Posted in creative writing, depression, Life, poetry, tagged creative writing, God stuff, poetry on July 3, 2010| 3 Comments »
sometimes the load is heavy,
and I pray for respite.
sometimes I think God is busy and my prayers are relegated to the bottom
of the pile in the folder in the cabinet labeled Insignificant.
sometimes I feel guilty complaining because
I know there are atrocities in the world and by comparison my issues are miniscule; specks of dust in God’s eye.
sometimes I wish God would look at my folder just once and not rubber-stamp me as “to do later”.
Posted in creative writing, Life, memories, poetry, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged creative writing, free verse, Life, memories, poetry on May 10, 2010| 1 Comment »
she was given some coins
to go to the store on the corner
Grandmama needed gingerale
she walked through the front path and out the white gate
closing it carefully behind her
like the big girl she was, she walked all the way to the store
she reached up to the counter and told the nice man
Grandmama needed gingerale
here are some coins
He got a bottle, took some coins,
and gave the rest back to her
she left the store happily holding her gingerale
halfway up the block a big dog came dashing out of a yard
he snarled, growled and barked at the little girl
she started to run; he began to chase her
SHE DROPPED THE BOTTLE AND IT BROKE
she ran and ran and ran until she got to the white gate
the nasty dog was right behind her
she managed to get into the yard and slam the gate
Grandmama was on the porch and came down the stairs.
Grandmama didn’t care about the dog.
Grandmama was angry because the little girl dropped the bottle
she learned a valuable lesson that day
a broken bottle of gingerale
was more important than a 4-yr old child afraid of a dog
Posted in creative writing, Life, poetry, Writing, tagged EmmaLou Golden Retriever, poetry, such a sweet dog, the innocence of pets on March 10, 2010| 2 Comments »
EmmaLou reclines in a sunray
soaking warmth into her golden fur
sunlight sparkles on her shiny coat
closed eyes, she begins to twitch
a dream of chasing rabbits perhaps
barking in her sleep conjures images of the hunt
she wakes herself, stretches, yawns and
ambles over to where I sit in my comfy chair
placing her head on my lap, she sighs
contented just to be
Parchment Monkey 