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.
Celebrating Moms
We celebrate motherhood
and all of the
Mothers who are nearest
and dearest
To our hearts. God has given
many gifts
In all creation, but one
of them that
Has an extra ingredient of
heaven,
That God seemed to take a no-holds-
Barred approach, was the
making of the
Moms of this world, fiercely
loving, a very
magnificent idea, one of the
Lord’s finest,
but Dads are one of God’s
greatest gifts, too.
“The dearest gifts that heaven
holds, The very finest, too.” From “Motherhood” by Helen Steiner Rice
Blame
B ecause we love justice
and fairness, we
L ook for someone to blame.
A nd if we can identify and
punish the culprit,
M aybe we can fix whatever
is wrong, but we
E xpect understanding and
mercy when we mess up.
Commiserate, Please
Don’t tell me how
magnificent it was,
While
I am laying here sick in my bed,
With aches and pains, and
my brain full of fuzz.
Don’t tell me how
magnificent it was.
Keep to yourself the
excitement and buzz.
Just tell me how much you
missed me instead.
Don’t tell me how
magnificent it was,
While I am laying here
sick in my bed.
From April 22, tell
me/don’t tell me
Late Realization
All through my growing up
years,
Mom stirred her and Dad’s
coffee
with a clang, clang,
clang, the metal spoon
hitting the ceramic mug
like a bell.
Then, one fine day I
thought on this,
Mom didn’t always stir
things that way.
Just in the mornings.
I was well into adulthood
when it dawned on me,
she was mom turned alarm
clock.
She was trying to wake up
her five girls.
From April 19th,
persona
Remix of April 21st Blank Day
Rainy Day
I remember when my cousin
and I
would take walks on summer
rainy days.
No umbrellas, rain coats
or rain shoes,
just letting the cool
wetness embrace us,
enjoying the sounds of
pattering rain
on the trees, the
buildings, the ground,
the drumming on cars and
anything metal
the splashing in the
puddles,
the smells of a fresh
clean earth,
and the incredulous
comments
of astonished drivers in
their snug, boring cars.
