Not Bad
Ten children watched as we built a fire,
Tinder, a match, kindling and firewood.
They talked and laughed as the flames went higher,
But they did keep their distance as they should.
They hoped that we’d cook something very good.
Of the Oregon Trail, they’ve come to learn.
We taught fire safety as logs did burn.
We brought out the big cast-iron pot we had.
Of cornmeal and water, each took a turn.
Hey, hasty pudding with honey—not bad!
Not a Cloud in the Sky
Not a cloud in the sky
The sun is shining
The sky is bright blue,
So I’ll stop my whining.
Family’s on their way
Across the mountain pass.
I’m relieved that spring
Is finally here at last.
Colorado mountains
Covered with snow
Can be dangerous.
Lord, protect them as they go.
A Shadorma 3/5/3/3/7/5
Poeming and Nature Discovery
Three minutes
To write a poem
Work today
Forest time
With ten rambunctious children
And one teacher short
Nonette
It’s a form for
mathematicians
Or one who likes to tap
fingers
Play at counting syllables
Fun, when it comes out
right
Can be frustrating
So almost there
Just two more
At last
Done!
Middle Child Syndrome
So much bad is said about being the middle child. I somewhat
envied the sister in the middle of my family. She had two older and two younger
sisters. Nice and even. I was the youngest for six years until the baby came
along and usurped my position. I wouldn’t want the place of my two oldest
sisters. They kind of forged the way and things were more settled by the time
the youngest and I joined in. However, I always felt invisible between the
commotion of three older sisters and the demands of the baby. Maybe it was me
that felt the middle child syndrome.
Ah,
it dawns on me
I,
too, am a middle child
Yes,
I can be seen
I’d like to be fit as a
fiddle
But there’s this thing
called a middle
It jiggles like jelly
Be gone fat belly!
How to do so remains a
riddle
In the Middle
Hubby dwelled in the
circumference.
If his parents drew a
circle
He’d be standing there
with his toes over it.
Or, in his teenage years,
way beyond it.
He always tested the
limits.
Me, I was always somewhere
in the middle.
“Sun Water” by Tamara Phillips, A Painting
The yellowish-orange sun
plays in the colorful striped water
Purples, blues, pinks,
oranges show between the rays
An image which portrays the
emotions of a warm smile
“Towards the Sun,” a Painting by Leonid Afremov
The sun glimmered a path
in the dark, rippled ocean.
One lone sailboat silhouetted
against the burnt orange
sky,
its sails pointing to a
dark cloud
seemingly ridden by
an orange cloud nymph
its hair blowing in the wind.
Enticing
Tall skinny, trees,
the Italian Cypress,
give away the location
of this landscape.
The stone buildings
with red-tiled rooves.
Grapevines featured
in the foreground.
The glowing golden fields
make the sun’s presence known.
The cliffs and mountain
ridges,
the muted blue sky hint sunset.
I can imagine being there
soon
adding the smell of pizza,
the sounds of Italian
mandolins,
and words like ciao, grazie,
amore.
“Coral Sunset Tuscany” by Phillip
Craig
teases my senses and I long
for more.
Living (in the style of Red)
Loving lavishly
Intimate intercession
Vivacious visions
Inviting ideas
Nimble notations
Gregarious gallivanting
This was a little
difficult since Red picked some of the words I would have used.
Kayaking, hiking, biking
makes me feel alive!
At times, my lovely,
little home
feels like a tomb.
Just a Missing N
We had a teenager staying
with us
who only spoke Spanish.
Late one night, I said, in
Spanish,
“I’m tired, I’m going to
bed.”
She looked down and stifled
a giggle.
When relating this to a
friend, she laughed.
Instead of saying, “Estoy
cansada.” I’m tired.
I had said “Estoy casada.”
I’m married.
It gave the sentence a whole
different meaning.
Mindset Readjustment
A man with disabilities
came to live with us.
He liked to play with
noisy toys.
One of them was
particularly annoying.
I had enough of listening
to it
and it was getting time
for bed.
I did what I did when my
kids were little,
I put the toy up on a high
shelf.
But at 5’10,” he walked over
and took it off.
I had to readjust my thinking.
There once was a poet name Sunny
Who tried to write something
funny
His thoughts in his room
Were somber as a tomb,
“I’m glad it’s not how I make
money.”
First Time West
When we arrived in Wyoming
from Pennsylvania,
I remember my sister
saying,
“Whoever wrote Population
Explosion
has never been here.”
I thought Wyoming looked
unfinished.
It was my first time west.
My sister’s speedometer was
stuck on 55.
I had my driver’s permit
and couldn’t tell if I was
going 55 or 95.
It made for some
hair-raising moments,
particularly for the passengers.
Summers in Delaware
Every summer, the seven of
us would cram into our station wagon with our belongings stored underneath a
row boat on the roof and escaped into the night like a band of refugees to
travel from Pennsylvania to Delaware. Dad would never drive during the day
because of the traffic, but mostly because his five daughters would sleep. We’d
wake up and it was like magic to be in grass, trees and hills one moment and
sand, water and flatlands the next. We’d spend the week in a little cabin by
the lake---swimming, fishing, playing hide-n-seek, having water fights and
cookouts. We’d go to the ocean a few times, and despite Mom’s best efforts, we’d
get sunburnt. Over the years, we got to know the locals and my oldest sister almost
married one of them. That was the summer only four of us girls went down and
slept in a tent on an island, which we learned had a large population of
raccoons and that you shouldn't keep food in your tent unless you want visitors. Eventually going to Delaware was only a memory—well actually, many
memories.
The seven of us
Fun, magical memories
Sand, sun, ocean, lake
We Went by One Name
We went by one name, where Dad was concerned
KathyJudyLindaConnieKaren
Or sometimes Sassafras, Smokey or Sam
Over the years, we got with the program
Answer to anything is what we learned
As Dad
got older, his memory churned
By little discrepancies we were warned
We all realized we were in a jam
We went by one name
Gradually the
situation turned
He didn’t know us and we felt burned
But he could still say, this great refrain,
KathyJudyLindaConnieKaren
We are Shannons, the name given, not earned
We went by one name
(A Rondeau mutant)
