Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Butt Prints


Butt Prints in the Sand

One night I had a wondrous dream,
One set of footprints there were seen.
The footprints of my precious Lord,
But mine were not along the shore.

But then some stranger’s prints appeared
And I asked the Lord, “Where have we been?
Those prints are large and round and neat
But Lord, they are too big for feet."
“My child”, He said in somber tones,
“For miles I carried you alone.
I challenged you to walk in faith,
But you refused and made Me wait.

You disobeyed, and you would not grow.
The walk of faith you would not know
And there I dropped you on your butt
Because in life there comes a time
When one must fight, and one must climb,
When one must rise and take a stand
Or leave their butt prints in the sand."
I received yet another version of "footprints" via email today and it reminded me of my very favorite version. I hope you smiled and I hope you think.

Friday, June 6, 2008

PPL - Diamante

Once again, Robin has asked us to use our brains, our imaginations and, in my case, our thesauruses (or is it thesauri?) to create a poem. In this case, a diamante, using either the outdoors or emotions as our theme. Here is mine.

Love
Enduring, Eternal
Thrilling, Exhilarating, Frightening
Kind, Steadfast, Apathetic, Careless
Numbing, Freeing, Exhilarating
Stoic, Incurious
Indifference
******************************
Grief
Sadness Sorrow
Crying, Sobbing, Railing
Pointless, Ennervating, Reaffirming, Energizing
Crying, Sobbing, Thanking
Godgiven Grace
Joy

Friday, January 18, 2008

It Is Much Harder

A couple of months ago, I signed up to participate in a monthly poetry carnival. Since then, I have discovered several things:




  • there are an amazing number of good poets participating

  • it is much harder to write poetry sober

  • it is much harder to write poetry now that I have outgrown the angst-ridden portion of my life

  • it is much harder to write poetry, now tht I am happy, that doesn't sound like a bad halllmark card

  • it is much harder to write poetry

  • it is much harder to write

  • it is much harder

  • I still love writing

Thanks, Robin. Of course, if I turn to alcohol, throw my husband out on the street, submerse myself in self-inflicted drama all in the interest of improving my poetry, I take full responsibility.

Friday, January 11, 2008

Long Ago and Far Away

I wish that I could take credit for this but I can't. I received it in an email and thought I would share it with you.
What Made Me Me

Long ago and far away,
In a land that time forgot,
Before the days of Dylan,
Or the dawn of Camelot.
There lived a race of innocents,
And they were you and me,
Long ago and far away
In the Land That Made Me Me.

Oh, there was truth and goodness
In that land where we were born,
Where navels were for oranges,
And Peyton Place was porn.
For Ike was in the White House,
And Hoss was on TV,
And God was in His heaven
In the Land That Made Me Me.

We longed for love and romance,
And waited for the prince,
And Eddie Fisher married Liz,
And no one's seen him since
We danced to "Little Darlin',"
And Sang to "Stagger Lee"
And cried for Buddy Holly-Feb 3, 1959
In the Land That Made Me Me.

Only girls wore earrings then,
And three was one too many,
And only boys wore flat-top cuts,
Except for Jean McKinney
And only in our wildest dreams
Did we expect to see
A boy named George, with Lipstick
In the Land That Made Me Me

We fell for Frankie Avalon,
Annette was oh, so nice,
And when they made a movie,
They never made it twice.
We didn't have a Star Trek Five,
Or Psycho Two and Three,
Or Rockey-Rambo Twenty
In the Land That Made Me Me.

Miss Kitty had a heart of gold,
And Chester had a limp,
And Reagan was a Democrat
Whose co-star was a chimp.
We had a Mr. Wizard,
But not a Mr. T,
And Oprah couldn't talk, yet
In the Land That Made Me Me.

We had our share of heroes,
We never thought they'd go,
At least not Bobby Darin,
Or Marilyn Monroe.
For youth was still eternal,
And life was yet to be,
And Elvis was forever,
In the Land That Made Me Me

We'd never seen the rock band
That was Grateful to be Dead,
And Airplanes weren't named Jefferson,
And Zeppelins weren't Led.
And Beatles lived in gardens then,
And Monkees in a tree,
Madonna was a virgin
In the Land That Made Me Me.

We'd never heard of microwaves,
Or telephones in cars,
And babies might be bottle-fed,
But they weren't grown in jars.
And pumping iron got wrinkles out,
And "gay" meant fancy-free,
And dorms were never coed
In the Land That Made Me Me.

We hadn't seen enough of jets
To talk about the lag,
And microchips were what was left at
The bottom of the bag.
And hardware was a box of nails,
And bytes came from a flea,
And rocket ships were fiction
In the Land That Made Me Me.

Buicks came with portholes,
And side show came with freaks,
And bathing suits came big enough
To cover both your cheeks.
And Coke came just in bottles,
And skirts came to the knee,
And Castro came to power
In the Land That Made Me Me.

We had no Crest with Fluoride,
We had no Hill Street Blues,
We all wore superstructure bras
Designed by Howard Hughes.
We had no patterned pantyhose
Or Lipton herbal tea
Or prime-time ads for condoms
In the Land That Made Me Me.

There were no golden arches,
No Perriers to chill,
And fish were not called Wanda,
And cats were not called Bill.
And middle-aged was thirty-five
And old was forty-three,
And ancient was our parents
In the Land That Made Me Me.

But all things have a season,
Or so we've heard them say,
And now instead of Maybelline
We swear by Retin-A.
And they send us invitations
To join AARP,
We've come a long way, baby,
From the Land That Made Me Me.

So now we face a brave new world
In slightly larger jeans,
And wonder why they're using
Smaller print in magazines.
And we tell our children's children
Of the way it used to be,
Long ago, and far away
In the Land That Made Me Me.

~Author unknown~

Monday, December 17, 2007

PPL- Cinquain and Celebration

Mid-month Every Month at PENSIEVE
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What is Pensieve's Poetic License? A monthly carnival designed to encourage EVERYONE to exercise their poetry gene. Everyone is born with one; sometimes you just need "permission" (or a kick in the behind) to use it.
December: Form: Cinquain Theme: Celebration
Post poem week of December 17th
Here are my two (yes, I am an overachiever) contributions for this month on theme.

Celebration
Joyously happy
Singing, smiling, giving
My heart is overwhelmed
Salvation

Celebration
Sacred solemn
Observe, perform, honor
We participate in ceremonies
Christmas
Here is one I wrote before I knew this month's theme. It is a gift for my sweetheart.

Passion
Strong emotion
Surging retreating recharging
My soul sings entwined
Marriage

Monday, November 19, 2007

Pensieve's Poetic License the First

Mid-month Every Month at PENSIEVE
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Robin, the Pensieve genius, invited us all to participate in the once a month poetry blog. Once a month? I may actually stand a chance of making it.
Her first assignment was a Thanksgiving limerick.
Here are mine:

There once was a November holiday
That always fell on a Thursday
A rehearsal of sorts
Trifles, puddings, and torts
All to prepare for His birthday


A day to give thanks for our blessings
With turkey and yams and dressings
Kith and kin gather round
Special food does abound
Thanksgiving, with nobody stressing.
 
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