sparking ire Poetic Bloomings

 From Mess to Masterpiece

 

At times my life’s a mess

Some mornings, I confess

I mentally attack

Myself for my sore lack

 

Before I’m up and dressed

At times my life’s a mess

I drive myself insane

Accused of being lame

 

I learned that when I paint

To not despair or faint

At time’s my paint’s a mess

But turns to loveliness

 

With each of paintbrush swish

I reach the goal I wish

I’ll pray through times of stress

The times my life’s a mess

Morning Prayer

 ASK

 

Thank You, Lord,

When I

Ask,

You answer.

When I

Seek,

You reveal.

When I

Knock,

 You open doors,

inviting me into Your kingdom

here on earth

and in Heaven.

Rispetto

 

Determined

 

 I trudge along the path

And toward the east of town

The mountains show their wrath

As snow comes falling down

 

I pull my wool scarf tight

While cold north wind I fight

With each step that I roam

It takes me closer home

punishment Poetic Asides

 

Jail Time

 

When I was young and raising my kids

And things weren’t going as I had dreamed

Everything seemed to hit the skids

There were times I could have screamed

 

I thought perhaps I should get thrown in jail

And live there peacefully without bail

One man’s junk is another man’s treasure

One mom’s punishment is another mom’s pleasure

animal Poetic Bloomings

 

Greedy Little Monkeys

 

Greedy little monkeys take what they can get
Shiny gadgets, food, even a cigarette
Watch your belongings; they’re clever little imps
A bit more ill-behaved than their cousin chimps
They snatch, grab and take off, as fast as a jet

 

They can be exceedingly naughty and yet
They can steal your heart like a delightful pet
“I am sweet and adorable,” they convince.

Greedy little monkeys

 

Most challenging creatures you have ever met
High up in their trees you may just catch a glimpse
Making their acquaintances is not for wimps
Still seeing them would be immense fun, I bet
Greedy little monkeys

Game Poetic Asides

 Find My Glasses

 

I played the game today

of find my glasses.

I had the handicap

of not being able

to see without them.

I searched the four rooms

they’d most likely be.

My husband joined the game.

Where did you last have them?

I was working on my puzzle

because I couldn’t sleep.

No where in the puzzle room.

They had to be in the bedroom.

I had looked in all the usual places.

I tore off the bed covers,

put them back on one by one.

There they were on the floor.

Not sure how my glasses

went to bed with me.

It took 45 minutes.

The game of find my glasses

threw off my groove.

Now, I need to rethink my day.

Changes Poetic Bloomings

 Changes Under the Colorado Blue Sky

 

Beneath the Colorado blue sky,

a frozen world stretches out,

an icy lake, frosty pines, bare aspens,

a cabin tucked in at the mountain base.

The only life, a wisp of smoke

rising from the brick chimney.

 

The lake mirrors the Colorado blue sky,

snow-covered distant mountains,

aspens sporting their pale green leaves,

Pines, Columbine, Indian Paintbrush, Bluebells.

Cabin occupants peek out the windows,

watching bears, deer, elk congregate by the water.

 

The Colorado blue sky bursts forth in brilliance,

a stark backdrop to mountains clinging to their snowy dress.

The pines and aspens in vivid green drink from the deep lake.

The cabin doors and windows fling open

and barefoot children run out and play along the lake’s edge.

Butterflies, bees and dragonflies flit about their heads.

 

Aspens aflame in gold, against the Colorado blue sky,

shake their castanets in a gentle breeze.

The cabin’s family sets off for a hike to enjoy fall colors.

The elk and deer start their trek to lower elevations.

Town’s people set their camera’s up along the lake’s edge,

0ohing and aahing at the double dose of reds and oranges.

 

Colorado skies, clear and blue nearly every day,

show off the wonders of the changing seasons.

Quintain

Budding Musician

(a Quintain)

 

What do I really want to learn today?

To learn to play the ukulele, please.

I’ll take a class and listen well and pray.

Yes, after lunch, four times a week with ease.

And find some friends who want to learn and play.

Fresh Start Poetic Asides

 A Fresh Start

(a quatern)

 

A fresh start doesn’t mean starting over

But taking the next step beyond the last

Not throwing out all that has gone before

It’s being wise and learning from the past

 

It might mean finding a brand-new resolve

A fresh start doesn’t mean starting over  

But finding wherewithal to continue

To dig in and not be such a rover

 

Finding the spark that first got you going

It’s fanning the flame that keeps you burning

A fresh start doesn’t mean starting over  

It’s ever changing and ever learning

 

When confident you are on the right path

There’s no need for a complete do-over

Each sunrise signals a new beginning

A fresh start doesn’t mean starting over

Morning Insight

 Spiritual Fuel

 

The saints could do nothing without prayer.

I can do nothing without prayer.

The preachers, the teachers.

The leaders, the singers.

Each and every one of us

are all fueled by prayer.

New Year poem

 Hello 2022

Hello Twenty Twenty-two.

I’ve got places to go, things to do.

Adventures to have, people to meet.

Tasks and projects to complete.

 

A God who listens, loves and cares.

I don’t want to be caught unawares.

So be kind, New Year, and please be good.

I’ll try to act in ways I should.

 

Will you be the year that brings COVID defeat?

Will all around the world have enough to eat?

Will my sister and I travel as planned?

Or will we be stuck in our home land?

 

Will I learn to play the ukulele better?

When I paint, will my water look wetter?

Will publishers be looking for me?

Will I learn to dance, happy and free?

 

Will my prayers be answered one by one?

Will my summer be filled with joy and fun?

Will my autumn be memorable in brilliant color?

Will my winter be warm like no other?

 

Will the Holy Spirit be poured out in spring?

In worship will I shout, dance and sing?

Will I hear His voice and obey?

Will I love Him faithfully every day?

 

So here’s to you 2022,

To the good and bad, old and new.

May you bring happiness and prosperity,

Especially those who are dear to me.

End of Year poem

 

Goodbye 2021

 

Goodbye 2021

A mixed bag of good and bad

I look back with fondness

0f the travels I’ve had.

 

We began the year in Mesa

We had a nice trip

Despite Lori’s cat Boo

Getting very sick

 

In June I saw most of my family

From Arizona to Ohio

Worth those many miles

Though a long way to go

 

In fall, Arizona and California

Two sisters, my daughter and son

Warm weather and the beach

We all had lots of fun.

 

I bought a concert ukulele

Pineapple in shape

I play in my office

When I have time to escape

 

My niece married Josh

In Ireland, they reside

A beautiful wedding

And a beautiful bride

 

I’m a thankful for the time

I spent with Lorraine

A dear friend who I helped

But in the end was pain

 

COVID caught her

And she almost got by

But in the end, it won

It was our time to cry

 

 I spent my time writing,

Cleaning and cooking meals

Going to church and praying

Watching Jake with his squeals

 

 

 

I bid you farewell

Twenty-twenty one

I’m thankful God used you

Through sorrow and some fun

Don't Blank, Poetic Asides

 Don’t Tell Anyone

 

I’m at the age

that saying, “Don’t tell anyone”

doesn’t mean a thing

because if I say something to a friend as memorable

as something that I don’t anyone else to know,

my friend will remember that juicy tidbit

and not that I said to keep it a secret.

So, I must remember to not tell anyone

anything I don’t want to be repeated,

but I’ll probably forget.

Returns Poetic Bloomings

 The Hunger Returns

 

Traveling to Arizona and California last month

satisfied a hunger in my soul.

Visiting with family.

Playing in the ocean.

Basking in the sun during winter.

 

But like I’m ready for a meal

four hours after the last one,

I’m ready to travel again.

 

Like my tummy growls when I’m hungry:

My eyes search for something new.

My fingers itch to pack a suitcase.

My right foot longs for the feel of the gas pedal.

 

Some folks understand this and some don’t.

Regardless, I must deal with it,

and I’d rather fulfill it, than starve myself.

Returns Poetic Bloomings

 

Returns

 

Before the time of allowances,

forced to come up with creative ways

to earn money, my friend and I trudged

door to door pulling a borrowed wagon

collecting pop bottles.

 

We cashed in the returns

and purchased plastic sheeting

and thumbtacks.

 

We hauled our loot up the hill

into the woods

and created our cabin

stretching the plastic sheeting

between trees.

The plastic roof kept out the rain.

 

Quite proud of it,

we and my sister

decided to spend the night.

 

Since we built it on a hill,

we place a board at the base

between two trees.

 

We slept fairly well,

but the morning found

all three of us scrunched

together at the bottom.

 

We kept our cabin occupancy

to the day time,

enjoying our little home away from home

till some town boys

thought it their duty to rip it to shreds.

 

True to the adage,

they returned to the scene of the crime.

We gave them an earful,

which didn’t faze them,

but my neighbor tattled on them

and their parents forced then to apologize.

 

We never did build it back

but went on to new adventures.

Christmas Morning Poem

 The Real Thing

 

It’s Christmas morning in southwest Colorado,

but it looks more like a foggy day in London.

The black, bare trees with their scraggly limbs reach down

as if they want to grab an unsuspecting person off the street.

Despite the scene outside looking like a horror movie,

inside the merry and bright blue, green, red, yellow

glowing lights on the Christmas tree and down the hallway

reflect an inner truth—While the crocheted baby Jesus

lies in a yarn straw with crocheted Mary and Joseph nearby,

I cradle the real thing, His Holy Spirit, in my heart.

Winter Poetic Asides

Happy for a Friend

 

My friend who owns two alpaca ranches

in the mountains bemoans winter’s short days.

as she deals with deep snow, clothing layers

and doing countless chores in the cold, such as

hauling alpaca poop in her “poop mobile,”

tending to chickens, goats and geese

and making sure her Labrador retriever

and Anatolian shepherd get their walks in.

She counts the days until the winter solstice.

I’m happy for her today as she breathes a sigh of relief.

I’m also happy for the lengthening of days, though,

through most of mine, I’m snug in my warm house.

Morning Poem

In the Moment

 

658 AM

So many lights in the darkened room.

The Christmas tree lights

The glaring light of my gooseneck lamp

The glowing electronic picture frame

The red numbers of the clock

The stovetop light

The green numbers of the microwave

 

I hear the whir of my heater

The soft ringing in my ears

The smell of last night’s popcorn

and the taste of sweet tea lingers

The cool air embraces my arms.

My eyes struggle to stay open.

Time to hop up and dance to hip hop.

 

 

 

Morning Poem

 Ornamental Memories

 

The lights in the Christmas tree

give my spirit joy.

The ornaments bring back memories

of places I’ve been, of people I’ve known.

Forty years of memories, maybe more.

 

I delve back into childhood memories.

What do I remember about the ornaments?

 

We made ornaments from walnuts,

painted red or green and with glitter on them.

We had taken out the nut part

and glued them with a rubber band

sandwiched between the two halves to hang them.

 

Fancy glass ornaments,

that would often get broken.

The lights were sturdy light bulbs,

not dainty, like the ones we have now.

 

Hard plastic icicles that glowed in the dark.

Silver paper icicles, we threw on in batches.

Construction paper chains.

Popsicle-stick Stars of David.

 

And the farm set sat under the tree.

A red metal barn, yellow plastic people and animals.

We didn’t have a regular tree stand.

We propped the tree up by string nailed to the walls.

 

We got the tree off our property.

It always looked little

until we brought it into the house.

 

Mom always said, “It’s the best tree ever!”

To this day, we still say it, in her memory.

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas item Poetic Bloomings

Thoughts

 

I’m just a little ceramic mouse

sleeping in my ceramic matchbox,

hanging from the lowest branch

of a bedraggled artificial tree.

 

I can feel her eyes upon me,

the one who hand-painted

my gray head, pink ears,

and my red and black matchbox

with the year 1981 on its side.

She was expecting her first child.

 

I know what she’s thinking, now.

“Yikes! Forty years!”

 

 

Cinquain

His smile

Warms and comforts

Gives souls stability

Causes freedom in the spirit

Delight

Morning Prayer

A Winter Morning Contemplation

 

A tinge of pink

on the horizon

seen through

bare branches

of tall trees whispers,

“It’s ten degrees outside.”

 

It’s 74 in here,

warm and toasty.

Christmas tree lights

beam their comfort.

An electric candle flickers

as designed.

 

Furniture, boxes,

pillows, Nativity set,

kitchen clutter appear

in the morning light.

Time to get breakfast

and get on with the day.

 

Dread niggles

at the prospect 

of getting out in the cold

to de-ice the car

and drive on icy roads

to pick up Jake.

 

Thank You for being

my hope, joy, peace

companionship

and sunshine of my soul.

I need Your Holy Spirit

to shine brightly today.

 

 

 

Motivation Poetic Asides

 

Motivated

 

M oving for a reason

O vercoming obstacles

T enaciously persevering

I nspired to act

V aliantly pursuing

A iming to accomplish

T urned toward the target

E nergized

D riven