart would fit mine like a glove.

After just three days, I wasn’t sure that you’d agree.

But I still got down upon my sincere, bended knee.

You said yes, and ever since, my life’s been filled with joy.

Together, you and I compose the consummate alloy!

Nine years later and my love for you is still as strong.

Thanks for sharing life wrapped in my arms, where you belong.

–The End–

Me: Oh, honey! That is sooo sweet. I love you!

*picture courtesy of Olessya on pixabay.com

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

Honey-Do

baby-23868_150*

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

woman-228178_150*

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

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

horse-194999_150*

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

deadman-ranch-283352_150*

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

depression-84404_150

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

horse-151352_150

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.

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

lucky-pig-221414_150

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

How I Know You Love Me

couple-149208_150

 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

waiting-room-277314_150*

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…

pencil-17808_150

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.

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