Ready
Going to church, enjoying the sermon
Saying goodbye to my friends once again
Taking note of things that need done
After I come home, I’ll do them then.
Making my list for Wednesday’s
departure
Doing groceries, waiting for my son
He’ll take hubby down to Mesa with him
Then I’ll travel and hope I’ll have fun.
Cleaning the bathrooms, taking a break
Talking to Kathie but she was so tired
Eli arriving and talking of gaming
After the long drive, was a bit wired
Inner Fountain
When all around
Troubles bombard
Deep within
Bubbling
Bubbling
Bubbling
Fear not, child,
I’m with you
Maybe not ecstasy
But deep-seated
Joy
A Bit of Dance, Three Meals a Day
A bit of dance, to make my
meals,
From stove to sink, I
pivot heels,
To fridge to stove and
back again,
My socks swirl on linoleum.
And then I hear the whistle
sound, and at a glance,
I turn off tea, in one
small bound, a bit of dance.
Three meals a day, is my
routine.
I spin and twirl, a dance
machine.
While music sounds within
my ears,
I pivot prance throughout
the years.
From fridge to stove to
table top, I swing and sway,
I whirl and step and pivot
hop three meals a day.
On My Fridge
The pictures, magnets and cards on my fridge,
A many faceted story they tell.
A German one of a castle and bridge,
And cards from loved ones saying all is well.
And several pictures of loved one who passed,
A pic of the two we cared for, for years,
And many memories there are amassed.
A well loved and lived lifetime, it appears.
Special hand-made cards from my BFF,
A funny giraffe card from my dear Sis.
Two cats in Paris is one of the best.
A Highland Coo from my now-Irish niece.
A poem my daughter wrote when she was four,
Thank you and birthday cards and so much more.
Partial Robot
I’m looking for that illusive sweet spot,
Between productive habits and freedom.
Somewhere twixt being a mindless robot
And a happy-go-lucky lazy bum.
Somewhere between turbulent and humdrum.
Establishing habits and discipline
Are important for the field I am in.
But my age says it is time to relax.
Time to retire, Senior Citizen.
But not dead, not done, and those are the facts.
Busy as a Bee
I’m not sure how busy a
bee is,
but I know I’m busy,
Wrapping up a school year
at the Nature Center,
Caregiving for a man with
autism,
Getting ready for a 2,000-mile
roadtrip,
Helping hubby go in the
opposite direction,
Making house and yard
presentable,
Washing the car and
putting air in the tires,
Praying, going to church, making
meals,
PACKING
and taking a little time
to write a poem.
Sleep’s like a temporary
death.
It’s a reminder.
Morning will come,
after sleep and after
death.
