Measles and Mumps
A Bridal Bouquet
A Drive-In Movie
Coaches and Milanos
An Old Boyfriend
Throwback Thursdays
Sudoku, all except the Evil version
Farmville
Harry Potter
The BeeGees
Pet Rocks
Our Heart's Desire on a day to day basis
Our Wandering Thoughts
Old Photos
My Husband's Eye in the morning
My Mother's smile
But I could never catch a fish.
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Prose or Poetry? by Sharon Sherman
Beauty lies among these lines
of equal measure, beat and rhyme,
spaced amid the tripping tongue,
a true delight for everyone.
How foul the words that come to me,
(for sure, that"s how it seems to be),
when writing deeds of nastiness,
it claims the power to depress.
But when the words are light and airy,
bespeaking acts of friends or fairy,
twinkles lie among the lines
evoking smiles and fun, this time.
"Oh, Romeo, my Romeo!"
My love has asked where doest thou go.
For romance has its own sweet song,
to move the heart, so right, so wrong.
And if you read this little ditty
looking for an unrhymed gritty,
you'll not be satisfied with these,
these lines of thought that rhyme with ease.
of equal measure, beat and rhyme,
spaced amid the tripping tongue,
a true delight for everyone.
How foul the words that come to me,
(for sure, that"s how it seems to be),
when writing deeds of nastiness,
it claims the power to depress.
But when the words are light and airy,
bespeaking acts of friends or fairy,
twinkles lie among the lines
evoking smiles and fun, this time.
"Oh, Romeo, my Romeo!"
My love has asked where doest thou go.
For romance has its own sweet song,
to move the heart, so right, so wrong.
And if you read this little ditty
looking for an unrhymed gritty,
you'll not be satisfied with these,
these lines of thought that rhyme with ease.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
I, Eye, Aye by Sharon Sherman 2015
What's in an eye? Aye, I'll tell you!
With a nip and a tuck, it can change your whole view.
Most people 'cept me generally have two.
It's been said they're the windows straight to the soul,
one ruse of many, so I am told.
I use mine to admire the natural beauty
of wind, sea, and sky. That is my duty!
Billy here cries when onions he chops.
Or when a fine plate he covets, he drops.
Grumpy here frowns, his eyes all ablaze
when Benji has stole his last donut glazed.
Benji lies down, his eyes looking up
to see if we've noticed his quiet hiccup.
Murphy's eyes crinkle with merry and mirth
to see his fair home, this side of Perth.
McDougal, he flops when he's down in his cups,
eyes all glazed over, cut off from his sups.
Mary stands hearty, she's one of the guys.
Her love for us surely comes straight from those eyes.
When all's said and done, the 'ayes' have it now.
If you look in each eye, they go down with a bow.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Twas the Day Before Christmas by Sharon Sherman
Twas the day before Christmas, the house was a mess.
My hair was all frizzy, this must be a test.
My husband's still sleeping, I just didn't care.
I tripped on a truck and flew up in the air.
On doll shoes, on marbles, on tea sets and crayons.
On blankies, on Legos, so much to lay on.
I dropped on them all like a mother of four.
I'll not have another, by God, this I swore.
I stomped to their bedroom by this time a fright,
swung open the door. What I saw wasn't right.
No clothes on the floor, no shoes in the bed.
No baseballs or footballs. Just neatness instead.
Away from the room, I flew down the hall,
threw open a door and gasped at it all!
Their t-shirts were folded and placed on a shelf.
Ribbons and bows they'd collected themselves.
One more I would try as I crept down the hall
and opened the door, making sense of it all.
One grinning husband, so handsome, so bright,
"We waited until you had gone nighty-night."
I brushed my sore elbow and smoothed out my jeans.
The spirit of Christmas was here, so it seemed.
Life is a gift that always surprises.
It twists and it turns. It brings many crises.
But when you're not looking too closely it brings
the love of a family. The sweetest of things.
My hair was all frizzy, this must be a test.
My husband's still sleeping, I just didn't care.
I tripped on a truck and flew up in the air.
On doll shoes, on marbles, on tea sets and crayons.
On blankies, on Legos, so much to lay on.
I dropped on them all like a mother of four.
I'll not have another, by God, this I swore.
I stomped to their bedroom by this time a fright,
swung open the door. What I saw wasn't right.
No clothes on the floor, no shoes in the bed.
No baseballs or footballs. Just neatness instead.
Away from the room, I flew down the hall,
threw open a door and gasped at it all!
Their t-shirts were folded and placed on a shelf.
Ribbons and bows they'd collected themselves.
One more I would try as I crept down the hall
and opened the door, making sense of it all.
One grinning husband, so handsome, so bright,
"We waited until you had gone nighty-night."
I brushed my sore elbow and smoothed out my jeans.
The spirit of Christmas was here, so it seemed.
Life is a gift that always surprises.
It twists and it turns. It brings many crises.
But when you're not looking too closely it brings
the love of a family. The sweetest of things.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
My Pixie Girl by Sharon Sherman
I love my little pixie girl.
When I come home, her tail's a twirl.
Her little paws reach toward my chest.
Her legs, her nose, her ears attest
to love returned. I'm back home now,
I never left. I'll tell you how.
I send my love into her eyes.
She sends it back, there's no surprise.
From tail to tongue, by me she lies.
Comfort comes from those brown eyes.
When I come home, her tail's a twirl.
Her little paws reach toward my chest.
Her legs, her nose, her ears attest
to love returned. I'm back home now,
I never left. I'll tell you how.
I send my love into her eyes.
She sends it back, there's no surprise.
From tail to tongue, by me she lies.
Comfort comes from those brown eyes.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
It's What We Do by Sharon Sherman
A silver moon casts its frosty shadow on the chilly water.
The hoary frost blanketed the twigged countryside.
He frosted his acquaintances in both deed and word.
Frostily, he explained the punch line.
We join each one over nouns and verbs.
We help with adjectives, too.
And if the verb needs our assistance,
we're there with voices true.
Though soft on placing commas there,
The m-dash makes us blush.
We're never sure, though check it twice,
Which one has our trust.
The action verb escapes our pen,
But not the wise, old owl's.
And if stray "that"s begin to show,
We'll strike them out with howls.
We don't forget the rule of three
or making subjects follow.
"Repeat me not!" we say again.
It makes the meaning hollow.
Add a space or make a typo,
Those we can amend.
And when the last of thought dost show,
We make our periods . . .
end.
The hoary frost blanketed the twigged countryside.
He frosted his acquaintances in both deed and word.
Frostily, he explained the punch line.
We join each one over nouns and verbs.
We help with adjectives, too.
And if the verb needs our assistance,
we're there with voices true.
Though soft on placing commas there,
The m-dash makes us blush.
We're never sure, though check it twice,
Which one has our trust.
The action verb escapes our pen,
But not the wise, old owl's.
And if stray "that"s begin to show,
We'll strike them out with howls.
We don't forget the rule of three
or making subjects follow.
"Repeat me not!" we say again.
It makes the meaning hollow.
Add a space or make a typo,
Those we can amend.
And when the last of thought dost show,
We make our periods . . .
end.
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