The once was a man from the sticks
Whose limericks went on to line six
The form he forgot
Though he wrote quite a lot
That wonderful man from the sticks
Whose limericks went on to line six
The once was a man from the sticks
Whose limericks went on to line six
The form he forgot
Though he wrote quite a lot
That wonderful man from the sticks
Whose limericks went on to line six
My Susan Blue is waiting at the gate She’s waiting there to go out for a walk Her waiting bears the grace of beauty’s fate A fate of which philosophers will talk Philosophy of beauty bears the name Aesthetics, beauty learned is beauty felt Should Susan Blue go by another name Her sense would still leave beauty where she dwelt It’s more than what is felt or seen or heard Come learn aesthetoception, one more sense Much more than just the meaning of a word It waits for you, with Susan, by the fence My Susan Blue aesthetes her beauty’s grace She wears it in her hat, her clothes, her face.
Thanksgiving is a time when thanks are felt
To give is to acknowledge we’ve been blessed
Regardless of the hand that we’ve been dealt
The fortunes leave the future unexpressed
The past provided now with all we feel
Be thankful for tomorrow when it comes
The now is god, but doesn’t make us kneel
The now to which all thankfulness succumbs
I’m thankful I’m alive; I nearly died
But that was many yesterdays ago
I still have now-ness instantly inside
Tomorrow never happens, this I know
I know that life can change and does at times
The way that final couplets end in words.
Nov. 10, 2016
I am not a fan of our president-elect either, but I have faith in our
country.
I remember my military oath at times like this. I didn’t swear to support and defend any person, president or otherwise. I swore to “support and defend the Constitution.”
I have faith in those roots. Politicians come and go like leaves on a
tree, but the tree stays strong because of its root.
I wrote this poem for that:
———-
Our forest world is full of mighty trees
I like my tree the best; it’s tall and strong
It’s filled with leaves that rustle in the breeze
The winds of time produce a mighty song
Our leaves all sing; our root provides their tune
Though like their songs, the leaves all come and go
But not the root, the root remains, a boon
Established and ordained to help us grow
Our root provides an anchor in the storm
Fierce storms have blown down leaves from time to time
All leaves will fall; it’s just a forest norm
New leaves will grow, our tree remains, sublime
Regardless of the leaves, our tree bears fruit
I hope all leaves keep faith within our root
———-
Stay strong and keep faith in our root.
A playground’s where a kid can be a kid
Can you remember when you were that free
Remember all the things we freely did
The playground’s where we’d always want to be
A jungle or a castle, built for fun
To spin or slide, especially with friends
Sometimes there was a field where we could run
A place to play where friendship never ends
The grass is green and skies above are blue
The seeds of friendship grow and grow and grow
Regardless of what kids may want to do
The playground seems to welcome them and know
It knows it’s built for kids to just be free
The playground’s where they always want to be.
To quilt you need to know you’re making art
The art of warmth, a quilting metaphor
A fabric poem, written from the heart
It’s poetry, and yet, it’s so much more
More senses are engaged in what you make
Than any simple poem, read or heard
Reach out and feel the warmth, for goodness sake
The warmth you feel is more than any word
To quilt, the artist works with more than thread
The quilter works with colors, textures too
And warmth, I know it’s already been said
But quilted warmth is everything you do
May every quilt you make be seen as art
And may the warmth of quilting fill your heart.