This was a project I did basically during the pandemic. I started writing a poem a day. Once ‘real life’ started again it got harder to write everyday, which is interesting.
Myrtle and Gail
There was once a snail named Myrtle
who looked very much like a turtle.
His shell was gigantic and his head was quite small
but look closely, no legs — you see, he is a snail after all.
Myrtle was teased for the size of his shell.
The little snail bullies treated him not very well.
Myrtle would ooze home from school with tears in his eyes,
his tentacles drooping, his slime supersized.
Myrtle’s mom was named Nancy
she kept their snail home quite fancy.
She tried to console Myrtle with bits of cucumber
but he ignored the treats and instead he did lumber
over then under a nearby big boulder.
Here he could stand shoulder-to-shoulder
with his friend Gail.
Gail was a turtle who looked like a snail.
Gail, yes, he had a very small shell
and his head and neck, yes, they did swell.
He was teased by the other turtles at school.
They called him names, like fool and uncool.
These two met on a Saturday,
both out wandering, with no one to play.
Each had crawled under this boulder
as it was getting dark and a little colder.
They were both shy, not easy to meet.
Myrtle went first and he said this to greet,
“Hi, I’m Myrtle. What is your name?”
and Gail replied back with much of the same.
They quickly bonded although neither did speak
of the way they were different or how they felt like a freak.
Instead they both delighted in having a true friend,
someone to hang with, someone on which to depend.
It makes all the difference to have someone who cares,
it lightens your burdens when another is there.
For Gail that is Myrtle, and for Myrtle that’s Gail.
They are best friends, this turtle and snail.
the words play a game
Sometimes the words won’t come.
I sit and wait, ready to play,
but the words won’t come.
Try one way - is there a wolf?
No, he skulked away in the dark.
Try another - is there some sand?
No, it slipped through the cracks.
Where do the words go
when they won’t come out to play?
Are they hiding?
I have said too much about the words
and I have embarrassed them.
Made them feel some weight of expectation.
Made them feel they need to show off
and get some applause.
I wish the words knew it is only me here
waiting to play....
what usually works
is a good rhyme
something about that
calls them... in time...
oh! here they come!
marching out
yes! here they are!
they scream and they shout
no, I didn’t forget you
silly this and wonky that
and no, I don’t think at all
you look fat
you are delightful
full of sparkle
you shine more than
megan markle!
oh, dear words
here you are
please don’t desert me
that would be such a scar
I will do what I can
to keep you safe
I’m sorry my recent stance
it has chafed
I Love You Words!
you have made my day
oh you make me so happy
when you come out to play!
a wish
a wish for you
as we turn the page
setting sail for the next stage
may your dreams be lifted by pleasant breeze
may your health be filled with all good ease
may your mind be sharp, your belly full
may your spirit alight with a magical pull
may your heart beat steady, your wit be ready
may your will be strong
as we dive headlong
into a new adventurous year
I wish you goodness and every best cheer
sand? no desert
he says I should have said dust
not sand
but there is no such thing as a dust castle
writing these words, these rhymes and
verses
I know with all of it I’m not yet so facile
but onward I press, to the great unknown
forward
I’m prepared to confront every hassle
so be it sand, dust or black dirt
I’m walking on
as long as the words don’t desert
the simple words
make a shape
the words will allow
but whatever you do
do not take a bow
this would be hubris
and there is no thing worse
than an ego filled wordster
with yet another verse
oh, the coruscant fabric and folds
oh! abiding duty, fixedly certain
how many words can you make
for a cheap pair of curtains?
aflutter, the household zephyr
perfect and light
sorry, I thought they just
kept out the night!
yes, a lover of words
can indeed be a bore
the weight grows enormous
we can’t take anymore!
maybe instead
love the simple words
let them be silly,
abstract or a little absurd
yes they have meaning
yes they reflect
but maybe it's better
to just be direct
say what you mean
mean what you say
always let the words
come out to play
This is an edit of a piece originally published on September 20, 2020
Grigleston
Grigleston is a postman
He wakes up every morn
Puts on his suit and his fine hat
Eats his flakes made of corn
His life is full of routines
The same things every day
You could almost set your watch
By the things that he does say
“Good morning Rose” at 7 when he arrives at work
“How’s it going” at 10 to Sam the coffee station clerk
“What have I got today?” at 1 when he opens his lunch
Even though it is always a sandwich and carrots (there because they crunch)
At 4 he ends his day
Makes the short walk home
No one is there to greet him
No one but a small garden gnome
Grigleston is a kind man
But not the most lovely to look at
Something happened when he was born
His whole face is like a book — flat
To study a bit more closely
Is to see Grigleston’s face
As a tapestry of stories
A quite hopeful sort of place
There are some parts, yes
There because of pain
To be ugly in this world
Leaves a certain kind of stain
But on other parts of Grigleston’s face
Are creases made with love
His face may be different
But he has the heart of a peaceful dove
It might have been easy
It might be what you expect
For this face to be full of hate
For this face to shout the neglect
But many years ago
When Grigleston was fairly young
He realized he had a choice
The arc of his life, on this decision it hung
He could turn inward
Let other’s reactions define him
He saw that road — a lonely path
A future sad, hard and grim
Or he could turn outward
And always be of service
This seemed a much brighter path
But of course, it made him nervous
He would be exposing himself
To all the teasing, meanness, and jeers
But he chose to risk it
Embrace some of his fears
He started joining
All kinds of different groups
Book clubs, choirs, volunteering
Even a theatre troupe
At first it was quite hard
People can be cruel
Even when people get older
it can seem like they are back in high school
But the thing about Grigleston
As soon as you spend the time
You find yourself liking him
His spirit has something sublime
So yes, Grigleston comes home
To an empty house
But all he does is change his clothes
Then he is out and about
So many people love him
So many people care
Grigleston’s life is not an empty one
It is a journey shared
Mapping the Terrain
Let’s describe something new,
a special sort of map.
One that starts with here and now,
one with mysteries to unwrap.
If you start by drawing
exactly where you are —
every little detailed bit,
every little scar.
A collection of the pieces
of the here and now.
Question to include that mark?
Include it anyhow.
Make this a masterpiece,
a perfect, complex chart.
The drawing you create
will be a work of art.
Maps reflect the truth,
they show reality.
You will learn that you surely are
beautiful to see.
You will see your splendor —
gorgeous and recorded.
Study this map in earnest and
you will be rewarded.
Thank you to Con for this inspiration…maps and mapmakers…
something simple
want something simple
but only complex comes
want to move quickly
but nothing is ever done
it seems that sometimes
there is a larger direction
the worst thing you can do
is attempt your own projection
just dive into the flow
it will show you what to do
you will find simple and done
and be much happier too
’Twas the morning of Christmas
’Twas the morning of Christmas
And all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring
Only me and the dog because he likes his breakfast early.
Everyone else is still snug in their beds;
I’m sitting here looking at the tree,
And wondering what to write
For my first Christmas morning poem.
When all of a sudden I hit on an idea!
I can take an old poem and rework it;
Maybe have some fun and make some fun rhymes;
So far it isn’t working.
The words, they aren’t rhyming
And the pacing is clunky;
But wait, here is something!
We may be moving from junky!
My mind is usually agile, quite lively and quick!
But this morning it feels oozy and thick.
Maybe too many cookies and holiday cheer,
But wait now, we have two more rhymes right here!
Now shine! Now, pine! Those are Christmas words and they surely do rhyme!
Stuff the stockings, do some baking, those words, there for the taking!
I can do this this! It is working!
Let’s keep going, and going, and let the rhymes fall!
As the words rise up and begin to flow,
We have a small poem, based on one we know;
That one is about the eve of this day,
This one, the next morning, a kind of word play.
And then, we see a pattern emerging,
Use the first few words to get the mind a-whirring;
And then let the fingers move fairly quick,
you end up with something with a touch of wit!
He was dressed all in fur… well, that is my dog.
He is sleeping, his belly full; he’s a hog!
And under the tree are loads of gifts,
just to sit and look, my spirit it lifts.
The lights - how they twinkle, the ornaments glow!
Some of them shiny, some with fake snow!
There is garland wrapped all around,
and on top, an angel, making no sound;
The light fills the room, it is a perfect backdrop;
for the Santa statues all sitting atop,
All the shelves I can see, here around this wondrous tree,
Another big set of memories for those I love and me.
I am chubby and plump, I’ve been eating alot,
But I can laugh today, today’s not for changing, it’s not;
Instead I can sit here and play with these words,
I think we have gone more than two-thirds,
Of the way in the original poem,
The one that inspired, so we have to keep going.
Just a little bit further and then we will be done,
The first Christmas morning poem, a victory won!
And here we have it, the final last stanza,
I admit, this has not been a poetry bonanza.
I’ll stop with the rhyming, and silly word play...
HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-DAY!
snowman jack
he was a real small snowman
his name was Jack
he had his own little place
way out back
he had moved in
early in November
the earliest snowman ever
that we can remember
he wore a big orange scarf
a hat that was red
that was all he needed
at least that’s what mom said
but of course snowmen
they are really just for fun
once we got a warm day
Jack wasn’t anyone
for some strange reason
I remember jack
standing quiet in his hat
way out there out back
he was sort of special
the last one we made
before we got older
trading fun for getting paid
I guess that’s the thing
Jack, he reminds me
of a time when we played
when imagination ran free
buckets full of memories
buckets full of memories
squeals of utter joy
sitting there under the tree
the perfect, perfect toy
buckets full of memories
laughter ringing out
time we spent together
the whole family is about
buckets full of memories
visitors from afar
let’s go to see the lights tonight
all jam into the car
buckets full of memories
oh no it is on fire!
throw it out into the snow
this meal has gone haywire
buckets full of memories
the gifts did not get wrapped
santa must have been busy
mom’s energy was sapped
buckets full of memories
the cookies are all iced
some may look a little strange
but some sure do look nice
buckets full of memories
that time of solitude
sitting quiet, all alone
no other to intrude
buckets full of memories
of times already passed
maybe turn them into stories
don’t keep them under glass
you might find those stories
illuminate more threads
let’s spill out all our buckets
let joy and laughter spread
Thanks to my friend Cynthia and to my brother Kenny for turning their memories into stories, sharing them, and providing the inspiration for this piece. ❤️
Miracles and Magic
Have you seen a miracle?
Felt one in your life?
Something happens unexpectedly
and the timing feels just right?
Is there something else?
Something more than we can see?
Something much much bigger
than you or than me?
What if that presence,
let’s leave it nameless now,
what if it is always working
behind the scenes somehow?
Some will say I’m crazy,
that this is all just bunk.
I’m not here to tell you
what’s real and what is junk.
All I’m really asking
is have you’ve ever wondered?
Are we inside of something
bigger than the biggest thunder?
This season we are in
all started with a big big story.
Many years have passed since then
and that tale has fallen from glory.
But as I sit here now
and delve into it all,
I wonder if I feel something?
A small still quiet call?
I think we all feel miracles
at one time or another.
We may call them different things.
The magic we may smother.
My wish for you on this day
is that a miracle moves your life.
Maybe brings in some wonder
or takes away some strife,
fills your heart with love,
sets your soul afire.
You feel some Christmas Magic.
Truth Goodness Beauty do inspire.
Thank you to my dear friend Colleen and to my dad, both of whom brought up the idea of miracles to me within a few hours of one another. ✨
incantation
you are asking for something new
for some new things for you to do
you want the courage
you want the grit
you want the will
to never quit
here it is, my good prediction
you won’t fail in your conviction
a good outcome, yes, you will have to fight
but, you will have the might
to overcome what comes your way
you have the power to stand and stay
let’s repeat so it is clear
you have the power you want my dear
you can do this, yes you can
you have the map, you have a plan
these are words I give to you
you know this, you will have to do
but the future bright is in your reach
the things you want, you can have each
Thank you Jamuna for the inspiration on this one!
Snow
I am agitated and really quite frustrated
We haven’t any snow and it is Christmas-time
The streets are clean and the grass is still green
I want it white with loads of lights twinkling bright
We haven’t any snow and it is Christmas-time
Oh wait
What is that
Is that a flake I see?
Oh my
I might cry
Could it really be!?
I am elated and really truly sated
It is snowing outside and it is Christmas-time
We are snug inside with our chocolate filled mugs
Everything is white and loads of lights are twinkling bright
It is snowing outside and it is Christmas-time
Later we will go
Into the white temple made of snow
Walking out together, all sound is like a feather
As it snows outside and it is Christmas-time
Thank you to my brother Kenny for this excellent inspiration!
Cozy Simple Christmas
She put a piece of Christmas
in a small tight box
She wrapped it with a bow
And put it with her socks
So now anytime
She feels a little low
She opens up that box
And feels a cozy glow
This small box reminds
Christmas is not about the retail
Nope, this holiday for her
is all about the details
The little decoration
She loves so very much
The special treat baked
The perfect joyful touch
Christmas is not about
Doing things so grand
It can be about
Holding someone’s hand
You don’t have to work
to create a major wow
Just have yourself
a merry little Christmas now
Thank you Cathy for this wonderful inspiration!!
layers
there are layers of this season
the one we are in now
this is a lament of sorts
through some darker ground we plow
some are filled with love and joy
some are filled with mud
some are filled with heavy sadness
hearts that barely thud
some with frequent miracles
some with greedy hands
some with laughs and tears and hugs
no end to special plans
some with despair so thick
nothing seems to bend it
some are alone right now
with no one there to tend with
somehow December
feels a special kind of time
but some will be offended
to hear that kind of whine
for me, as I sit here,
looking at the lights
what I want is to build a fire
and make it burn so bright
not to take away the grief
the dirty, sticky, hard stuff
the sorrow, it lives here too,
I know the way is rough
but as you cry or feel lost
or scream or rant or rage
you could join me by the fire
I promise to listen, be a sage
we could sit together
and watch the firelight
if you want to come and join me
I’ll make sure to keep it bright
there are layers of this season
that I surely know
but remember that my fire is here
and it can grow and grow