A Poetic Discovery

While paging through some ancient books recently, I stumbled on this treasure:

Making Beds

an original poem, author unknown2012-05-20_01-44-51_674

We’re very, very busy

Cause we’re making beds!

No, we don’t mean the people kind

with sheets and quilts and spreads

A little rake and hoe is all

the kind we’re making needs

Cause we’re making garden beds

for little baby seeds.

I love Spring!

A Poetic Blast from the Recent Past…

A few months ago, while fighting boredom in a session of forced concentration, I wrote two poems. Now I think I will share them…

Poem #1: What is Stress?

What is stress?

an aching between the disks in my lower spine as I twist, sitting far too long in my desk chair

a throbbing at the temples

low battery power

a furrowed brow

a day in the life of melodramatic teenagers

not being sure how to spend your meager time

having a house full of guests and no ice

productive

realizing that there is no toilet paper. . . or tissues

an attempt to express busy-ness as mere emotion

stepping in a puddle in canvas shoes

a nightlight

the flu

a deadline passed unnoticed

tears

a kid in crisis

impromptu observations

being in the middle

This is stress.

Poem #2: Math Wrath

Math is worse than torture

or plague; black death and hell.

Being stuck out in a scorcher . . .

inside a dried up well.

When walking near the math wing

my skin breaks out in hives

kids who love this math thing

should re-assess their lives.

My math teacher just hates me.

With endless rows of tasks

she taunts, provokes, and baits me

with each question she asks.