Time Changes Everything

When my kids were born I swore up and down,
I'd be the best mom, and my kids be reknown.
I laid down the rules, and I stuck to my guns.
My boys would be preachers, my daughters would be nuns.
I didn't have time for nonsense and sass.
If any of them acted up, I got out the brass.

But then they grew up and had families of their own.
And what happened then, I won't attempt to condone.

Now Grandpa and Grandma saw nothing amiss.
You broke Grandma's teacup? Come. Give her a kiss.
What's that spot on the carpet? Oh, don't worry now.
We'll clean that right up. Long ago I learned how.
Yes, your father used to do that when he was your age.
("And mom tanned my hide." said the father with rage.)
They're squealing and running? Don't give it a thought.
And, all siblings fight. If they don't, then they ought.
We needed new curtains and end table anyway.
Don't make them eat that! Don't take their cookies away!
Our daughters were baffled. Our sons said, "Who are you?"
You can't be the mean parents that we once knew!

And then we grew older, the grandchildren too.
There was nothing ever wrong, whatever they'd do.
We loved them through tantrums and food fights and such.
We loved them through it all, nothing ever too much.

And they grew to be mothers and fathers themselves.
They had their own children, little angels and elves.
We scraped up our money and bought presents and toys.
We loved their sweet faces, pretty girls, handsome boys.
They brought them to visit and to sit on our laps.
Great-Grandpa and Grandma having much fun, perhaps.
But after thirty minutes I turned sweetly to their mom.
"We just love your sweet babies. Now please, take them home."

A Christmas Really Short Story

A Christmas Really Short Story

'Twas a month before Christmas and all through the house

We were cold and uneasy and starting to grouse.

The workers installed a new heat pump, you see,

And the thermostat since hadn't reached sixty-three.

The dogs were all shivering and curled up in balls

As Ron and I kept warm by frequenting the malls. 

It's Georgia, you see, and it's supposed to be warm.

But at least in November there's no tropical storm.

So, disguised as martyrs we snuggled in our bed,

With a space heater blowing heat over our heads.

We had to stay busy so we wouldn't freeze,

And the metal got colder in both of my knees.

We gave thanks on a Thursday with friends in their home.

They had turkey, we brought trimmings, we all brought our love.

On a Saturday morning Ron served cocoa brew

To some kids and their parents, and Santa Claus, too.

They partied all morning with crafts at the church,

While I, overseer, oversaw from my perch.

On a nice day I turned the big seven-O,

And I know that I haven't got very far to go.

So, Ron is the tower of strength in our home,

Doing dishes and vacuuming, so they finally get done.

The kids are all grown. There's no baby to rock.

Nobody wants presents, just money in their sock.

Way out here in Georgia, there's no family to haunt,

And a trip to Nebraska is too much of a jaunt.

There'll be no snow for Christmas, and it's 60 degrees.

If you want snow for Christmas you must flock your trees.

Your Flowery Branch friends wish you all Christmas joy

That comes from you knowing God's gift, His holy boy.

As we celebrate and honor the Christ child's birth

We look forward to His returning and His peace on the new earth.

Fare-thee-well is the sentiment as the last line I write:

Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a GOOD night!

This was written for a friend, Donna Moore, whose family owned such a cat and asked me to write a poem about it; Donna asked, not the cat. s

THE CAT IN THE CUPBOARD

Early in life I knew of our guest

Who silently hid in our kitchen to rest.

Was he part of the family? Did he have our last name?

Did he know he was "It" in our family game?

We tried to include him. We tried with all might.

But he was determined to stay out of sight.

Our infamous cat in the cupboard.

Our feline stayed in his cupboard all day

And only came out when we were away.

Way back on the shelf is where he called home,

And he only came out late at night just to roam.

Then before we would wake he'd get back in once more.

And we knew every time, for he left open the door.

This reclusive old cat in the cupboard.

Oh, he was a beauty! Just glimpses we got.

His fur was all white, with brown and black spots.

We'd catch him at times looking affably dear,

As he cleaned and preened in front of a mirror.

But as soon as he knew his presence was know

He'd head for the corner that he called his own.

What a picturesque cat in the cupboard!

We bribed him with tuna. We bribed him with cheese.

But he was impervious to all of these.

He waited so patiently for no one about,

Then made quite a pig of himself, there's no doubt.

Stealth was his name; a tidy one, too.

For all of the food he found, we never knew.

That incorrigible cat in the cupboard.

It's amazing that he never made up a mess.

He couldn't have known that our mom would obsess

If he ever left crumbs or snippets behind.

She always was cleaning and always could find

Some messes for us to clean; yes she could!

But never our recluse. No. He never would.

Our fastidious cat in the cupboard.

Once I awoke with a bit of a fright.

Our cat was awake in the dead of the night,

Imposing his song of love to all who would hear.

The feline next door must have been quite near,

For the bellowing roars could be heard far and wide.

If I were she I would find some place to hide

From our eloquent cat in the cupboard.

One evening quite soon after all had retired

Our friend found mom's yarn; a cache he admired.

It didn't take long to awake to his shout.

Poor kitty was tied up in yarn. "MEOW! Let me out!"

It took a good bit for our mom to prevail.

When she freed him from yarn we saw only his tail.

That mischievous cat in the cupboard.

For years it went on with our illusive pet.

We knew he was there. We loved him, and yet

Our efforts to play with him never came through.

He wasn't the kind to cuddle or coo.

He wasn't our playmate, nor did we forget

He demanded his space. He demanded respect

For this reticent cat in the cupboard.

And, oh, how we miss him!

Our invincible cat in the cupboard.

Valentine Preference

Valentine Preference

some people think roses are dandy.
some people want roses AND candy.
some people think these are the winner,
but i'd rather be taken to dinner.

save your money and buy me some food.
cause to not have to cook suits my mood.
don't cruise for flowers making you frantic.
McDonald's is my idea of romantic

Telephone Books

Telephone Books

TELEPHONE BOOKS

I heard the door bell and went to look.

"Oh, great! Another telephone book!"

I glanced at the pile already delivered,

And I wished it was legal to dump them upriver.

I wonder, but really I'm afraid to look,

How many companies publish telephone books?

I've counted, and so far I come up with five

Who pass out their product to all those alive.

And each one never puts it all in one book,

So, sometimes I'm not sure in which book to look.

If I'm looking for lawn care I try Yellow Pages.

Three pages of small print! So it takes me ages!

If I want Joe Smith the white pages should tell,

Except now it doesn't 'cause he uses a cell.

So, if everyone's changing to cells and facebook,

Tell me why I need all these telephone books!

Each book is at least three inches thick,

And they weight the table down like a brick.

With ten books or more I'm starting to glower.

Good grief! This pile of books looks like a tower!

So, I have decided to do things my way.

If they try to deliver another today

I will tell them all to go jump in the river,

'Cause another book here you're not gonna deliver.

Filling Her Basket

Filling Her Basket

Filling Her Basket

 

She spent her life filling her basket

With delicious and beautiful eggs.

They were smooth and delightful, not blemished or flawed.

For such beauty our worldly thought begs.

As the basket filled up strange things happened.

The eggs she most cherished would crack.

The mess they would make made her cry in despair,

For no mending could get the eggs back.

So she cleaned up the mess they had made her,

And she wiped all the other eggs clean.

Then she looked and cried out in amazement.

More eggs cracked where the others had been

.

 

She decided those eggs were the problem.

There were better ones near to be had.

But, alas, they all cracked in the middle,

And her goal was defeated and sad.

What's happened to all I've accomplished?

Why do my plans fail to succeed?

Why can't all my eggs stay unbroken?

Just to keep what I have is my need.

But she didn't surmise that her problem

Was not with the eggs she could find.

She didn't know she had the wrong basket

Her power and destination made her blind.

Wide-Bottomed Women

Wide-Bottomed Women

(Disclaimer: I wrote this during a stay in the hospital while I was on pain killers and various sundry drugs. Just sayin....)

Wide-bottomed women should never wear tight jeans

With each and every movement tugging at the seams.

A healthy dose of denim should hang loosely on the hip,

And if I see their underwear it really makes me flip.

Wide-bottomed women should never wear short shorts,

Not even on the beach or participating in sports.

And if you work in the garden be careful of the view,

'Cause if your backside's to the gate they'll see a lot of you.

It's Just Me

It's Just Me

Sometimes I pretend that I'm normal,

but I get bored, so I come back to me.

It's not that I'm extraordinary.

It's just I'm unlike those I see.

Sometimes they pretend to perceive it,

but I see that far look in their eyes.

I wonder if my words were expected,

or were they a complete surprise?

Sometimes I retreat into my shell

where alone I can muse on my thoughts.

It's easier than striving to mingle,

and end up with everything in knots.

Sometimes I think I'm so stable,

then find myself out on the edge.

I scramble to lighten the outcome,

but deeper and deeper I dredge.

So, it seems there's no use in pretending,

for normal is just not for me.

The more I should try to be normal,

more abnormal I find me to be.

It's just me

One of Those Days

One of Those Days

When I got up this morning the coffee pot was broke.

When I tried to make toast the toaster started to smoke.

If I don't have any coffee it's possible that I'll croak.

Other than that everything's just pretty fine.

I went back to my bedroom and fell into my bed.

I bounced out on the other side and fell upon my head.

I needed a lot of stitches, twenty-two is what they said.

Other than that everything's just pretty fine.

I got into the fast lane so I could pass a car.

I needed to take the exit, but I blinked and went too far.

Another guy clipped my bumper and the accident was bizarre.

Other than that everything's just pretty fine.

They rushed me to the doctor who said I broke my arm.

He put it in a purple cast to give it a little charm.

My chest hurt and my back ached, but I didn't want to cause alarm.

Other than that everything's just pretty fine.

So, I ended my day a little early, and curled up in my chair

Thinking nothing could happen to me while I was sitting there.

I glanced over at the sofa that was covered in cat hair.

And I thought, I don't even have a cat!

Other than that everything's just pretty fine.

The Dreaded Blank Page

The Dreaded Blank Page

It's funny how our brain responds
To all our idle moments when
The matter of it all, called grey,
Becomes a mass reposed. And then,
We strive for all creative thoughts
To relegate onto our page
Where void and vacantness wins out,
No longer yellowing with age.
Technology, perhaps the cause,
To numb the senses and make dull
The nether-regions of discourse
We use to conjure up delights.
Oh, revelry! We miss the days
Of wandering out to shores unknown,
Imagining the wondrous worlds

Of paintings with our words self-grown.     

And now I've got this cadence started,
Wanting to escape the walls
Of reason, and quite discontent
With idleness and time ill-spent.
My mind is whirling, twirling, thrilling,
Fabricating joys and charms,
Listening to my inner pleasures
Spinning my linguistic treasures.
Idleness! It lends its way
To wondrous worlds in the human mind.
It captivates the weaving, forming
Pictures; overwhelming storming
To the former blanket of white
Where now my artifice you'll find.

Being Stupid

Being Stupid

Unintelligent people are smart
To take their dim-wittedness to heart.
Being doltish is not what they wish.
Inferiority thoughts, they should squish.

It's a wise man who knows he is thick,
Simple-minded, and not very quick.
If a harebrained thought enters in,
It's preposterous to think it's a sin.
            

An astute person knows he is dense

And will offer no show of defense.

Better far, uninformed to admit

Than adding cuckoo to a twit.

If you're air headed, obtuse and dumb,

Idiotic can make one quite numb.

Still, the mindless can always improve

If from illiterate they can move.

 

 

But, for screwballs and wackies, take heart!

Don't be vacuous! Today, make a start!

Prove to people that zany and mad

Are the knucklehead traits to be had!

All the bubbleheads will quickly step up!

There'll be "Lunatic" T-shirts and cups.

And then nutty will be the new fad.

Celebrate! Being stupid's not bad!

THREE LITTLE FISHIES

THREE LITTLE FISHIES

There once was a fish in a pond

Who, quite boldly and eloquently yawned,

I'd accept being blue,

Or a gold fish would do,

But don't ever ask me to be blond.

 

As the tuna was caught in the net,

She got nervous, and started to fret.

To be cast as a salad

Makes my flesh look so pallid.

It's the cross I bear, being brunette.

 

Then, alas, we espied a bullhead,

Who lay on the bank, playing dead.

I will be what you wish.

But, remember, this fish

Opts to be just a sexy redhead.

The Aritifice of Subterfuge

The Aritifice of Subterfuge

If you think you're a scholar and know it all,

And your knowledge has no room to grow at all,

Restrain yourself. Try not to show at all.

For, respectfully, you will just blow it all.

If you tend to be vain and big headed,

And your friends call you mule and pigheaded,

Don't be obstinate now, or egg-headed.

Change it soon before it's embedded.

Most victims of pride are delirious.

They think they are wise and mysterious.

All their nonsense is trite and cinereous.

We've no need for anyone so imperious.

 

The high and mighty are far and wide,

And their presence is hard to abide.

But, if brave, maybe I'll look inside,

And see why I am being so snide.

 

Do I think I'm a scholar and know it all?

Do I think I have no room to grow at all?

Am I tempted to brag and to show it all?

Good grief. How embarrassing to blow it all!

In My Dream World Again

In My Dream World Again

There once was a time when, I venture to say,

The men in my presence would all look my way.

I received many whistles, admiring my shape,

And all the pleasing glances I could not escape.

But the years have betrayed me, as often they do.

My mirror reveals a wrinkle, or two.

My backside is spreading. My front's falling down.

My body has morphed from my head to the ground.

They no longer whistle. They don't even look.

They now seek the wisdom I gleaned from a book.

The excitement of beauty is simply a ruse.

For men, it's intended to confound and confuse.

For women, it's fraudulent, fleeting, and fake.

It's so unimportant when we judiciously awake.

But, I have to admit when my girdle I wear,

And the grey and white highlights reflect from my hair,

That I rather enjoyed being ogled and sought.

It's nice to be looked at admiringly, as hot.

But, as I recall the bikinis, and such,

I realize I'm dreaming. I'm so out of touch!

I never again will be pretty or fair.

And frankly, I'm too old and too tired to care.

I Just Need A Better Outcome

I Just Need A Better Outcome

If I were more sensitive and had some tact,

If I had more sense, most of which I've lacked,

If I would just think instead of react,

I know I would enjoy a better outcome.

If I'd just control the ways that I act,

If I'd settle back and not come off half-cracked,

If I'd just trust Jesus like it says in the tract,

I'm sure I'd enjoy a better outcome.

If it's true, what I've heard, if it's really a fact,

It's possible that I've been under contract.

It's amazing that I have had such an impact.

I sure wish I could enjoy a better outcome.

If the ways I've offended were listed and tracked,

I'm sure it's incredible! (I'm sure I'd get smacked.)

I've got to reform this! I've got to have tact!

And I know I would enjoy a better outcome.