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.
I have started to edit some of these mostly the kids poetry. I think there might be enough here for a book. We shall see.
I make no claim that much of this is “good” poetry. But I do make the claim that I loved doing it and I learned something and some of it makes me cry.
all your parts
what part of you is happy
what part gets quite sad
what part likes to read comics
what part yells when mad
what part gets up to mischief
what part likes to be hugged
what part fights with your sister
what part tripped on the rug
so many parts come together
making you all that you are
a wonderful brilliant small human
who shines like the brightest of stars
blankets and thick doors
rainy and cold Sunday
the dreariest indeed
stay under the covers
watch a movie or read
pause to be grateful
you weren’t born before
walls and roofs and windows
blankets and thick doors
Abigail Miller
Abigail Miller loved her stuff.
She never thought she had enough.
Piles and piles of books and papers,
her rooms filled up with crooked skyscrapers.
She bought online and in the store,
her heart beat loud — more more more!
To what end did Abigail strive?
She thought her things made her alive.
But she was wrong, our friend Miss Miller,
it was love of stuff that truly killed her.
She buried her heart in all that clutter.
It kept folks out. Her love got shuttered.
old leaves
Does a tree lament
losing her old leaves
or does she celebrate the space
for something new?
one more month
one more month
what does that mean?
maybe nothing
at least it seems
we measure time
by calendar
it only works
’cuz we concur
here I count
my days and weeks
to keep track of
my writing streaking
teeter totter
teeter totter
calm then bothered
modern life
human strife
all our stuff
never enough
words people days stuff
words people days stuff
all can have a weight
we pile on the meaning
make it do or die
that rarely is the truth at all
no matter what we say
words people days stuff
it all just glides on by
what a tree knows
Does a tree get confused
mixed up or bemused?
Or does she just know
the direction to grow?
It sure seems to me,
as I look at that tree,
she thinks strive for the light
and all will be right.
will never
I’m afraid it will never be over
the end won’t ever appear
keep getting shots ‘cuz they tell me
but each jab fills me with fear
I expect the news to keep coming
each season will bring changes new
a sad shade of thought begins dawning
we will never go back to used to
giving thanks
giving thanks
to each of you
grateful for
what you do
reading here
every day
you fill my heart
not more to say
cold outside
cold outside
see my breath
stay too long
might mean death
get inside
warm right up
pour the coffee
in my cup
soon the now
time is here
then is gone
can seem quick
or quite long
one thing clear
it won’t last
soon the now
becomes the past
one more time
Quiet house
No one up
Chore is done
Fed the pup
Writing words
Finding rhymes
Poem done
One more time
a note to mother nature
a note to mother nature
bend your ear this way
wanted to say thank you
for this gorgeous day
colors deep and tawny
air both crisp and warm
bare branches reaching to the sky
buds waiting to be born
what you do is magic
wonder
mystery
thank you mother nature
I’m deeply grateful
me