If my “rose” is just a daisy,
Then have I been simply lazy?
Though I’ve worked on this like crazy,
Are results a tad bit hazy?
I’ve not studied well this art form,
And I’m feeling others’ sharp scorn,
As the label’s from my works torn,
I am feeling rather forlorn.
There is precious few agreement
On the writings that can cement
Praise sincere in its vehement.
Yep. There’s rampant disagreement!
Though I’ve labored much upon it,
Have I never wrote a sonnet?
September 5, 2019
You’re stealing my poor puppy’s peace,
Which NO ONE ought to do.
So, Kitty, I will take this chance
To say, “Shame, SHAME, on you!”
You taunt my precious hound-girl
‘Til she’s WILD to give you chase.
You never stop to think that thus
Your value you debase.
Your presence here AIN’T needed
Unless you are killing mice.
So scoot on down the road, my friend:
Don’t MAKE me tell you twice!
by Gwennon, July 21, 2019
for my poor, beleaguered “Baby Beatrice”
The band was not in session;
Indeed, could not be,
Though the eager young musicians
At the sacred space
Where their beloved instruments
Were meticulously kept,
Quietly reposing momentarily,
Safe from both the elements
The carefully locked doors
Surrounding those well-guarded treasures,
Known by most of the commoners
As pots and pans.
July 1, 2019
It’s a beautiful day,
And my bed is made,
And my dishes done,
And the dogs behave
As we stand together,
Shaded from the sun,
Enjoying the breeze in our hair,
While none in our exclusive little group of three
Barks at cats,
Or pulls incessantly at the leash,
Or shouts unprintable epithets
At any of the neighbors
Who are also braving the heat.
It’s a beautiful day,
Made even more beautiful
By the songbirds
Pouring out their little wild hearts
In a chorus that has to be
About a million billion times
Not to mention, WELCOME–
Than the loud, raucous disharmonies
Ladled out generously
Earlier this week
And we peacefully soak ourselves
In summer birdsong
As the laughter of children,
Splashing into their cold,
Pop-up swimming pool next door,
Washes over our hearts
With its healing balm
Of innocent gladness.
It’s a beautiful day,
And I remember
How thankful I was
To move into this house
In this neighborhood
That God provided
At just the right time
For a price that was
Even better than we expected,
And He protected us–
And protects us still-
From a series of very awful things,
As we begin to relax,
Adjust to our new normal
In this lovely oasis
Only He could have provided.
It’s a beautiful day to be alive,
And I am glad.
June 15, 2019
It no longer fits into my new life.
So, to make room for more, it must leave me:
Beloved bringer of joy, moving on,
Exporting joy into territories
It hadn’t seen before. Adventure calls.
New friends fidget, waiting with open arms,
Glad to take it right on into their hearts,
And this should make me happy. It ought to
Make me happy to know it has a life
Prepared just over the next horizon.
Untold joys—and maybe a few sorrows—
Target my old faithful, stiff, wooden friend.
Alas! I cannot help but mourn its loss
Today. Tomorrow, maybe, I can feel
Elation for its good fortune to be
Desired in a day when electronics rule.
November 27, 2018
After this post, I may not have reliable internet access for an unspecified period of time.
My husband and I are moving on to greener pastures, but also sending our youngest two away for college. We are in a period of transition that is both bursting with hope and joy, and, paradoxically, filled with more overflowing, unexpected sorrows than I would have imagined. So many prayers are being answered all at once, while good changes that we have all anticipated for a couple of years, are harder to swallow than we initially realized. I wouldn’t change anything, but I am definitely experiencing some deep mourning. I won’t rush through it. And I will praise God through my tears, though, truly, both my dogs and I (and maybe even on occasion, my outwardly-stoic husband) will probably be crying into our blueberries for endless minutes at a time in the foreseeable future.
I thank you for your forbearance and any prayers you want to raise on our behalf. May God bless you with a joyful Advent and Christmas season!
I simply could not help starting to screech
Now that it invaded my space like that.
My shoes and flyswatter were not in reach,
Yet, I needed something to smash it flat, FLAT!
By a thin thread, from the ceiling it bounced:
A nightmare of fangs and pointing fingers.
Threats to my good health it announced:
Hellish apparition of bites and stingers,
Ready to stab me in the eye, I suppose.
Oh, it was nothing I wanted to see
Or have hovering close to my nose!
My home should be forever spider-free!
February 28, 2018
After escaping a very scary attack right over my bathtub, once the drama was over, and I was ready to face the world, I carried the notes for this poem to church with me, I’m afraid, and I finished the poem during the sermon. Sigh.
Three of the lines have 11 syllables instead of the standard 10. I tell myself it’s because my heartbeat was irregular and erratic during this scary spider incident.
How I long for the days when keys were just keys:
Those days so simple and so grand,
Before the times when for big dough
I’d clutch a computer tight in hand:
A computer I could break or lose,
That comes with problems I’d refuse,
Which can’t for a small pile of change
Be easily replaced or changed.
A smart key’s great for perfect folks,
Not quite so fine for careless blokes.
July 14, 2018
Flights of fancy fill my mind with stories
Unbridled from the ordinary day’s
Telling poured out from this life’s glories.
Untrained to wait quietly, they light the
Realm of word patterns dancing from my pen;
Easel of colorful delight they spin.
Poetic vistas they paint, offering
Oasis for a time, and so I must
Embrace them and again begin writing.
This gives me unexpected joy, and the
Lone words find a home, dancing from my pen
And telling their news like young children
Unconditionally babbling on
Rivers: building sand castles of words.
Each one laughs and joyfully carries on,
Appeasing my hunger for rhymes, and the
Towers quickly rise, dancing from my pen:
Each knows I’ll gladly do it all again.
July 22, 2018