When we take the time to look
we notice quite a lot.
Tho different on the surface
we’re more alike than not.
If you cut us we will bleed
or wound us we will cry.
Leave us to ourselves to long
we’ll curl up and die.
I think that’s why our Maker
came down so long ago.
When we can’t or won’t reach up
He reaches way down low.
Knowing we can’t fill our voids
with people, wealth or things.
Apart from Him it amounts to
paper-dolls and gossamer wings.
cdm
My hearts desire I display,
Obama go!
Declaring these words that I may,
to others show.
He’s ruined our economy.
Now threatens all our liberty.
With friends like him who needs a foe?
Obama go!
~~~~~~
Minds reeling amidst all the fray,
go to and fro.
Who do we vote for we all pray,
we need to know.
Santorum, Gingrich or Romney?
But not Ron Paul; the man’s crazy.
Please free us from this present woe.
Obama go!
cdm 1/4/12
This is a octogram style poem, created by Ms. Sally Yokum of Fanstory.com
the rhyme pattern is aBabccbB,ababddbB
each stanza has a syllable count of 84848884
It seems my thoughts return to you
this time of year.
Old memories I find renew
your image clear.
I watch as weeks fly by so fast,
blink and another year is past.
This season always calls you near,
this time of year.
“““““““`
Events we shared invade my view
I shed a tear.
For then as now it’s just we two
my precious Dear.
I’ll not allow sorrow to cast,
shadows across our love steadfast.
Your presence brings no qualms or fear,
this time of year.
““““““
c.d.m. 12-27-11
This is an octogram style poem, created by Ms. Sally Yokum of Fanstory.com
the rhyme pattern is aBabccbB,ababddbB
each stanza has a syllable count of 84848884
It struck me odd the other day
as photos I did gaze upon.
Of all the faces I did see
four out of five of them are gone.
Eyes staring back; frozen it time
reminding me of yesteryear.
Recorded echoes from the past
sweet memories; I shed a tear.
As I recall the sights and sounds
of voices from so long ago;
the silence of this passing day
adds to the present sense of woe.
Turning the page then I did see
eyes smiling; looking back at me.
Without a word they seem to say,
”You know we’ll meet again one day,
so think of me with smiles sweet,
while you are there; and I am here.
For when once more we two do meet
twill be no place for grief nor tear.”
For my dear friend Jo,who passed away 11-9-11
My Friend
I’ll see you on the otherside;
that doesn’t ease the pain today.
For now I’m missing my dear friend;
much more than words can ever say.
Surprise gives way to sad farewell;
the common ground for all my friend.
Though I did see the tell-tale signs;
I would not see your journeys end.
I should not wish you here again;
a selfish heart would I have then.
These words of grief onward I send;
I’m missing you today my friend.
Ora Jo Weston 1940-2011
I got a call just the other day
that really, ‘blew my mind’.
I will share the story with you so,
a moral you may find.
Someone left me a message saying,
“They needed expertise”.
I thought, “Friend you have called the right place,
I’ll make your questions cease”.
I tried and tried to return their call
and show the best of me,
demonstrating my own unique sense
of deep humility.
I pondered ,”Oh dear what could it be
they need my guidance for?”
But each time I dialed their number
a recording spoke once more.
When duty calls, I am the one
who’ll give my eyes no slumber.
But my bubble burst to hear them say,
“They’d called the wrong number.”
c.d.m.2010
I wear a plain white suit
start fresh ev’ry mornin’
Wear white gloves on my hands
for much more than warmin’
With a smile on my face
and a song in my heart
Till I get to the site
for the workday to start.
“““`
Chorus;
Then my nose wrinkles up
I break out in a sweat
It’s a good payin’ gig
but I have some regret
I answered an ad said,
‘travel on the highways’
it never said a word
’bout a Honey Dipper’s days.
“““`
I locate the hole then
cover nose with a rag
I open the hole up
can not help then but gag
don’t mean to complain it
pays the bills when they’re due
just tellin’ you I’ve got
the Honey Dippers blues.
“““`
Chorus;
Then my nose wrinkles up
I break out in a sweat
It’s a good payin’ gig
but I have some regret
I answered an ad said,
‘travel on the highways’
it never said a word
’bout a Honey Dipper’s days.
cdm 10-11
First time I ever heard a septic cleaner, referred to as a Honey Dipper, I thought the lady was speaking of a ‘Bee Whisperer’,of some sort. I was amazed to see Septic man step out in his clean white suit.
These lyrics were written and used in a contest on another site.
A light was on in the room. Viola ignored it as she gathered her bags to go home. Today she would leave the lights for the next shift to tend. For now she wanted only to get on the road.
Viola was on her way home from work, after fulfilling a double shift. It never seems to fail, when you don’t feel well yourself someone inevitably calls off. Viola grimaced with pain at every turn of the wheel or glance into the rear view mirror.
If I can make it home and shower, and get to Doctor Jimmy I’ll be fine. She kept thinking over and over like a mantra. Maybe then I’ll feel up to hosting tonight’s neighborhood Halloween bash. She chuckled at the expected fun, then winced with the pain of this current bout with her neck problem.
After a quick shower and another ten-miles of grueling drive, she arrived at Doctor Jimmy’s office complex. It still was difficult for Viola to remember to call him Doctor Jimmy. He was the same age as her children, and had been ‘Jimmy’ prior to medical school. Yet in the eight years of his being her chiropractor he had proven he deserved to be referred to as Doctor. So he was Doctor Jimmy to Viola.
Following fifteen minutes of questions and anxiously waiting Viola was at last ushered into the eight by ten cubical that held the ‘magic’ table. She glanced at a magazine waiting to hear the familiar tap-tap at the door, signaling Doctor Jimmy’s entrance.
As she looked up at the table she couldn’t help but quietly chuckle. There was a running joke between the two concerning the treatment of Viola’s lower back. More specifically her gluteus maximus. Due to an old pelvic bone injury and the pain it caused, Doctor Jimmy often had to maneuver that more than voluptuous area.
Viola likened his moves to someone kneading two large batches of bread dough. The joke they shared was as the Doctor completed his kneading Viola would quip, ” Throw both my butt cheeks back up on the table Doc and I’ll get out of here. They’d share a laugh as he would help Viola sit up. Usually she would still be moaning. A day or so later she would be right as rain.
She trusted Doctor Jimmy in all his youth. He had worked on her lower back, as well as her upper back and shoulder area. When it really was bad it would even effect the muscles in her neck. At that point it would trigger bouts of vertigo, with severe dizziness and nausea. This only happened when the problem was ignored and ventured further than normal. Which is the stage Viola had allowed it to progress to on this day.
One reason Viola loved and trusted Doc was because he listened. Also he never practiced ‘cracking necks.’ Doc would use message and manipulation in the worst case scenario cold and hot therapy.
For a strange reason Viola harbored a horrible fear of allowing her neck to be cracked. From somewhere deep in her inner self it lingered. A childish fear her head would pop right off her skeleton, should she ever allow her neck to be cracked.
It all began back when she was a chubby little girl. [ well she's still chubby ] At four she had fallen twelve feet down onto the concrete, landing on her neck and passing out. The next thing Viola knew was she was floating above her Mommy. Who sat with a little girl in her lap, wafting smelling salts under her nose. Then Viola realized, ‘Hey that’s me’, and she was flying down and back into her body, and mommy’s arms.
After that episode Viola was very touchy about her neck. Deep down she knew it was a silly notion, yet try as she might she had not overcome the fear. She simply knew if she allowed her neck to be cracked, her head would pop right off.
Doctor Jimmy entered and they spoke for a few minutes, before he helped Viola onto the table. He began to work on her back and with each maneuver Viola’s four limbs would flail up wildly in reflex, as she’d cry out in pain. ” You have really let this go to long this time Viola,” Doc scolded.
” Well your schedule and mine have been out of sync of late Doc,” Viola defended herself. ” This is the first opening that you have had available.” she continued.
Doctor Jimmy finished the table maneuvers and helped Viola sit up on the side of the table. He reached into to his lab coat pocket and pulled out what Viola called the gun. A little tool Doc used on tough muscles that refused to submit to manipulation. It created a strange sensation much like hitting your funny bone. Normally it succeeded in convincing those muscles that resisted, to submit and so relax but not today.
Doc looked Viola in the eye and said, ” Miss Viola, I know how you feel about having your neck cracked, but I feel it is what is necessary to get to the bottom of your problem.”
Viola’s heart fluttered wildly as she began to speak and then hesitated. She pondered ‘this is such a silly fear I trust Doc, and I do have to get home to that Halloween party.’
So she gave him a painful nod and spoke,” OK Doc I trust you go ahead.”
Doc Jimmy could not believe Miss Viola had given in so easily. He rushed into position behind her. Reaching out he placed one hand on each side of his patient’s head, and gave her neck a quick jerk.
The next sound that was heard coming from the room, was Doc’s voice screaming. There in his hands was the separated head of Miss Viola. Everyone in the outer office heard his frightful voice and looked at one another.
In the unseen realm there was Viola floating up near the ceiling again, as she had as a child. While looking down upon the scene she thought, ‘ Don’t reckon I can just fly back down there into my body this time, why I’ve lost my head,
HA HA HA, she laughed madly,’ an thought but “hey Doc the pain is gone!” Then she remembered the Halloween party at her house. ‘Guess I’ll fly over there, and give them the scare of their lives, this will top every other Halloween party we have ever had, what a surprise!!’
This is in response to some writings, from different places. They were half informed, and showed the police in a bad light,so
Just an attempt to set the record straight. Concerning the incident that occurred in Ohio. Where because of the danger to human life, animals were killed. Many people in other nations, do not know the whole story.
No excuse for ones who live in the U.S. They either only catch glimpses of the news and go on a rant, or are bent towards the eastern religious ways.
Thinking of sparing animals and to hell with human life.
Kinda like PITA, they fight to save puppies, and at the same time fight for abortion rights. It’s just human babies after all. They would have a fit if you took a dog to the Vet for an abortion.
That is the twisted mind of modern humanistic man.
For the record this man, had nearly 60 wild animals, lions, tigers, bears, wolves and other large cats. On a 70 acre farm. Near an animal preserve called The Wilds. At the Wilds the animals are free roaming, in 10 foot high fences. All that is except for the carnivores, they are caged. Carnivores are mainly what the mad man owned. So wake up those of you who care more for animals, other animals were also in danger!!! Oh my; now that changes things, dearie..
This poor man was in debt and crazy in the first place, he became overwhelmed and took his own life. Right after he opened all the cages, allowing these beasts to roam free. All within miles of large metropolitan cities. After they get past all of us out in the outlying farms.
The animals were hungry. He was not able to properly feed them. Several years of these problems with finances and such. This all happened an hour or two at the most, before dark. So there you have it.
The Zanesville Police are not blood thirsty beasts on a safari. They did attempt to get Vets. in with tranquilizer guns.
I can’t believe people would be so insensitive to human life, while they scream about these animals’ lives being taken. Just goes to show how upside down in rational people are today.
For instance a whole valley of farms in California, which supply a huge portion of food for the U.S. have been shut down. Several years of no irrigation, so no farming. Just to save some fish.
Here is a brain storm of an idea. Put some in a bowl, and get back to farming and feeding humans you dingbats. There are some jobs Mr.Obama, and a novel idea jobs in our own country, for Americans first.
Really ticks me off when people from other states and countries make us out to be horrible. I would love to see one or two of these carnivorous beasts let loose in your neighborhood. Threatening your children or pets.
Those officers were performing their job. Protecting humans.
How many of the people complaining of this ‘atrocity’, [as one described it] eat meat?
Yeah, but you leave it for someone like me to kill, and deliver to the store. Keeping your hands bloodless, you think.
Someone explain it to me please,
this fascination with ‘boobies.’
As girls display their purchased wares,
the male devotees offer stares.
“““`
Grant them if they crave plastic bust,
a plastic doll to vent their lust.
For ‘naturals’ do not stand tall.
Sometimes mis-shapen, sometimes small.
“““`
In my day we all burned our bras.
Then begged our moms to join the cause.
Determined breasts were meant to feed
our babes, not someones groping need.
“““`
Ladies, if you have ample breast,
please cover-up your upper chest.
Crack in the front; same as the rest.
Viewing of crack, I do detest.
cdm 9-11
I live in the midst of Amish country.
Their wares for sale on signs I see.
Quilts, Maple syrup, eggs and many things,
some sell rockers and pretty porch swings.
“““`
My hubby drives by at a break-neck speed.
Saying, “They have nothing that we need.”
I smile as he drives thinking,”That’s okay,
I will just drive back this way someday.”
“““`
All though I never do, I ‘ll tell you why,
I find things go well, when I comply.
He always comes around if given space.
This way I stay in his, and God’s grace.
“““`
We live out on a farm so there’s no need,
to find more critters for us to feed.
There’s dogs, cats, cows and a few chickens too.
I tell you there is plenty to do.
“““`
But chasin’ those cows is sure gettin’ old.
That’s for young people so I’ve been told.
One day while drivin’ a sign caught my eye,
‘Aussie Cattle Dogs-Ready to Buy.’
“““`
I whipped into that drive as is my way.
Stirred up dust on the quilt dis-play.
Got out and said,”Sorry, I’m here to see,
a cattle dog to chase cows for me.
“““`
They stared me down with a grimace and frown,
then walked away neither made a sound.
The man came back with pups under each arm,
said,” Take your pick, they’ll help on your farm.”
“““`
I picked the male but I still wasn’t sure,
didn’t look like much, more like a cur.*
I paid him sixty dollars took his word,
that this little pup could move a herd.
“““`
Got out of my car with the pup in arms.
Hubby wasn’t moved by tail-less charms.
Knew what he tho’t by the look in his eye,
‘ I’d been took with my cattle dog buy.’
“““`
Well we settled on a name, called him Blue,
this is a true tale, I’m telling you.
At four months Blue had the bull convinced,
to stay in the field where he’d been fenced.
“““`
Hubby gave Blue his dues, had to admit
the pup knew his stuff and had some grit.
Said,” Blues not just another mouth to feed,
that Amish did have something we need.”
c.d.m. 8-29-11
* In my neck of the woods ‘sure’ and ‘cur’ [ a mutt], rhyme. 
The picture is one of Blue at about 6 months old.
|
||||||||
Yeee Hahh!!! Cheryl
A life time ago, in the country side, lived a couple, for many a year,
Their marriage, produced no off-spring, which caused Susie, many a tear,
They each, had come from large families, that was normal, for such an age,
Tho the journal, of Sam and Susie’s life, bore a child, on nary a page,
They excepted, what fate had chosen, made the most, of their lives with each other,
They shared, the children of family, from her sister’s, and Samuel’s brother,
They relished, the sound of a child’s voice, echoing, out in the wood,
With time, they threw off the sense of loss, tho neither, ever understood,
They lived, in a two room log cabin, reaped, what they could from the land,
Just them and their Lord, and a simple life, in the midst, of a large Maple stand,
Well as you may know, time pass’, Sam and Susie, both grew old,
They didn’t fear dying, just leaving each other, at least, so I have been told,
Hard times, covered our nation, back in, nineteen-twenty eight,
Harder times, came to their cabin,and left them, at the poor-house gate,
Til their last breath, they were together, I heard this tale told, long ago,
But from the journal, of Sam and Susie’s life, there is this one thing, I know,
Life’s meant to be shared, with another, and the Lord, Who gave life to you,
A two-fold cord, may be broken, but a three-fold cord, will hold true,
This life, is no more than a vapor, just a blink, and a life-time is through,
But the faithful, are kept by the Faithful One, and He’ll always, remember you.
In memory of Samuel and Susan Brahm Williams
c.d.m.5-28-10
If I use ‘Sea Kelp’ conditioner, will it give me ‘Mer-Maid’ hair,
Will my locks grow long and thick and lush,and will people turn to stare,
Will I get as much attention, as that ‘Planters Peanut, Girl’,
All because, I give this Kelp conditioner, a whirl,
Excitedly, I apply it, to my scalp and hair,
But with one application, my hair is flying, everywhere,
Well I’ll persist, and use it daily, as the directions say,
Then maybe I’ll end up, with ‘Mer-Maid’ hair, one of these days,
Don’t be deceived, I’m not naive, nor believe everything out there,
I know that ’Mer-Maids’, are extremely rare, I just want ‘Mer-Maid’ hair…
c.d.m. 8/9/09
The wonder, of my little one,
I use to look, and see,
The amazing creature, in my arms,
That once, lived inside me,
She looked with wonder, back at me,
As she took in, all around,
With a perfect face, and perfect heart,
She seldom, made a sound,
I watched, as she began to grow,
I ached, with every mis-step,
I watched her grow away, from me,
And ohh God, how I’ve wept,
There’s naught, that I can do my friend,
Except, to watch and pray,
And trust, some how she will come home,
To God, and Mom someday,
So please, don’t try to comfort me,
Or think, you’re doing right,
When you come, telling me about,
What she did, Friday night,
Your words,”She wasn’t raised that way”,
Do not, comfort my heart,
And it’s all, that I can do,
To not jump up, and take her part,
You can not know, a ‘ Mother’s heart’,
If you have not, been one,
So save your concern’s, for someone else,
Or else, our friendships done,
There’s naught, that I can do my friend,
Except, to watch and pray,
And trust, some how she will come home,
To God, and Mom someday.
c.d.m.9-26-10
“Leave the Light on Mommie”,
her small voice made request,
“The Light makes darkness go away,
and that’s when I sleep best”,
So Mommie left the door a-jar,
for the Light to make It’s way,
Into Jennie’s bedroom,
so the dark would go away,
Some friends warned “you spoil her,
you’ll let her grow up weak”,
But Mommie did what she thought best,
for her Jennie was unique,
Her Jennie was bold as bold can be,
in the light of day,
She’d conquer any obstacle,
that dared get in her way,
She marched through life with a bravery,
most ‘sighted’ children lack,
But to overcome fear of the night,
she had yet to gain the knack,
She peeked in on her babe asleep,
with Light upon her face,
Wrapped in the safety of the Light,
cocooned with-in It’s grace,
Somehow Jennie sensed the Light,
and so could be at rest,
So Mommie left the door a-jar,
and did what she thought best.
c.d.m. 8-30-10
The Hollow…
Whats happened, to the Hollow,it’s all but disappeared,
It seems, that State Route 50, needs more space, from year to year,
Every thing is changing, nothing stays the same,
So many people, live here now, and no one, knows their name,
First they came, with city water, said we all, required it’s use,
Next came, the sewage system, septic tanks, could not be used,
Then one by one, the neighbors died off, or simply moved away,
Now there are, more strangers, in the Hollow, every day,
I recall my bare feet hurting, from gravel roads, as we’d walk down,
To catch the bus, down on the ‘hard road’, and get a ride on into town,
I remember as a child, each father had, a whistle tone,
In the hills, or in the valley, every child, knew his own,
“Mary your dads whistlin’,she would take off, like the wind,
In those days, just a whistle, was enough, to call us in,
On the porch’s families gathered, round a smoldering, rag can,
The smoke would keep the bugs away, at least, that was the plan,
On the swing would sit Grandma,the others gathered, all around,
They’d be talkin, or a singin, we’d play amidst that comforting sound,
Our sounds of laughter, joined their voices,as we chased fireflies,
Lightening bugs, made pretty diamonds, we didn’t know it meant they’d die,
It was a sweet time of innocence, and not one of us, did know,
It would all change in our lifetime, and we would loose,our Hollow,
c.d.m.3/7/09
Listen sweet Lad,to the words of your granny,
She’ll teach you right, she would ner, lead you wrong,
She’ll tell you of Jesus, His grace and His mercy,
The work of His cross, in the words of a song,
Singin hi diddle aye, diddle aye, diddle odee,
hi diddle aye, diddle aye, diddle lou,
I love you Laddie, with all that is in me,
But it’s nothing compared Lad, with His love for you,
Lad in this world, there are those who would use you,
They’ll want you to join them, in all that they do,
They’ll cause you to stray, and then laugh when you stumble,
You reach up to Jesus, He’ll never leave you,
Singin hi diddle aye, diddle aye, diddle odee,
hi diddle aye, diddle aye, diddle lou,
I love you Laddie, with all that is in me,
But it’s nothing compared Lad, with His love for you,
for my grandson Colton 5/08 c.d.m. [scottish lilt]
Rose Ella,
At one time in the mountains,of fair West Virginia,
the people lived happy and free,
They prided themselves, in their independence,
and natural abilities.
These people had ventured, from far away shores,
from Scotland, and Ireland, and Wales,
They remembered their homelands,in the words of sweet ballads,
entertaining each other with tales.
Life was not easy. as you may surmise,
they lived off the wealth of the land,
Why anyone would choose, to live in those mountains,
town’s people could not understand.
Up in those hills, there lived a young beauty,
by the name of Rose Ella McNye,
A sprite of a girl, with flaming red hair,
and eyes like a blue summer sky.
Rose Ella had never had schoolin, but she’d learned,
at her grandma’s knee,
What you could reap, from the mountains and valley’s,
and make into home remedy’s.
Many’s the time, folk knocked at her door,
seeking help for an ailing loved one,
She’d gather her bags, of herbs and dried yarbs,
and off thru the woods she would run.
The day came, when she met her a suitor,
by the name, of Newt Matheny.
Folks whispered to her,’ Rose Ella don’t court him,
he comes from a bad family.’
Rose Ella disregarded the warnings,
they married,and started a clan,
After 3 or 4 children, she realised,
she’d married a traveling man.
Rose Ella saw to the farmin,
did her doctorin, with babies in tow,
Newt stuck to the drinkin, and makin of moonshine,
when he felt like it he’d up and go.
During one of his many adventures,
some one knocked, on Rose Ella’s door,
She went to help, while her babies were sleeping,
never dreaming of what lay in store.
As she returned about sunrise,
fear gripped her heart, at the sight,
Of her cabin ablaze, to the roof peak,
two babies were lost, in the night.
A week or so later, when Newt sobered up,
he learned of the loss, they had shared,
He ran back to Rose Ella, who sat in a daze,
with streaks of white all through her hair.
Rose Ella regained most her sense’s,
so her 3 babies left, she could tend,
She and Newt, never more shared the same bed,
some ailments you just, cannot mend.
the true story of my great-grandma , c.d.m. 3/09
Advise to Joleen,
I’ve asked you once, I’ve told you twice,
From now on I will, not play nice,
I’m comin after you now, sweet Joleen,
I still can not understand, how you could chase a married man,
It’s payback time, this rounds on you Joleen,
Joleen, Joleen, Joleen, Joleen,
guess who’s not beggin, any more Joleen,
Joleen, Joleen, Joleen, Joleen,
we’re gonna settle up this score, Joleen,
Well they may plead in Tennessee, But really that is just not me,
Watch your self, I’m comin sweet Joleen
I’ve borne his kids, I’ve done my time,I won’t share his retirements mine,
When I’m done, he won’t want you sweet Joleen,
Joleen, Joleen, Joleen, Joleen,
guess who’s not beggin any more,Joleen,
Joleen. Joleen,Joleen, Joleen,
we’re gonna settle up this score,Joleen,
Your flaming locks have lost their shine, now your butts broader than mine,
Time catches up with all of us, Joleen,
Your ivory skin’s like leather now,Your face bears a perpetual scowl,
The price of livin sinfully,Joleen
Joleen, Joleen, Joleen, Joleen,
Guess who’s not beggin any more,Joleen,
Joleen,Joleen,Joleen,Joleen,
I’m comin after you now,sweet Joleen.
08 lyric’s by c.d.m. to the music of Ms.Dolly P’s Joleen
In the foothills of North Carolina,
sat a cabin a long time ago,
There lived a couple named Iney and Ben,
for how long I really don’t know,
The cabin of log sat flat on the ground,
rustic they’d call it today,
I wondered how it survived termites and time,
and hadn’t caved in with decay,
It sat beneath a canopy of pine trees,
which blocked the sun most of the day,
So the front yard was weeds and wild flowers,
and that red Carolina clay,
Near by sat a barn with a buckled roof,
shelter for the milk cow and hogs,
By the porch sat a cage for Whitey the skunk,
amidst chickens and countless hound dogs,
They had lived off that land raised five sons,
scratching out whatever they could,
Their only cash crop was tobacco,
some eggs and a few cords of wood,
They cooked on a woodstove used oil lamps,
they never had electricity,
Played fiddles and banjos to entertain,
enjoyed each other instead of T.V.,
One day down the cow path[ they had no driveway],
came a salesman with a smiling face,
They greeted him out on the porch with sweet tea,
asked,’Sir what brings you to this place’,
I’m here with ‘good news’ said the stranger,
and to bring you an opportunity,
I’ve brought you candy to sell in these parts,
and you then share the profit with me,
He opened the box that he carried,
it held candy of every kind,
Ben stood back thinking it over,
but Iney had made up her mind,
‘I’ll sell that candy fer ya feller’,
Iney spoke with a twinkle in her eye,
So Iney became ‘The Candy Lady’,
selling chocolate to all who passed by,
I lived up the mountain from Iney,
when I heard of what she had to sell,
My brother and I became customers,
we visited most days without fail,
We’d enjoy our purchase with Iney,
she’d have one with each that she sold,
One month passed by and the stranger returned,
to collect his vast pot of gold,
He told her how much that she owed him,
Iney counted then counted again,
She had only one fourth of the tally,
she questioned and looked up at Ben,
Ben smiled as he looked upon Iney,
said ‘You’re wearing your profit, my dear’,
A drinker can’t make and sell whiskey,
cause the outcome is perfectly clear,
He pulled out his wallet paid the stranger,
said ‘Don’t come back, this way again’,
That ended Iney’s business adventure,
and that was ‘good news’ to Ben.
some names changed to protect the living,[me]
c.d.m.4-28-10
, There is a Garden. [lyrics by C.D.M. 02]
I watched as a boy, with plump rosy cheeks, and eyes of a brilliant sky blue,
Stretched his short little arm, just to reach a lone daisy, still wet with the mornings first dew,
With his gift in his hand,slightly crumpled by now, he ran calling ‘mom where are you’,
But he stopped in his tracks, when he found her there, in her garden of every hue,
He looked down at his daisy, it had wilted some now, and seemed pale, next to those mommy grew,
He dropped his prize daisy, turned to just leave, as tears filled his sweet eyes of blue,
Oh but mommy had watched, his wee drama unfold, and she knew just ,what had to be done
She ran after him, scooped him up in her arms, and whispered, to her little son,
Tell me how did you know, I was searching just now, for a flower,exactly like this,
For amidst all my garden, I have none of these, and she brushed his small cheek, with a kiss,
Well he looked up with wonder,and searched in her eyes, to know if what she spoke was true,
Then with a smile on his face, and a sigh of relief, he said ‘mommy I picked this for you’,
Oh there is a garden prepared by,our Maker, with flowers of every hue,
Oh but His heart is achin, for the spot that stands vacant, that place He’s prepared just for you,
Well she pressed that wee daisy, inside of the bible, she kept at the side of her bed,
She turned out the light, as she pulled back the blankets, and at last rested her weary head,
Ah but her sleep, it was troubled, that night by a dream, that caused her to suddenly wake,
And try as she might, to go back to sleep,the message, she just could not shake,
You see, she’d seen the Father, and she’d heard Him call,’ Daughter I’m searching for you’,
Your My sweet little daisy, amidst My vast garden, of flowers of every hue,
Oh but there are none more precious, no fragrance sweeter, than that which I’ve, received from you,
And I’m callin you back, to My arms of sweet mercy, full of flowers of every hue,
Yes there is a garden, prepared by our Maker, with flowers of every hue,
Oh but His heart is achin, for that spot that stands vacant, that place He’s prepared just for you,
He say’s’ You’ll bloom there forever, in My flower garden, tenderly cared for by Me, where the sun never sets, and a bloom never withers, but lasts for an eternity,,,
Grandma’s, Yellow Kitchen,
Grandma was born in 1898,she remembered the Titanic well,
As children we loved it when she had the time,the Titanic’s sad story to tell,
They said the Titanic,could not be sunk,by fate or by God’s own hand,
She taught us the error of depending on,the vain prideful boasting’s of man,
She was born in the mountains,to a poor family,of Scottish and Indian descent,
Through the life that she lived,she learned intimately exactly what hard times meant,
By 18 she’d married her first man,and given to 3 babies life,
By 19 she’d buried her man and 2 babies,and at 20 became my Grandpa’s wife,
Through the time of the Great Depression,she was blessed with 5 children more,
With faith in her Lord,she weathered the storm,facing what ever life held in store,
She never acquired any luxury’s,an outside toilet served all of her days,
She hauled well water, for all of her needs,to complain was not part of her ways,
In her bright yellow kitchen,I still can see her,cooking and singing her songs,
Teasing and laughing,and telling us tales, in our eyes she could never do wrong,
By 72 she had buried 2 men,and 4 of her 8 children born,
When she left here to go to heavens fair shores,it seemed almost a sin to mourn,
Grandma I’ve missed you,this past 40 years,but I know I will see you again,
I’ll come running in to your bright yellow kitchen,to gather with all of our kin,
3/09 c.d.m. For my angel of a Grandma,Lula Belle
Tommy’s Poem
Cabin’s and green apples,
Castor oil,and fun,
Tadpoles and snake doctors,
flying in the sun,
Root the peg,and marbles,
contraptions of all kinds,
All the games of childhood,
sometimes flood my mind,
All tho the years have come and gone,
Brother I must say,
the times we shared together,
were the very best of days.
Tho there are miles between us,
we are really not apart.
Cause now as always,Tommy,
you are always in my heart.
c.d.m.8/14/03 for my brother
Some call it,’pay it forward’, some say ‘reap what you sow’,
Some say,’it all is Karma’, but here’s one thing I know,
You get just what you pay for,good fruit comes from good seed,
And Karma’s all in God’s hands, He’s faithful to meet needs,
It’s always been my habit, to help when a driver breaks down,
Yesterday,I found myself, broke down, in Lancaster town,
I got out and started pushing, as traffic just whizzed by,
I knew I couldn’t push it far, but I knew I had to try,
Just when I felt like giving up,I looked up to see,
6 rough looking Mexican boys, coming straight at me,
They said ‘get in,we’ll push you’, I steered out of the road,
In my head I heard my Father,’you’ve reaped because you’ve sowed’,
They smiled as I said,’Thank you,and prayed,may God bless you,
The 6 little Mexican angels, that came to my rescue.
[a true story] c.d.m.3/9/09
Rosemary,
What’s the matter Rosemary, why are you so sad,
‘ Because I’m in this ‘Rest Home’, it makes me feel so bad,
At one time I crossed the ocean, to visit foreign lands,
Now I can’t pass the exit sign, and I don’t understand,
The aides here must leave one rail down, I have the right to fall,
Long as I do my falling here, to go home’s not my call,
I wonder why it is they care, if I fall ‘here’ or ‘there’,
Could it be this reason, ‘here’is paid by medi-care,
I am just not ready, and they can’t understand,
To give up will be my final choice, then my life will be out of my hands’.
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Where we are,they have been,where they are,we will one day be….
Hell, Hitler, ,
Herr Hitler would be mighty proud, to find so many think as he,
and how his propaganda, has helped form, our society.
PETA fights for animal rights, and most times we would agree,
but to fight to save puppies, and fight to kill babies, just seems strange to me.
[question]
When did growing old, become a crime, punishable by death?
[answer]
When they first called babies, embryos, for they had yet to take a breath.
People began to warn us then, that there will, come a time,
When killing the young, old or disabled, will no longer be a crime.
Folks laughed and said, ‘Hey Chicken Little’s, the skies not falling down’.
Excuse me Little Ostriches, you better look around.
Hell, Hitler, ,
c.d.m.3/09
Vanessa and I and the Queen of Sheba,we lived in a mystical land,
Where Vanessa and I proclaimed Karmen Queen,at 3 she did not understand,
Her crib was her throne,from there she ruled,over a vast bedroom empire,
While she ruled we played,we squandered the days,sometimes she would inquire,
‘Can I come out and play Barbies too,I’m tired of being the Queen,’
‘Nay our Queen,you must rule from your throne,’ her citizens could be very mean,
We were so young,and just didn’t see,that we were being unfair,
We’d curtsy and bow,say ‘you rule from there now,’ we could be quite the pair,
Now we’re all Grannies,it’s hard to believe,how time sprouts wings it seems,
Yet at times we return,to that mystical land,of the Queen of Sheba in dreams.
c.d.m. 3/09
I spoke with a little girl one day,a child of 62,
You ask,’how is she still a child at that age’,I want to explain it to you,
See when she was quite young,she met someone who,had been tainted by evil hands,
They introduced her,to a world of things,a child cannot understand,
As so often happens,Ruthie withdrew,did I tell you that was her name?
Like a turtle in it’s shell,Ruthie’s life went to hell,retardation is what got the blame,
This child once shining,was shoved into the dark,placed with others who would not progress,
Ruthie simply complied,never breathing a sigh,no one questioned why she had digressed,
So a child’s life was altered,forever changed,from all that she may have been,
Sacrificed on the altar,of fulfilling the lust,of one sick evil man’s sin,
This story is sad,we all can agree,but it’s one in a million out there,
But if we’ll watch and pray,intervene in some way, no more children,this sad story will share.
c.d.m.4/09
I happened once upon a sight,and found it odd at best,
To find just one stone standing still, amidst the fallen rest,
Strange how time and nature,can disrupt the best laid plans,
And have the last words spoken, in the lives of mortal man,
The silent stone spoke openly,the words of those long gone,
It shared the secrets of the past, the saga still go’s on,
The tale of sweet Rebecca, born upon a river boat,
A humbler vessel has not been seen, it barely stayed afloat,
Her Papa was the captain, a kindly white skinned man,
Her Mama was his servant girl, bought down in Louisiann,
Mama had no choice, and tho the captain was quite fair,
At every port they greeted her, with whispers and with glares,
So when Rebecca came along, with almond eyes of blue,
Mama said, ‘Rebecca girl this life is not for you,
Mama’s gona find a better way, for you to live your life,
I’ll send you off for schoolin,so you can be some fine man’s wife’,
The plan was set in motion, and carried out as time passed by,
Mama sweet talked the captain, until he finally complied,
They sent their child to Cincinnati, to a private school for girls,
Hopin she would find a husband, and have it better in this world,
It wasn’t long til Becca met a man, called Gabriel,
He too was there for schoolin, he was called a ‘near-do-well’,
He came from up near Lancaster, the master of his family farm,
Rebecca overwhelmed him, with her kindness and her charm,
They planned an April wedding, they were counting off the days,
Then some one told his family, that Rebecca came from slaves,
They threatened Gabe, and told him,’we will have no part of this’,
Get rid of her or loose it all, and thus began the tryst,
So instead of Mrs. Greyhull, she was a consort all her days,
It broke her Mama’s heart to know, she’d followed in her way’s,
She and Gabriel shared their lives, tho they were frowned upon,
This stone is still a testament, that their love carries on,
So you see I find it funny, her stone’s the last one left upright,
Now the ‘Consort’ has the final word, I think it’s only right.
c.d.m. 4/13/09
Sol
I awoke this morn, to find,
something that has, blown my mind,
I do not know, what I can say,
to describe, what I’ve beheld today,
So with few words, now I will try,
to say what I see, out in the sky,
Oh I don’t know, I think it’s round,
and it does not seem, to make a sound,
It kind of, has a yellow glow,
what it is called, I do not know,
I note, there seems to be more light,
and it seems, more birds have taken flight,
And ice is dripping, from the tree,
hey! I swear, I heard a bumble bee,
I think, from far off memory,
a word, is coming back to me,
O.K., I’m only having fun,
I know, I know, it is the Sun.
and am I glad to see it!!!!
c.d.m. 1-30-11
I wondered, why my circumstance,
had turned out, as it had,
What had I done, to cause,
a situation,quite this bad,
When finally, I asked the Lord,
‘How did I, get in this mess’,
He said,’ you opened up a door,
allowing it, more or less ‘,
I thought,’ oh no that can not be,
I did not, seek this out ‘,
Why didn’t ‘you’, stop me Lord,
I whispered, with a pout,
That’s when, he showed me,
how my path, had wandered off so far,
He said,’ you did not ask me,
that’s why you’re, where you are’,
I knew, what he was speaking,
Tho devastating,still was true,
I also knew, that at one time,
it was something, I would never do,
I had no choice, except to fall,
before, His throne of grace,
To seek, what I had long ignored,
His voice, His heart, His face,
As I lay broken, listening,
there in that, holy place,
His Light, resolved my catastrophe,
and swept away, all trace.
c.d.m.7-5-10
I was watching a movie, with my hubby one night,
As you may well guess, it was about a bloody fight,
It was the second, or third in a trilogy,
But I swear, every script is the same to me,
They are stories of a soldier, from a war long ago,
Seems he can’t escape the warfare, no matter where he may go,
Perhaps you’ve heard of him, or his legend you know,
He’s been around for a while, his name is Johnny Rambo,
He’s traveled round the world, just seeking to find peace,
But trouble always finds him, so the warfare does not cease,
In the last show he returned home, down a quiet country lane,
I thought that sedate life style, will probably drive him insane,
He’ll be looking for some action, I bet in no time at all,
Sittin close to the phone, just in case he gets a call,
In hopes his old commander, maybe cooks up a plan,
That requires the special training, of a military man,
I considered his problem, and the thought occured to me,
If Rambo makes another movie, this is what the plot could be,
He’ll get a call from his commander, and the D.N.C.,
To come and fight those” angry mobs”, involved in ‘Tea Party’s',
It could shake up the plot, give the script a new twist,
When those angry protesters, meet Rambo’s fist,
I mean what do they think,’ that it’s a free country’?
No….
Not unless you are a member, of the D.N.C.
c.d.m. 8/09 Peace Out..
Depending on the Kindness of Strangers,
I once watched a lady, struggle with her groceries,
She could not see the curb, nor the danger,
I reached out to help her, she drew away saying,
‘ I’m not depending, on the kindness of strangers ‘,
Some call it ‘Ego’, others call it ‘Pride’,
but the moral of the story, stays the same,
A helping hand’s a helping hand, no matter who’s it is,
They’re only ‘strangers’, til you learn their name,
I saw a family grieving, having lost their loved one,
Now at the ‘mercy’, of the funeral arrangers,
Folks collected money, but they turned it down saying,
‘ We’re not depending, on the kindness of strangers,’
Some call it ‘Ego’, others call it ‘Pride’,
but the moral of the story, stays the same,
A helping hand’s a helping hand, no matter who’s it is,
They’re only ‘strangers’, til you learn their name,
I saw a poor soul sitting, by the side of the road,
In her hand she held a cup, out to strangers,
Etched into her face, was misery, and yet a grace,
Completely at the mercy, of strangers,
I asked her ‘ Tell me madame, how you keep your sanity,
while depending on the kindness, of strangers ‘,
She smiled up and answered, ‘ It’s never seemed to me,
that in the Family of God, there’s any strangers ‘.
c.d.m.3-18-2010
<a href=”http://alphainventions.com/rank?=http://whispersoftheday.wordpress.com” target=”_blank”><img src=”http://alphainventions.com/blog?=http://whispersoftheday.wordpress.com” border=”0″ alt=”Alpha Inventions Ranking”></a>
This is a picture of my little buddy,Wallace. William Wallace [Brave heart] to be exact.I gave him that name hoping it would give him courage, he was afraid of every thing as a pup. It didn’t work, he’s still fearful, enough to snap if he feels cornered. He is a long-haired Dachshund, whom I have kept trimmed since his back surgery,at the age of three. He is now 8 yrs old.He was born Dec.12th 2001,I remember because the year before [ Dec.2000],I had to put my first Dachshund down,due to congestive heart failure. He was 16 years old,perpetually over weight,and full of heart, afraid of nothing. He tried to take on a ground-hog once.About got me bit trying to ‘save’ him.His name was’ Rambo’,and he took after his namesake, for sure. After I had to have him put down,I was determined not to have another dog,to painful.And especially not another Dachshund,to bull-headed. Then a little over a year later I found Wallace,and I couldn’t resist his sweet little body.He has not taken Rambo’s place but he has definitely carved out his own nook in my heart.If you are not a dog lover, you may not understand,or find relevance in this post. If you are one who has loved and been loved by a dog,this is for you. Written a few weeks after Rambo died. [ p.s. this could never compare to the late Jimmy Stewart's tribute to his dog, Shep.]
Rambo
Sometimes I’ll hear your feet
as they cross the kitchen floor.
I look up hoping I’ll see you
coming to eat once more.
At times I still cry
as I recall your scent,
I stand amazed
wondering where time went,
You were here for me
as children went their way.
You welcomed me home
at the end of the day.
I miss you when I take a bath
sit down, or go to sleep.
When I awake I still miss you
so that is why I weep.
1/10/2001 c.d.m.
My family and I have had ‘Weiner’s', for over 30 years.With the passing of each,we say ‘never again’, only to find ourselves with another one in a short time.They are a peculiar breed, but very lovable. A strong hand is needed with them.Whats not to love? The black and tan is a long haired of my g-daughters Paige, his name is Winston Churchill Eugene.The wire hair is my cousin Eden’s,her name is Ezimae.
Have you ever heard the music, of a farm in early spring,
When the grass and trees are waking, and the birds begin to sing,
Have you heard the croaking bullfrog ,as the sun sinks ‘neath’ the hill,
When the breeze is gently blowing, have you heard the whippoorwill,
Have you ever heard the music, of a hive of busy bees,
As they fly from hive to clover, humming soft mel-o-dies,
Have you heard the tinkling cow bell, when the cows come in at night,
And the music made by milk streams, into pails clean and bright,
Have you stood upon a hill top, and as far as you could see,
Spread out in the vales below you, miles of natures poetry,
Have you listened to the pine trees, as they whisper in the dawn,
Have you heard the tales they tell you, of the days now past and gone,
Have you heard the jingling harness, of a team of prancing steeds,
When the days work is completed, and their coming home for feed,
Have you heard in early morning, roosters sounding the alarm,
If you want your cares to vanish, Seek the music of the farm.
Leota Good Wesselhoeft 1946
I turned around, and you had grown up,
I wondered where the years, had flown,
Where were the golden curls, and dimples,
the chubby hands, that I had known,
Those sounds of joy, both tears and laughter,
my children’s voices, on the wind,
When did my babies, leave my bosom,
so their adult lives, could begin,
It seems like yesterday, I dressed you,
brushed your hair, and held your hand,
How those years, passed by so quickly,
I will never, understand,
So please be patient, with your mommy,
if she sometimes, holds on to tight,
To her just yesterday, she rocked you,
and kissed her baby girls, good night,
I turned around,
and you had grown up…
for my girls,,,
July 1995 c.d.m.
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We have heard the song of, the Drummer Boy, and the gift that he gave to the Lord,
But have you heard the tale of, the little Handmaid, and the gift she could afford,
Many gave wealth and substance to, our Lord, while He walked in this earth,
The little Handmaid, had nothing to bring, that she felt was of any worth,
Her mother taught her, as a little child, to gather flowers of necessity,
That they could then sale, in the market place, for she was born into poverty,
She had often beheld Jesus teaching, in the market, at the center of town,
Sometimes while gathering flowers,she would follow, His disciples around,
She watched others minister to Him, like the lady, with the alabaster box,
But all she ever had, in her possession, was periwinkle, rose of Sharon, and phlox,
Then one day the crowd, seemed to turn on Him, and they nailed Him to a cross,
She wandered, on the hills of Jerusalem, weeping over her loss,
She watched, as His loved ones took Him, to lay His sweet body to rest,
As they scrambled to find cloth, and burial balm, they tried their very best,
Then suddenly it occurred to her,what she’d gathered, in the folds of her gown,
Was exactly, what was needed to tend to Him, to lay His sweet body down,
With tears of both joy, and sorrow, she ran to the Savior’s tomb,
And as she sprinkled her blossoms, upon His form, her gifts essence filled the room,
The reason I’ve put pen to paper, is to point something out, to you,
You are special just like, the little Handmaid, and your gift is precious too.
c.d.m. 2-27-10
Annie
A sad good-by, to you Annie,
You were “mama’s” girl, for so long,
All tho, I never bore you,
I helped you, grow up to be strong,
Twenty-one years, I’ve tended you,
Since your real mom, passed away,
After twenty-one years,I must say good-by,
and bury you, today,
If there is a”cow heaven”,
I know that’s where you’ll be,
Running in knee high pasture,
and keeping an eye out for me.
Miss you girl…
c.d.m. 1-29-11
My cow died yesterday,we have to bury her today. Real farmers thought love was wasted on a cow and we should have sold her, instead of retiring her at 17. My husband said, she was born here, raised here, gave us 14 healthy calfs, and no problems. I raised her on a bottle after her mother died having her. [thus the name "Orphan Annie"] She deserves to die here, in peace and love and not be shipped off for hamburger. So she has and she is, at peace and loved. Let those “real farmers” laugh…
In Times Like These,,
In times like these,many years ago,this sad mountain tale began,
When a country gal,cast her eyes on, a simple hardworking man,
Now Kris was the spoiled baby girl,of a honest, ‘Kentuck’ soul,
Who had worked and saved for his family,to provide, was his only goal,
She met Bobby Lee,home fresh from the war,tho she was barely fourteen,
They wed down at the company store,between the corn, and the green beans,
Bobby worked hard,to try to keep Kris,in the style she was accustomed to,
Sometimes working, more than one job, he did what he had to do,
Eventually, the two headed up north, to the great ‘Ohio Promised Land’,
In Appalachia,times were already hard,a fact most folks don’t understand,
They worked and scrimped,and as time went by,they started a company,
The ‘American Dream’, finally came true, for Kris and Bobby Lee,
Then as so often happens, they began traveling, in the fast lane,
Forgetting their honest upbringing, they’re only ‘motto’, was gain,
Only the wealthy,darkened the door ,the poor must be lazy they guessed,
Forgetting, where they had come from,their life became shallow at best,
Their only child, grew up in that home, so he cannot alone bear the blame,
Of having a seemingly distant heart,and only being a ‘son’, in name,
Then tragedy struck them hard one day in body, finances, and mind,
When they failed to call on the Lord for help,they grew hopeless, and bitter and blind,
Now with millions in property,they sit there, and talk of their needs,
Wondering why God has forsaken them,as He stands at their door and pleads..
c.d.m.8/8/09
Waiting For My Poetic ‘Mojo’,,
It seems it’s been forever,since last I felt the joy,
Of speaking words out of my heart, one thing that I enjoy,
If you ‘ve ever picked up pen and pad, then slammed into a wall,
You know exactly how it feels,to have your’ mojo’ stall,
Each day your more frustrated, emotions spiral out of control,
It’s like a constipation,in your poor poetic soul,
You wonder just how long this time,this writers block will last,
Then recall the dreadful length,of droughts out of your past,
So tonight I came to lie beneath the sky, and just look up,
Hoping God and nature,will fill up my ‘mojo’ cup,
Lo and behold,my faithful Friends,have sparked me once again,
I think Their peace and beauty,has caused my writers block to end…
c.d.m.8/7/09
Betty and Mark
Betty and Mark were a wild pair,
from down Kentucky way,
They flew into town back in 86,
in a seventy Chevrolet,
Betty was a little tiny thing,
Mark was a strapping man,
They moved north to be near family,
at least that was the plan,
They and their children,
Eddie and Bean came north that summer day,
We met them soon after in a revival tent,
[who was preaching I cannot say],
I thought they were weird [in a good way],
from the moment that we first met,
The Lord calls His children peculiar,
and He’s never been wrong yet,
Through all of these years of knowing them,
one thing that I have found,
When there is a need in the neighborhood,
they always come around,
The ‘good, the bad, and the ugly’
seem to always find their way,
To seek help at Betty and Marks house,
and their never just turned away,
The Bible says to give honor,
where ever honor is due,
Well Betty and Mark I write this to say,
‘It’s an honor knowing you two’!
c.d.m.5-12-10
I looked into her room,
while on late rounds, that night,
She sat there in her rocker,
bathed within, the lamp light,
I walked in to ask her,
“Is there anything, you need,”
She sat there, with her Bible,
opened up to read,
Her gaze, shifted upward,
as these words she said,
“More years lay behind me,
than there are, that lay ahead,”
I asked her,”Are you frightened,
or are you ready to go?”
She answered,”I’m as ready,
as any soul can Know,
This life, is a montage,
of moments spent in time,
They dance, through your memories,
and glide through your mind,
If there’s other, to share them,
they go on for an age,
If not, they are gone,
like the turning of a page,
Those nearest,to our hearts,
will most likely be,
Marked well, by our lives,
and our shared memories,
So it’s not, our achievements,
nor the accolade’s of men,
That tell our Life-story, when once,
our lives end,
No , it’s the lives we have touched,
the love we have shone,
That lives on, in the memories,
of those we have known,
So make sure your mark, in this world,
is made clear,
And you’ll share my peace, when your end comes,
my Dear.”
c.d.m. 9-12-10
Go Away Snow
I looked out, to see the sunlight dance,
across ice, and snow today,
I could not help, but speak the word’s,
”snow please, go away”,
Enough of trying to accept, the season’s,
as they come, with piety,
I’ve had enough, of winter’s cold,
for spring to come, I plea,
Come spring, with bloom’s of daffodil,
crocus, and green grass,
Come sweet spring, with warm sun’s kiss,
which cause’s cold, to pass,
To feel the sun’s warmth, upon my face,
and hand, is what I pray,
And so I break my vow, and whisper,
”please snow, just go away”…
c.d.m.1-23-11
A Plea, and a Prayer
At the head of the hollow
in fair West Virginia
sat Grandma’s house
neath a huge hickory tree.
A humble little dwelling
with chickens and a garden
a shaded arbor
and her precious plum trees.
On each side of her house
her children built homes
so her grandchildren
always were near.
She raised food and flowers
was the heart of her ‘clan’
surrounded
by all she held dear.
We could play in the cellar
the woods or the toilet
anywhere
besides her plum trees.
I once made that mistake
and that sweet angel’s hand
made a lasting impression
on me.
She’d fix us a sandwich
of canned milk and sugar
a treat
on a hot summer day.
Sitting in her swing
like a queen on her throne,
smiling
and watching us play.
When we kids would argue
her eyes would grow sad
“Play pretty children”
she’d say.
Her eyes touched our hearts
so we’d settle the fight,
none could bear
to hurt Grandma, that way.
Those words were oft spoken
and we’d try to oblige
but the meaning
of her words passed us by.
“Play pretty children”
was a mystery to us
but her demeanor
made us give it a try.
It was many years later
before her sweet words
were finally
understood by me.
About the same time
my two darling daughters
were old enough
to disagree.
“Play pretty children”
slipped from my lips
I at last understood
the mystery.
It’s a plea and a prayer
from the ‘ Heart ‘ of the clan
that the children
all live peacefully.
With each passing year
the depth of those words,
lay heavy
on this Grandma’s heart.
I’ve shared them with you
so you may agree too
this plea, and this prayer
to impart.
Play Pretty Children
for Lula Bell Maxwell Davis
c.d.m. 9/9/09
For any, who have been concerned, I haven’t run off yet,
But there’s been times,I’ve thought about it,you can safely bet,
No it has been, sad circumstance, my absence here of late,
Tommy Lee, and Texas too, for now will have to wait,
This sorrow, that I speak of, is not what you might think,
My precious computer,has long been, on the blink,
I’ve frantically,sought help for it, from every one I know,
But none, have found the reason,my computer runs so slow,
Well I’m not one, to be put off, I’ve gone to the library,
So much the workers, watch me now, it makes me feel contrary,
Do they not understand that, not to blog’s, a living hell,
Without my p.c.,I feel like this turtle,, without his shell.
The End. c.d.m.8/12/09
I saw it snowing , I thought today, the sun was shining bright,
Then I turned, for a second look something , did not seem right,
As I looked once more, I saw the snowflakes, had a yellow tone,
On closer observation, at last the truth, was finally known,
So I can happily report, my “snowflakes”, were not snow at all,
But golden orbs, [ leaves some may say ], declaring it is fall,
I watched them dancing, on the wind, in quiet fascination,
Then , a nearby tree of red, joined in the celebration,
I swear I heard ,the orange leaves cry out, ” hey guys wait for me “,
As they began to partake , in the leaves last , revelry,
They danced , and swirled gracefully, as they were falling down,
Some red ,,some yellow ,,orange and green ,,and every shade of brown,
As they exhausted their last strength , to perform this dance , for me ,
I’ve picked up pen, to attempt to recount , the leaves” autumn revelry.”
c.d.m. 10/22/09
The sun was not always shining, the road was not always smooth,
If you’ve forgotten all the hard times, we should do a review,
It wasn’t all about freedom, it sure was not always fun,
Or tell me why else do you still feel shame, for things you have done,
Do you recall lying down at night, with no door to lock,
The times when you were grabbed, simply while taking a walk,
The users and abusers, who just wait for the chance,
To snatch those little Gypsy’s, in the moonlight as they dance,
The scratch’s and the bruises, come on let’s get real,
The fear and the cold, and the kick of some guys heel,
The longing for a ‘mama’, who will just protect you,
If you tell a Gypsy tale, then you gotta tell it true,
Yeah today you’ve got worries, paying bills like all the rest,
But the sedate life you’ve chosen, has turned out for the best,
So forget all the romance, of a so-called Gypsy life,
And thank God for the gift, of being one man’s wife.
c.d.m.3/9/10
Does any one else out there have conversation’s like this with themselves? Or am I crazy?
Gypsy Heart
Sometimes I look in the mirror, and I’m shocked at what I see,
I wonder who that Lady is, who’s staring back at me,
She appears somewhat familiar, yet a stranger to she seems,
While sleeping soundly in the night, she sometimes raids my dreams,
I search inside the mirror in vain, trying again to find,
The girl who use to look back at me, once upon a time,
That girl was not a Lady, no she was wild at heart,
Loving each and every day, embracing each new start,
Celebrating life, searching for any excuse to dance,
Excepting change not as an enemy, but an exciting new romance,
Sleeping out in open air, watched over by the stars,
Moving on to greener fields, via rides in strangers cars,
Today it may be Ohio, tomorrow Tennesee,
To pick up and go was nothing, that was the Gypsy heart in me,
Where is that little Gypsy girl, who danced in sun or rain,
How come the roots that she put down, have now brought her such pain,
When did the roots begin to grow, and over take her soul,
Strangling her Gypsy heart, and gaining full control,
Roots were mean’t for comfort, not troubling of the soul,
Roots were mean’t to strengthen, not to take control,
So if you’ve encountered this problem, and a solution you can see,
Share the answer here with her, so she too can be free,
Free to wake up daily, and choose to go or stay,
Free to let her Gypsy heart, just carry her away.
c.d.m.3-5-10
As a” Lady” I love to feel, someone caress my back,
After all these years my hubby, has finally got the knack,
But here of late, the fingers running up and down my spine,
Belong to someone I don’t know, it’s unsettling I find,
I did not ask for his attention, it’s intrusive at best,
At night he’s so demanding, I get very little rest,
I dug out my flannel gowns,but they don’t slow him down,
Sitting near the old wood stove ,is the safest spot I’ve found,
Today I asked Connie,” has he pestered you of late”,
“Yes” she answered sadly, “I guess it’s just our fate”,
When I was young I told her,” I didn’t ever mind the cold”,
Yes she smiled sadly,” it’s proof we’re getting old”.
c.d.m. 2/2/10
Tell Me,,
Tell me, am I growing old, the years are, passing by,
But honestly, I can say, it has never, made me cry,
I notice, things are drooping, as they never have, before,
Yet in my heart, I’m still a girl, a child, to the core,
I find, an interest in many things, that I didn’t, when I was younger,
For life, I have a deeper thirst, and an ever-growing, hunger,
Maybe, not as strong, but with a stronger, determination,
Maybe, not as quick, but with much more, imagination,
I’m not as moved, by what folks think, or, what they have to say,
Now when, they don’t agree with me, I find that it’s, ‘okay’,
I’ve been here, from my beginning, and people seem to, come and go,
So now I’m moved, more by my heart, and less, by those I know,
My hubby and I have rockers, where we view finches, sparrows, and wrens,
And we put out bird feeders, and plant flowers, to draw them in,
I want to, welcome each new day, with grace, God will supply,
So tell me, am I growing old, the years are, passing by…
c.d.m. 5-10
At the Blue Bird Cafe, many years ago,
A stranger stopped in, for a cup of jō,
The owner looking up, from behind the grill,
Wondered if the stranger, would pay for his meal,
At the counter all the regulars, gave him the eye,
As he asked for a coffee, and a slice of pie,
Lillie served the stranger, with a wink and a smile,
The stranger thought,”I might just stay here a while”,
But then Lillie’s fella, the sheriff of the town,
Walked through the door, and gave the stranger a frown,
He’d noticed out-of-state licence, on the coupé de ville,
Now he watched the strange behavior, of his girlfriend Lil,
The sheriff eyed the stranger, as he sat down real slow,
Hoping that the stranger would just, pay up and go,
The stranger looked at Lil and said,”it’s up to you girl,
You can stay here forever, or give me a whirl”,
Lil thought for a minute, then untied her apron strings,
Laid it down on the counter, with her engagement rings,
Grabbed her bag and followed, the stranger out the door,
They jumped into the coupe, and pushed the pedal to the floor,
They buzzed on out of town, past the city limits sign,
With the sheriff on their tale, they peeled across the county line,
The sheriff came to his senses, and thought ” I’ve gone to far,
I can’t go any further, in this county sheriff car,
So he turned to go back, just threw the towel in,
Knowing he might never see, his Lil again,
All my life I’ve heard this story, it’s been recounted to me,
How my mama met my daddy, back in 53,
They both say this story happened, just as I have told,
How they met and married, and together grew old,
It happened in that little town, near the Ohio,
At the Blue Bird Cafe, many years ago.
c.d.m. 12-6-09
She pushed the hair back from her face, as sweat ran down her cheek,
Then bent down over her washboard, and her laundry for the week,
Methodically her hands moved, scrubbing clothes against the board,
As her mind turned back to thankfulness, and she talked to the Lord,
She was thanking Him for shade, beneath the walnut tree that day,
Thanking Him for touching Jessie, Gram and little Ray,
For the pork roast in the oven, the potato crop this year,
Then she heard the sound that cause’s, any mining town to fear,
She scooped her baby up in arms, grabbed little Ray by the hand,
To scramble down the mountain path, beneath the forest’s stand,
As she neared the footpaths end, she could see the church’s spire,
She caught her breath and hurried forth, to carefully inquire,
For hearts are carried on the sleeve, when tragedy’s transpire,
An accident in mine’s can mean, explosion’s, flood, or fire,
Most every one has lost a man, a son, a Dad, or brother,
The greatest comfort folks can find, is in God and one another,
Gathering together to pray and weep, is what they do,
It’s hard when someone else’s loss, can mean good news for you,
Babies cry and women weep, and men try to be men,
But heartache will touch every one, be it family or friend,
They wait as mining families have, all down through the years,
Weariness drowns out the rage, wail’s turn to silent tears,
The ticking clock set’s nerve’s on edge, with its unending sound,
They wait as mining families have, for loved one’s to be found,
About sun rise they hear a sound, as siren’s once more wail,
They rush forth then with bated breath, this day will tell the tale,
’How close did death come to my door’, is what’s on each ones mind,
Oh God please let a miracle, be what our town’s folk find,
She’s standing there beneath a tree, with both her young in tow,
When her eye’s spot a grimy man, who’s black from head to toe,
She knows the gait of her man’s walk, she would know him anywhere,
She stumbles forth to greet him, as she offers up a prayer,
One of thankfulness and humble heart, and a prayer for those less blessed,
And one for guidance from above, ‘Show me Lord, how to help the rest’.
AMEN
c.d.m.4-7-10
In honor of the miner’s and mining town’s,with gratefulness for your efforts, and prayers for your loved one’s and families. As a young girl growing up in West Virginia, I can still recall the sound of the sirens, and feel the mantle of fear that fell upon our little community. A dreadlful hush would fall upon the hollow, even the youngest child felt the need to be quiet. So my heart is truly with you and my prayer is for a miracle. Cheryl
The mother walked away, with an exasperated smile,
She’d been trying to wean her daughters, from the bottle for a while,
She said,”If you want to be big girls, you must leave the bottle behind”,
The youngest said,”Tomorrow mom, I need my bottle one more time”,
Years later in a treatment room, with her brother of forty-two,
She listened as the Doctor said,”Sir I have bad news for you”,
“To live you must let the bottle go, and leave that life behind”,
Her brother spoke with a trembling voice,”I need my bottle one more time”,
Sometimes we are weak,sometimes we are strong, and most don’t understand,
There are times in life when weak or strong, we all need a helping hand,
If we reached out more with love, perhaps then we would find,
The strength to let ‘our’ bottles go, and leave the pain behind.
c.d.m.11/09
The Shadow Girl
She stepped out of the shadow, cast by the building, she stood near,
A sharp wind knifed her in the back, she trembled, from cold and fear,
Another day has come and gone, another night shift, lays ahead,
She feels as tho she’s walking, through “the night, of the living dead”,
She paces back and forth, within the confines ,of her turf,
A sad and lonely, little girl, who has no sense of worth,
She pulls her coat together, trying to escape, the chill,
Knowing well, she has a certain quote, she must fill,
For well she’s learned the lesson, of coming “home”, a little short,
She’ll work until the daylight hours, if that’s, her last resort,
A brown sedan is passing, a couple, the woman coldly glares,
She bites her lip, and shrugs if off, as she toss’ her long hair,
She wishes that she had a voice, to speak, in her own behalf,
Fearful explanations, would only, make the scoffers laugh,
So I will speak out for her, and millions of others, such as she,
If you meet someone like her, please ,take this advice from me,
Don’t judge to harsh, show mercy, you don’t know what she’s been through,
And remember friend, circumstances can change, it could be me or you.
C.D.M 11-19-09
http://www.flickr.com/photos/connetta/sets/72157602560664641/
Photo’s by Terri Jean Photography
The Empress was home to a whole lot of folks, for a hundred years or more,
She had a diner,a barbershop,an old-time saloon,rooms to rent,and a five and dime store,
Her boarders sought jobs from far away places,at the Empress there was always a room,
They flooded into Akron from near and from far,back when tire plants celebrated the boom,
The Empress’s dark halls hid years of grime,naked bulbs offered very little light,
A shared bath on each floor caused a long waiting line,where impatience could turn into a fight,
She sheltered a colorful kaleidoscope of characters, back in seventy-three,
A home away from home for sad weary wanderers, one of those lost souls was me,
You could learn quite a lot in a place like the Empress, with her dingy paper-thin walls,
As you lay in your bed door barred with the chair, hearing voices echo down the hall,
Well one thing I learned is “I don’t want to be here,” too much sorrow for a girl of sixteen,
For by then She was home to drifters and drunks, a hiding place for those with lost dreams,
So I gathered my clothes in a bag on my back, and headed for route twenty-one,
Determined not to spend another night at the Empress, I smiled and stuck out my thumb,
By the end of the day I had crossed the Ohio, and was well on my way home,
I swore when I got there I’d settle down, and never again would I roam,
Now only in memories do I ever travel back, the sights and sounds to recall,
I wonder if the old Girl still shelters the weary, or is the Empress still standing at all.
C.D.M 11-19-09
I once had a friend, Michele Genee was her name,
She watched my back, for her I did the same,
We lived out in the streets, some how we always got by,
But it really was a miracle, we both didn’t die,
We worked by day, wnd we partied by night,
We helped each other out, and we seldom had a fight,
We really tore up the streets, of old Akron town,
The life that we led made, both our mama’s frown,
I bet your wonderin what happened to, Michele Genee,
Why it is in the past-tense, that you hear of her from me,
If you care to read further, the sad story I’ll tell,
Of what came between us, and sent our friendship to hell,
Michele was the elder, between her and me,
But I’d lived out there longer, I had street maturity,
She one day met a man, ‘Pretty Charles’ by name,
I knew from the streets that, pimpin was his game,
I tried to tell her, she said, ‘Thats not what he’s about’,
I said, ‘Watch and I’ll show you, I’ll leave room for no doubt’,
My plan was to get him, interested in me,
To catch his eye, so he’d drop Michele Genee,
It didn’t take him long to see, that I knew the score,
Between me and Michele, he knew I’d make him more,
He dropped her like a hot potatoe, and came after me,
That was the end of my friendship, with Michele Genee,
Well I laughed at ‘Pretty Charles’, and said, ‘Listen man,
I am not so stupid, as to fall for your plan,
Why would I need you, if what I’m sellin is me, ‘
I guess I had to much of that, street maturity,
So Michele Genee, this is a message to you,
I didn’t mean to hurt you, I did what I had to do,
He would have used you up, then threw you in a garbage can,
That’s all you would have gotten from that, pimpin man,
Peace out from me 3/10/09
The Farmer’s Blue’s
The Bankers, told the Farmers,
not, so very long ago,
Borrow big, don’t worry boys,
the markets, gonna grow,
Buy ground, and get machinery,
all shiny, and brand new,
Heed us, and your Ag-man,
cause we’re here Bud, just for you,
Some farmers, bought their jargon,
hook, line, and sinker too,
That is why, some families,
have got,’The Farmers Blues’,
Willie, started ‘Farm Aide’,
that didn’t, get to far,
I guess, you can’t trust bankers,
OR, country music stars,
But if any one, is listening,
you better, lend an ear,
Cause if the farmer, doesn’t make it,
we’ve got a lot, to fear,
Their selling off, the farm ground,
at an, astounding rate,
So city folks, can spread out,
on 5 acre, estates,
Then after, they get out here,
the first thing, that they do,
Is try to ‘city-fy’,the country,
and complain, about the ‘poo’,
Now, I have to tell you something,
I hope it, don’t come to pass,
You can not eat, a side-walk,
or a pretty, lawn of grass,
So some one, out there listen,
and join me, in a prayer,
For God and state, to help the Farmers,
cause their fate,, we all will share.
c.d.m. 8-13-10
Mom…
To be honest, there were many’ things ‘ in her, I did not want,
Like fancy gold and silver shoes, and beaded necklaces, to flaunt,
She’d made choices, about many things, where we did not agree,
Yet still I’m finding, in my life, there’s some of her in me,
Like the way I stand, with hand on hip, and gaze out my front door,
And forget a mop, I get down on my knees, to scrub the floor,
There are little ‘things’, like how I fold my hands, while at the table,
And the way my temper flares, when one suggests, that I’m not able,
Theres the love that radiates from me, at the sight, of my childs face,
And how each crayoned master-piece, can never be, replaced,
The love of a book, good biscuit’s, and a loose-leaf cup of tea,
The little ‘ things’, I got from Mom, there’s some of her in me…
c.d.m. 3-25-10 for Mom
When I was a young girl, of seventeen,
Life was ‘pure hell’ , if you know what I mean,
One night while asleep, I received a dream,
I awoke, with a terrifying scream,
I saw in the vision, the end of the age,
As the heavens split, the earth was in a rage,
I knew in my heart, I was not prepared,
to leave, and meet Jesus in the air,
I fell on my face, and cried God forgive,
I’ll remember what He said, as long as I live,
He said, ‘ I’m sorry child now it’s to late,
your life up to now, has sealed your fate’,
Like I said I was screaming, when I got out of bed,
His words kept replaying, inside of my head,
From that day I began, to turn my life around,
In the midst of my turning, True Life’s what I’ve found,
Now the movie,’ 2012′ doesn’t terrify me,
For I’ve found in my seeking, true Eternity,
Where forever begins the day we all get there,
When we rise to meet Jesus, in the air.
c.d.m. 4-3-10
Daddy tell me where you’ve been, cause I’ve looked everywhere,
I’ve called for you for hours he spoke, and wiped away a tear,
You know I cannot go to bed, and say my prayers at night,
Til you come in and kiss my head, and tuck me in real tight,
Daddy tucked him extra tight, and gazed down with a grin,
Tomorrow son at suppertime, I’ll show you where I’ve been,
I’ll go ahead and show you now Dad said, as he left the room,
When he returned from a large paper sack, he pulled out a white mushroom,
It’s that special season son, when mushrooms spring up every place,
To bless our mouth’s and stomach’s too,God gives them by His grace,
By next year you’ll have grown some son, I tell you what I’ll do,
I’ll let you tag along with me, to go mushroom hunting too.
c.d.m. 4-7-10
Whispering Song Sings
In the valley of the Redbud,where two mountains kiss,
From the crevasse in the rock, flows a spring,
There’s a legend around here, concerning the place,
That is called, Whispering Song Sings,
They say in these parts, lived a maiden,
Of a beauty both of face, and of heart,
She lived in a time, that was savage and raw,
Yet of neither, did she take any part,
Some called her a ‘ghost child’, an angel we’d say,
She was different, as she passed thru this life,
Her voice carried joy, her touch carried healing,
Her presence settled, issue’s of strife,
As white settlers, entered the valley,
They bore gifts, to entice the ‘red men’,
They also bore some kinds of, illness,
That caused death, to be carried on the wind,
In the camp, where Whispering Song dwelt,
Sickness came, with a vengeance indeed,
As the healer she went, from tent to tent,
To tend her people, in their dire need,
With spring, came a whisper of hope to the camp,
Seemed fewer people, fell ill each day,
They hoped the Great Spirit, had heard them,
And had driven, the bad spirit away,
Just, as the last soul was tended,
Whispering Song’s skin, turned ashen grey,
The camp began mourning, their healer,
For she died, by the end of the day,
From the moment, her spirit moved homeward,
It seemed joy, had gone with her voice,
Til they journeyed, to the valley of the Redbud,
There they found a sweet reason, to rejoice,
As the women bent, gathering water,
From the rock, it seemed they heard a sound,
In the sway of the Redbuds, and gurgling spring,
The presence of Whispering Song, was found,
Just as in life, she had tended to them,
A cool drink, and the touch of her hand,
Now where the sweet water, poured out for them,
Whispering Song, seemed to dwell on that land,
In the blossoms, was the fragrance of Whispering Song,
The ferns waved on the wind, like her hair,
Her presence, breathed hope back into their breast,
They heard Whispering Song , sing there,
Many people swore, they could see her,
Generations, passed the legend along,
As they’d pass, through the valley of the Redbud,
They would look , for Whispering Song.
c.d.m.1-1-10
My friends , are always questioning,
“How do you take, what you endure?”
They say, it’s like a sickness,
for which there is no cure,
They weren’t there, in the beginning,
They don’t recall, all the happy days,
They don’t hear you say,”I’m sorry”,
They don’t believe, you’ll change your ways,
Unless your right there, in the battle,
you can’t know, what it’s like for me,
You won’t understand, the issue’s,
or how I feel, some security,
Tho it may be him, that hits me,
still he’ll catch me, when I fall,
So I guess, I can depend on him,
to always be there, after all,
I see other’s, with no bruises,
no need for glass’, to hide behind,
And I wonder what, my life would be,
what is it, I would find,
To walk away, like people tell me,
and findly start, my life brand new,
But who, would I depend upon,
if I just walked away, from you.
Unless your right there, in the battle,
you can’t know, what it’s like for me,
You won’t understand, the issue’s,
or how I feel, some security,
Tho it may be him, that hits me,
still he’ll catch me, when I fall,
So I guess, I can depend on him,
to always be there, after all,
Oh it’s funny, what we’ll hold on to,
for some sense, of security,
But unless, you’ve walked in my shoe’s,
then you can’t, see what I can see.
Unless your right there, in the battle,
you can’t know, what it’s like for me,
You won’t understand, the issue’s,
or how I feel, some security,
Tho it may be him, that hits me,
still he’ll catch me, when I fall,
So I guess, I can depend on him,
to always be there, after all,
Yes I know I can, depend on him,
to catch me when I fall…
c.d.m.7-20-10
A hoe is a hoe, that’s what most people say,
But ‘my’ hoe got broken, just the other day,
My grand-daughter borrowed it,[she didn't ask me],
Now the handle is broken, causing me perplexity,
She bought a brand new handle, but it won’t be the same,
A handle’s not a handle, that’s what I will proclaim,
That hoe once belonged, to my mother-in-law,
She cleaned it up and oiled it, every fall,
Then one day she passed it, along to me,
I think the handle had been carved, from a Hickory tree,
It was smooth as velvet, from all the years of use,
Shaped slender for a Lady’s hand, not made for such abuse,
I’m trying to be kind, and behave graciously,
Cause my darling grand-daughter, means quite a lot to me,
I’ll have to break it in, try to form it to my hand,
But a hoe’s not just a hoe, now I hope you can understand…
4-29-10 c.d.m.
Shadows dancing, across the graves,
Give place, to thoughts of yesterdays,
Of births and deaths, and lifetimes spent,
Of mourners wondering,’where time went’,
Of wagers lost, and ventures gained,
Of love in full bloom, and loves that waned,
Of beginnings and ends, and beginning again,
Of the fate that awaits, all manner of men,
Amidst the shadows, a message is heard,
The specters speak, without saying a word,
‘ Live well, love all ‘,
‘ Share life’, they call,
‘ And dance, beneath the shining sun’,
‘ Before your time on earth, is done ‘…
5/2010 c.d.m.
I just want you to know…How much I love and appreciate you!
Here is a poem for you Mom,,
Mom,,,
I know it’s hard, for you to work all night,
You try so hard, to make it right,
I love you bunches, and love you lots,
You make good meals, with cooking pots,
You try to be fair, try to be nice,
Like that one time you made me, white rice,
Now here is a hug, from me to you,
I hope you return, the favor too!!!
Paige Elizabeth , 5-8-10
Summer Gardening
It was a have -to case, for so many years,
just to feed, the family,
That I hung up my gloves, for a long time,
and rested my poor knees,
But it gets in your blood, and you miss it,
when you’ve given it, up for a while,
The first smell of the earth, as we turned it,
caused my lips, to smile,
Then there was the, fertilizing,
and marking out, of the rows,
And planning what go’s where, is important,
just as every gardener, knows,
The corn must go in, two by two,
cucumbers need room, to vine,
Marigolds, keep the bugs away,
at least they do, in mine,
Potatoes must have lot’s, of room,
so they can then be, hilled,
The hoe, must tend to every row,
for the larder, to be filled,
Tomatoes, must be tied up,
so the sun can touch the fruit,
Beans, like a little lime applied,
but they still, will make you ‘toot’,
The strangest tale, I’ve yet to hear,
an old woman, recounted to me,
Concerning, sweet green peppers,
and how to plant them, properly,
She looked up at me, with a toothless grin,
said,’ For peppers to bear fruit miss’,
‘You must plant them real close together’,
’cause see, ‘sweet’ peppers just love to kiss’.
c.d.m. 5-31-10
The Simple Country Farmer,
Down the road, a piece, there lived, a man and his wife,
Farming, was his profession, and he’d done so, all his life,
He was the son, of a farmer, who was the son, of one too,
He’d had choices in life, but farming’s, what he chose, to do.
He bought the land, that joined his fathers, and wed, his sweetheart,
They spent, their lives together, and were seldom, apart,
Every year, I watched them tend, the same, piece of land,
They would raise, a lovely garden, without, a helping hand,
They would plant it, and tend it, and gather, it all in,
They raised more, than enough, and gave the excess, to friends,
He, in his straw hat, with mud boots, up to his knees,
Her, in a cotten dress, that gently waved, in the breeze,
They would faithfully, tend to their garden, side, by side,
The simple, country farmer, and his sweet, little bride,
I’d watch them, and marvel, at their gardening, abilities,
And I wondered, why my garden, didn’t do, the same for me,
Well I had clumps, as big as melons, I would still, try to hoe,
I’d water, weed, and feed it, but my garden didn’t grow,
After one or two years,I thought, I may as well, give up,
That’s when, the simple country farmer, taught this simple, country ‘pup’,
He said, A lot of it sis, is in the soils, preparation,
Then, another large part, is in your hearts, determination,
You put your heart, into the soil, and it will give, it’s heart to you,
It takes time, for hearts to grow, more than just, a year or two,
I listened, and I tried it, and much, to my delight,
My garden, responded, and it’s such, a lovely sight,
It takes love, to tend a garden , or the soil, of a heart,
And a heart, that is determined, is the first place, to start.
c.d.m. 6-11-10
I recall a simpler, and gentler time.
with hardly, any effort at all,
As children we’d walk to, and from school,
winter, spring, summer, and fall,
I remember, the family reunion’s,
when everyone, somehow got there,
Grandpa over-seeing, from the front porch,
leaning back, on a wooden kitchen chair,
Planks laid up, on saw-horse’s,
covered with clean,white sheets,
Food was stacked high, on meat platters,
with a separate table, for sweets,
As children,we all knew our places,
and answered, yes ma’am and yes sir,
Somehow the day’s, seemed to last longer,
a trick of the mind, I am sure,
I remember, the conversation’s,
seemed joyous, and spoken with ease,
Talk of day, to-day situation’s,
neath the Hickory, and Walnut tree’s,
I ache for the youngsters, of these day’s,
growing up, in such a harsh time,
When their grown-up, and remember childhood,
these days, will come back to their mind.
c.d.m.7-18-10
Once a Lady, shopped at Piccadilly,
searching for her, food needs of the day,
When she reached out for, an extra loaf of brown bread,
Some one shoved her, right out of his way,
Oh,’What think you, of that fine Lady’
‘What think you, of that kind Sir’,
‘Thing’s in life aren’t fair, me Lady’,
‘On that subject Sir, I will concur’,
Two young boy’s, were walking to the school-house,
One well-groomed,the other tattered and soiled,
A Gentleman tossed, a two-pence from his window,
The rich boy grabbed it, while the poor boy recoiled,
Oh,’What think you, of that fine Lady’
‘What think you, of that kind Sir’,
‘Thing’s in life aren’t fair, me Lady’,
‘On that subject Sir, I will concur’,
Two men sat outside, the Bishops office,
Both seeking a position, in the local Diocese,
One man sought to further, God’s sweet Kingdom,
The other sought to do, just as ‘ he ‘ pleased,
The Bishop looked upon, these two fine brethren,
And quickly noted that one was, just as he,
He welcomed him, to fill the new position,
And showed the other, out into the street,
Oh,’What think you, of that fine Lady’
‘What think you, of that kind Sir’,
‘Thing’s in life aren’t fair, me Lady’,
‘On that subject Sir, I will concur’,
c.d.m.7-27-10
As a child, my school day’s were laced with,
fond and sweet, memories,
School began an adventure, each year,
or at least, so it seemed to me,
Mom taught us, “Be kind to your teachers,
show respect, and you will find,
They will then fulfill, their purpose,
to help you, expand your mind”,
So every year, my sister and I,
would prepare for the course, we had set,
Our mission was clear, we held one thing dear,
becoming this years, ‘Teachers Pet’,
I’m pleased to say, in most cases,
the plan worked, just as we’d been told,
Not only were we, found in favor,
but we learned, as each year would unfold,
Every June, when school ended,
we said good-bye, with a hug and a tear,
Come July, we were plotting a new course,
for our mission, the following year,
Well just judging by, the news papers,
a lots changed, since way back then,
Seems a shame, such an honored profession,
should be tainted, by ignorance and sin,
Either male or female, it matters not,
and I say this, with much regret,
I don’t think, I want my grand-children,
to be known as the, ‘Teachers Pet’…
c.d.m.5- 27-09
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Another, Casualty of War,
The face’s, wear an empty look,
Old eye’s, that do not meet your gaze,
The scars, that cannot be mis-took,
I see them, every where I go,
Aloof, withdrawn, bearing such pain,
Living behind, invisible walls,
An entrance, is difficult to gain,
You ask,”What battle did they fight,
What devastated their hearts, so,
Was it, in some far off land,
Where was this battle, do you know”,
My answer, friend is hard to bear,
I’ll tell you, if you care to know,
It was right there, in Father’s home,
By family, they were wounded so,
Intent is never, always there,
And yet, results are still the same,
Now only Love, can heal the wounds,
Not pointing fingers, or laying blame,
One Love can overlook, the glares,
To still reach out, a loving hand,
The Father’s love, will never fail,
Only His heart, can understand,
He alone, can heal the wounds,
That His house, may be restored,
And gather back, into the fold,
All of these Casualties, of War.
c.d.m. 10-3-10
For all those, would be “Rebels”,
Those with, and without a “cause”,
If you take a look, at history,
You will find, the Rebels lost,
So wave, your flags and banners,
But don’t you dare, expect applause,
Your display’s, a”Temper Tantrum”,
regardless, of the cause,
A spoiled lot, is what I’d call you,
those whom, the “Rod” did not inspire,
I wish,”Medea” was your Mama,
She would have, set your pants on fire,
You cover, many generations,
All you “Rebels”,of the heart,
I hope your numbers, will quit growing,
That no more, become a part,
Of this spoiled, group of “babies”,
Who’ve had the best, this world can give,
And have so much, spare time on their hands,
They don’t know how, to even live,
Unless they’re, griping and complaining,
About “who”, and “what” is wrong,
As they’re driving, and watching “T.V.”,
While listening, to their favorite song,
Most of you, have not gone hungry,
Nor suffered from, childhood abuse,
So I’d say, your”Rebel” tantrum,
Does not bear reason, nor excuse..
c.d.m.10-4-10
The Great Wall of China,
the old Wall of Berlin,
Are no stronger fortress,
than the Stone Wall of Sin,
The first two are small,
in comparison to,
That Stone Wall of sin,
that now surrounds you,
I grieve at the sight,
of that barricade of stone,
Created to keep you,
in darkness and alone,
But I know of a Rock,
that’s been carved without hand,
That can knock that wall down,
on that Promise I’ll stand,
See, I love you too much,
and I know Jesus does too,
To allow that Stone Wall,
to go on standing around you…
[Yeshua fought the battle of Jericho and the walls came tumbling down...] [words from an old song]
c.d.m. 10 – 7 – 10
Hunger
She never sat down, for supper that night,
“I ate earlier”, she told a white lie,
A glass of ice water, or two before bed,
A few nights a week, to get by,
He kept right on working, during lunch break,
Bill offered to share, he declined,
“No I’m not hungry”, he lied with a wink,
He was trying to, stretch a dime,
Little pinched faces, I watched in the store,
Following Mommy, or Dad,
They looked with, hungry longing,
at the offers, the grocery store had,
The look on their faces, is starry-eyed wonder,
you’d think it was, Christmas Day,
Just getting food, to take to the house,
should not thrill a child, this way,
You ask”Tell me what is it, that I can do”?
I’m glad that you’ve asked me, today,
Give to the local, Food Pantry’s needs,
and please don’t forget, to pray.
c.d.m. 10-19-10
I looked up today to see,
the naked arms, of a sycamore tree,
As I beheld its bare arm beauty,
these rambling thoughts, occured to me,
Winter surely is a coming,
it is headed, straight my way,
I’m sure there won’t be many more,
of these sunny, autumn days,
Soon my only view will be,
winter’s cold, and blustery sights,
I’ll be grabbing extra blankets,
just to keep me warm, at night,
Or I’ll be sitting near the fire,
with hot chocolate, in my cup,
Or wiping up the snow and mud,
that is tracked in, by my pup,
I love a day when wind and snow,
tend to keep, my loved ones in,
Safe and warm at home with me,
‘this old clucking , Mother hen’,
Sheltered there beneath my wings,
it will seem so sweet, to me,
All these thoughts came to my mind,
at the sight of that naked, sycamore tree.
c.d.m.11-4-10
An Appalachian Christmas
When I, was a child, in the hills, of West Virginia,
Christmas, was, a special time, of year,
Long lost, loved ones, gathered, at Grandma’s,
Those, from far away, and those, near,
The tree, was lop-sided,cut, from the woods,
Covered ,with old bulbs and decked out, gaily,
A big pink, ornament, took the center, of the stage,
Grandma ,swept up , the pine needles, daily
But my favorite, object, lay beneath, the tree,
Not ,the gifts, but Grammy’s, old nativity,
I’d lay, beneath the tree, and look, at all the pieces,
As Grandma, told us all, the story of, Jesus,
She’d say,”Christmas is, a time, of celebration,
not of ,the gift’s we, can give ,to one another,
But of the Gift, that was given,to us, a long time ago,
That made that, baby, in that manger,our Brother”,
Christmas is, a time of celebration,
of Family, and the blessing’s we can give,
But don’t forget the Reason, for the Season,
Jesus came and gave his life, so we can live.
c.d.m. 12-2-10
To My Husband
If today, should be the last time,
we meet here, in this life,
I hope, with joyous memories,
you can say,”she was my wife,”
That the good times, are what come to mind,
and they, are what you share,
And that you always, do remember Hon,
how deeply that, I care,
My prayer, is that Life’s ,
“up’s and down’s”,never get to you,
May the “down’s” be short, the “up’s” be long,
and may Life, seem sweet to you,
That every day, you talk with God,
and walk,in His Victory,
And every Rainbow, that you see,
make you think of Him, and me,
I’m sorry, for the many times,
I have failed, to speak my heart,
But while thinking, over this today,
I decided now is the time, to start,
All that I am, or hope to be,
began, when I met you,
Cheryl, really came to life,
when she and Michael, said “I Do”.
c.d.m. 3-1-09
married 3-28-76
I really don’t know, why it seems as tho,
we were friend’s, right from the start,
All I do know, is we were closer than sister’s,
and you have always been there, in my heart,
From my earliest memory, you held my hand,
and included me, in on the fun,
And I know I’ll see you, and be so glad too,
when my time on this Earth, is done,
I remember some of, our conversation’s,
they covered, a whole lot of ground,
When ever, we visited Grandma’s,
with Mary, I could always be found,
Plucking my brow’s, and reminding me,
“We must suffer, to be beautiful,”
Dressing me up, like a big girl,
taking me, on the last day of school,
As we grew-up, there were some wild nights,
but you always, looked out for me,
I remember the night, Uncle Bob caught us,
his disapproval, caused my heart misery,
I still reach out, to pick up the phone,
to call and talk, like we use to do,
Then I remember, that you have gone on,
and I remember how much, I miss you,
I really don’t know, why it seems as tho,
we were friend’s, right from the start,
All I do know, is we were closer than sister’s,
and you have always been there, in my heart…
c.d.m. 2-2-11
This is a picture of butterflies on my Butterfly bush, from last summer. I thought it was a mother and baby,but my cousin Lynn say’s they are born full-grown. I think it’s a mother and baby…
From the North, to the South,
and the East, to the West,
Nasty, Old Man Winter,
has tried, his very best,
To blanket us, over,
with cold, wet snow,
To cause giant, ice-sickles,
to grow, and grow,
To bury, us alive,
in layers of white,
And create, icy roadways,
to give us all, a fright,
Even, the children,
now say, ” It is ENOUGH !”
They are tired, of chapped lips,
and cheek’s, red and rough,
Who wants, to go on looking,
like that fat, Michelin Man?
We are tired, of this snow,
we’ve stood all, we can stand,
So now with, one objective,
and in one, accord,
We pray, SNOW GO AWAY,
In the name, of our Lord…
AMEN
c.d.m.2-8-11
Her eyes, scanned the local paper,
until a picture, caught her gaze,
Then up sprang, raw emotions,
with memories, from her younger days,
Right there it was, that long-lost passion,
for that handsome, dark-eyed man,
The waves of shame, and heart-ache,
when she learned marriage, was not his plan,
She recalled, the wine filled glass’,
and swirling, across the ball-room floor,
How she had choked back, tears of longing,
as he walked out, and closed the door,
Fifty years since then, had come and gone,
she thought, she’d laid it all to rest,
She was shocked to find, the dark-eyed ghost,
still hovered, near her breast,
She had fled, and moved to Springfield,
to escape, the bitter sting,
Of the painful, realization,
she’d never wear, his wedding ring,
She later married, and was quite happy,
despite her, woeful younger days,
She thought, she’d left it all behind her,
until a picture, caught her gaze…
c.d.m. 2-10-11
a true story,as told to a care-giver,by an older Lady.
Last night was another, ‘Poetry Night,’
seem’s to happen quite often, while I’m at work,
I’ve learned to just grab, some paper and a pen,
all though my duties, I try never to shirk,
I know it seem’s odd, to wrestle with words,
organising thoughts,into a rhyming form,
But see a ‘Poet’ must follow, the poetry,
for the ‘Poet’, it is simply ‘the norm’,
A story or a phrase, spoken ‘here’ or ‘there’,
and off goe’s the ‘Poet’s’ mind, in a whirl,
They’ll plan it in their mind, put it down in print,
smoothing it, like an oyster’s pearl,
Conceiving, then seeing the thought take shape,
is an experience, as exciting as can be,
Caught up in the ‘flow’, of structure and rhyme,
just another night of writing, ‘Poetry’.
c.d.m.3-4-11
for another look at writing go to
http://whispersoftheday.wordpress.com/2009/10/13/in-search-of/
After many long years, of no sightings,
They’ve began to make one, again,
The tie-dyed tee-shirts, of my childhood,
that I’ve not seen, since way back when,
At first I thought,’I'm just too darned old,
to don one of those, colorful beaut’s,
But every time I see them, on my grand-child,
I once again admire, their attributes,
I use to make them, as a young girl,
I remember how it stained, my hands,
I love how the color’s fade, and swirl,
Their an artwork, some folk’s don’t understand,
So I bought me two, tie-dyed tee-shirts,
then I turned around, and bought four more,
Then the Lady I work for, loved them also,
she ordered some, and she’s eighty-four,
Then my sister said, ‘I’d love to have one,
and my daughter, would love one too’,
So I sent them each, a tie-dyed tee-shirt,
they called and said, ‘Oh man thank you’,
I think we’ll start a ‘fad’, or ‘revive’ one,
so you’ll see these, ‘wild beauties’ everywhere,
And if you don’t like, our tie-dyed tee-shirts,
‘Frankly my dears, we don’t care.’
c.d.m. 3-4-11
Once near the hamlet, of Ravenswell,
lived a young maiden, in the dell,
From near and far, most every male,
longed for the maid, from Ravenswell,
Her mother named her, Avonlace,
no blemish marred, her lovely face,
Her heart was pure, and bore no trace,
of strife nor malice, she gave no place,
The Squire, of that little town,
heard of her grace, from all around,
He set his course, to hunt her down,
make her his wife, once she was found,
He found her tending, her few sheep,
called from the knoll, both high and steep,
” I’ll have your hand, fore ere we sleep”,
all Avonlace, could do was weep,
There was no choice, for maids back then,
she had no father, nor next of kin,
Against the Squire, she could not win,
Avonlace surmised, she must give-in,
She answered,”Aye if it must be,
I’ll take your hand, and marry thee,
I will do all, required of me,
but never, shall your love, I be,
At first the Squire, tho’t he had won,
he’d wed her fore, the morning sun,
Then her words, through his mind did run,
he realized, what he had done,
He’d broken her, and stole her will,
her words told how, he’d made her feel,
He’d never meant, her heart to kill,
he’d found her free, free, she’d be still,
In a garden, he found Avonlace,
he begged her pardon, and her grace,
Then she reached out, to touch his face,
spoke “In my heart, you’ve found a place,”
The moral of this tale, you see,
Love is a gift, and must come free,
The choice of both, it has to be,
Or love, is just not love, you see?
c.d.m. 3-10-11
I was seated across, the dinner table,
from the Meriwether sisters, one night,
Listening as they planned, a gala party,
they wanted everything, to be just right,
“We must not forget, our table-manners”,
Maggie spoke licking her last, finger tip,
” Yes sister I agree,” Maude answered,
“Mama always did stress, one’s Etiquette,”
“The fork’s must be placed, on the left side,
spoon’s and knife of course, on the right,”
I marvelled as they discussed,’Proper Etiquette’,
while sucking pork chops off the bones, that night,
“I pity the young,” Maggie spoke between gulps,
from a glass of her favorite, sweet tea,
Maude cleaning her teeth with a tooth-pick, spoke,
“It’s a shame they weren’t schooled, like you and me,”
They discussed, the final details of the menu,
The event was scheduled, for the next week,
Maggie with pork gravy, down her bodice,
and Maude with mash-potatoes, on her cheek.
c.d.m.3-3-11
She lived in fear,she never drank,
her lips, would touch no wine,
She lived in fear,she watched her diet,
on meats, she would not dine,
She lived in fear,she stayed at home,
gave accident, no chance,
She lived in fear, and died in fear,
she never lived, nor danced.
c.d.m. 3-10-11
There’s nothing to compare, to the sight or the scent,
of the freshly turned soil, of the Earth,
As Mother Earth’s womb, is opened,
to once more bring forth, a new birth,
The Light and the Rain’s, of heaven,
flow down upon Earth, from above,
Tender life spring’s forth, from Mother,
precious seed, that was sown in love,
Kept by the heartbeat, of Father,
He watch’s over us, from above,
Held near the heart, of our Mother,
rocked in her arms, of love,
Mother came, from the heart of Father,
as a home place, for us to dwell in,
It’s the season, for us to tend Mother,
as Mother birth’s Spring, again.
c.d.m.3-17-11
http://dancingwithbelievers.wordpress.com/2009/05/02/angels-weep/
Alberta the Squirrel, had a very fine nest,
In a crook in a Maple tree, high it did rest,
She had a mate named William, she called Billy Boy,
He was her life partner, and he brought her heart joy,
They fashioned their nest, all safe, snug, and warm,
Tended it well , so it could weather a storm,
Each spring they would add, soft layers anew,
In preparation for the birth, of a baby or two,
One morning the sky, turned ominous and gray,
The wind’s picked up, and the tree’s began to sway,
As lightning flashed, they heard a terrible sound,
The earth seemed to shake, and their home tumbled down,
They crawled out of the rubble, breathed a sigh of relief,
As they looked all about them, in utter disbelief,
Grateful they’d survived, at first they were glad,
As they surveyed the landscape, their hearts became sad,
All they had worked for, in a moment disappeared,
It seemed it was exactly, as they had always feared,
Billy looked at Alberta, in complete dismay,
“What shall we do now”, is all he could say,
Alberta looked up, with a tear in her eye,
Spoke” I haven’t the heart, to even give it a try”,
Rustling in the leaves, broke the silence all around,
They heard their friends voice’s, such a beautiful sound,
There was Rabbit, and Squirrel, the Birds, and old Coon,
Saying” We’re here to build, if by the light of the moon,
We know it is the season, to birth your little one,
We’re here to lend a hand until the work, is all done”,
The ‘Moral’ of this story,”All things come to an end’,
Yet one thing lasts forever, the love of a friend,
So don’t build your nest, out of money or clay,
Build upon friendships, build, love, and pray.
c.d.m. 4-4-11
I remember pickled pig feet, potatoes and hog jowl,
People never use to waste food, not like they do now,
Fresh greens in the springtime, and some fried mushrooms,
Hickory wood for the smoke house, tater’s in a cellar room,
Mama in the kitchen, chicken’s scratchin near the door,
Daddy trackin coal dust, on a clean linoleum floor,
Trippin over rocks, tryin to find the out-house door,
Walkin down the ‘hard-road’, to the ‘company store’,
All of the familiar way’s, of not so long ago,
Gone like the leaves, when the cold wind’s blow,
Gone but not forgotten, nor replaced by better ways,
A sad farewell, to those ‘good old days’,
I carry all these memories, and many,many more,
The rag-tag remnants, of ‘Hill-Billy Lore’,
Saturday night bathin, in a number 9 tub,
Mama heatin water, so we all could scrub,
Daddy was the last one, that’s the way it was back then,
Cause you gotta save water, when you have to pack it in,
Daddy shaven in a mirror, hung above the kitchen sink,
Mama cookin up breakfast, given Daddy a wink,
Walkin to the ‘Meetin’,as we hear the church bell,
Preacher rolls his sleeves up, preachin ‘Heaven and Hell’,
All of the familiar way’s, of not so long ago,
Gone like the leaves, when the cold wind’s blow,
Gone but not forgotten, nor replaced by better ways,
A sad farewell, to those ‘good old days’,
I carry all these memories, and many,many more,
The rag-tag remnants, of ‘Hill-Billy Lore’,
c.d.m. 4-7-11
The first time, I kissed your lips, was on the banks, of the Ohio,
We were fishin, and you caught one, laughed and said, ‘just let it go’,
Then one time, beneath the cascades of, Old Black Water Falls,
The sad part is, I was alone, you weren’t there, at all,
[chorus]
Oh in my thoughts, and in my heart, I’ve loved you, with all that is in me,
From a distance, I have hid my secret, so that, you would never see,
Oh the ache, of having, such a love that, you can never show,
Kept locked away, my love must stay, because, you can never know,
Love at times, I see a shadow, pass across your precious face,
And I wonder, if you’re wandering off, to some far off place,
Is there someone, in your heart you long for, and someplace, where you go,
The sad part is, if that is true, I don’t, ever want to know,
[chorus]
The only virtue, of a secret love is ,it’s easy, to dis-claim,
Seems unfair, something so beautiful, could bring me, so much shame,
So I’ll lock it deep, with-in my heart, and throw away, the key,
Then the only one, who will ever know, is this printed page, and me,
[chorus]
so locked away, my love must stay, because, you can never know.
c.d.m. 2005
In the winding wood’s, of Carolina,
There on pathway’s,up and down,
Nestled neath the pines, and green fronds,
He said our bodies, would be found,
One hand held, a pint of moonshine,
The other bore, a twenty-two,
Hours of marching, as he taunted,
His threats had always, proven true,
He needed, no excuse for madness,
His madness came, and went with time,
A word, a look, or passing fancy,
There seemed no reason, nor any rhyme,
Mother hid me, behind her body,
Staying, between, he and I,
Saying,”Kill me if you must kill someone,
she’s just thirteen, and too young to die”,
I walked pretending, I was elsewhere,
Crying prayer’s out, silently,
Knowing if, he killed my Mother,
He’d turn the gun, and then kill me,
Then just as quickly, as it started,
He’d proved his point, and he was done,
Said,” Let’s get home, and fix some supper”,
Went to the truck, and slid away the gun,
You wonder why, I’m most times weary,
Or seem to write, from some dark place,
This is just a page, out of my history,
Once touched by madness, it leaves a trace.
c.d.m. 5-25-11
[41 years after the fact]
Daddy said he was a Gypsy
he loved to ride the rails.
He would fill our heads with stories
of his wild Gypsy tales.
The life had been passed down to him
tho his blood bore not a strain.
It was from birth that it began
Daddy oft times would explain.
October nineteen-twenty six
the thirty-first day he said.
Grandma’s labor came hard and fast
she could not get out of bed.
The neighbor’s boy, Otto was there
she sent him to find someone.
To come and help her for she knew
that day she’d bear her third son.
Old Doc was gone, the mid-wife too
Otto had searched far and wide.
Up the road he finally come
with the Gypsies at his side.
These two ladies had raven hair
and wild garb of ev’ry hue.
Grandma responded,”Thank the Lord,
I am glad to see you two”.
They did not speak too much English
but poor Gram they still could best.
They knew about birthin’ babies
nature took care of the rest.
When Dad was born the ladies spoke,
” ah Gloriosus Deo”.
Grandma smiled and said,”You name him”.
They named him Carmen Leo.
That’s why Dad thought he was Gypsy
he passed the blood on to me.
Though not a strain in the bloodline
in heart it shall always be.
7-22-11 c.d.m.
Mommy always called me Gypsy
after Gypsy Rose Lee.
Seems I loved high-heels and jewelry
they fascinated me.
My wardrobe held the cast-offs of
the ‘Ladies’ from upstairs.
I’d watch them do thier make-up and
do what they called ‘coiffures’ *
To see them dressed up for the town
gave my young heart delight.
They’d stumble up apartment stairs
at all hours of the night.
There was Sophie, Grace and Carol,
and my favorite Kaye,
it seemed that they all worked at night,
then slept most of the day.
Mom acted strange when I told her,
“I want to be like them”.
Told Daddy,”We will have to move,
or face a big problem”.
It wasn’t long before we moved
seemed very sad to me.
Cause after that, Mommy never
called me Gypsy Rose Lee.
7-28-11 c.d.m.
*In these ladies dialect, ‘coiffures’, rhymes with ‘upstairs’.
Walked into a dim-lit bar room.
I just had to get away.
I’d said so much already and,
had much more I’d like to say.
For five years we had been married,
angers full up to the brim.
Always have to be the giver,
I’ll give no more time to him.
Found her sitting on a bar stool,
cigarette and drink in hand.
Felt safe sitting down beside her,
thinking she might understand.
Had a calloused look about her,
bleach blonde hair and soft brown eyes.
She smiled up in recognition,
saw more than I’d, realize.
An angel on a bar stool said,
“Girl you ain’t seen nothing yet
wait until you’re looking back through
twenty years, of sad regret.
Time has a way to open eyes,
to we see where we’ve gone wrong.
But time has no ability
to make nights, not seem so long”.
Said, ” Well I once had a husband,
little girl, a home and all.
It got old and life seemed empty.
Hey, I heard the wild call.
Looked around and found lots of things,
to fill the lonely hours.
Too late found cheatin’, cheated me
sure ain’t been hearts and flowers”.
Half listening, half thinking back,
holding tears in as she spoke.
After hearing her sad story,
my fight seemed like such a joke.
I tried but I could not recall,
how it had even started.
My eyes were opened up by the
words, of the broken-hearted.
An angel on a bar stool said,
“Girl you ain’t seen nothing yet
wait until you’re looking back through
twenty years, of sad regret.
Time has a way to open eyes,
to we see where we’ve gone wrong.
But time has no ability
to make nights, not seem so long”.
c.d.m. 8-26-11
Be sure to entertain strangers, for there-by many have entertained angels unaware.
Wise words come from many places…
