little things

Mind Over Maturity

Whilst all the young may have youth,
not all the youthful young.
Youth’s not measured by our age,
or the passions we engage.

~

It’s not about time at all,
or being big or being small.
It’s not a question of maturity,
rock star travel or annuity.

~

It’s the way we feel and perceive,
of life’s fascinations to conceive,
hopes, dreams and wishes to believe,
it’s how we love and how we grieve.

~

A youthful heart’s quick to mend,
quick to receive, give and lend.
Wonders abound in youthful eyes,
birds soar higher in bluer skies.

`

Yet youth is stolen by the fiendish lie,
That getting older is preparing to die.

`

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Magic Carpet

~

Full moon’s high in my window pane,

a sleepless night yet again.

I think of what that old moon’s seen,

and the billions of days in-between.

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Billions of stories it could share.

But few like grandma’s can compare.

Her life began long, long ago.

Raised in places few ever know.

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In forests, jungles and never-ending plains,

there were exotic cities and quiet country lanes.

Naturalist nurtured traversing the globe,

her parents explorers and professors in robes.

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She too attended their university,

majoring, of course, in anthropology.

She graduated at the very top of her class.

Then returning to a high mountain pass.

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A place where dear friends made, one nevermore,

new will be made though not as before.

For the sisterly love they both did share,

her dowry passed from generations with care.

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Their rug was presented for the mutual esteem,

more cherished than a simple weaving would  seem.

With sheep twists dyed and hands knotting all day,

life’s artful history’s made to give, barter or pray.

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That winter spent mourning by choice and terrain.

Gram then ventured east with the new spring rain.

Her path soon ended on a long Pacific beach,

her life of the past now far out of reach.

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She then called upon as never before.

She volunteered proudly as a nurse in the war.

Through years of blood, pain and tears she served,

refusing all the medals and honors deserved.

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Though her true love was found slumped on a cot,

they soon returned home, where time was forgot.

Gramps got better and a new family sown.

their many shared scars were never to be shown.

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Her old rug was placed by hearth and chest,

each full of stories though not all are best.

It’s a place we’d sit to hear grandma recall,

sometimes a place to do nothing at all.

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So I tip-toed downstairs since sleep no option,

I’ll rest on that rug where dreams are begun.

It’s where secrets are shared and magic seen,

then a place for relaxing time in-between.

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Once sewn as a bag keeping safe, precious things.

It’s been many a blanket with a picnic to bring.

It’s been a shawl in the cold and hood in the rain –

and a comfy pillow on the overnight train.

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Adventures had in time that’s flown,

together worn from long years grown.

This rug’s grandma’s confidant and oldest friend,

soaring together their wove lives transcend.

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Though colors now faded, ends torn and frayed,

beauty more timeless cannot be remade.

And when the winds do bellow just right,

we’re drawn up the flue and into the night.

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Holding fast and climbing high,

we touched the stars in our moonlit sky.

We’d see twinkling lights in our town below,

then off to the hills where roads don’t go.

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Over the wood, back to the place we all live,

where the door’s always open and love’s to give.

There blissful slumbers had snug as a bug,

whilst wrapped with a hug in grandmas old rug.

.

~*~

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Small Friends in Big Places

*

Tiny fairies flitter, sniffing summer sweets

Never pausing very long to enjoy the tasty treats

Yet on rare occasion I’ve seen them stop and stand

Purveyors perched perusing their never-ending land

*

In capes of emerald flecks a-glisten

Sharing mysteries with those who listen

Magic’s in the moment, then to disappear

Flight near invisible, journeys without fear

*

Their lengthy travels always elusive

Their worldly wisdom justly conclusive

With a welcome whisper, faintest ever heard

My fairy’s come to visit, a little humming-bird

~*~

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Tough Love

I’ve a brand-new pad so indoors I’ll stay.
There’ll be no visit on this miserable day.
I miss that baby, I miss her a lot.
She just turned four and hugs I’ve got.
~
I need a squeeze; I need a kiss.
But it’s the smiles that I really miss.
Her face lights up when we meet.
It’s always special when we greet.
~
She lives in the city, a little too far.
Four hours of traffic, stressed in a car.
Her mom’s always busy; we chat on the phone.
Three times a week, each time she’s grown.
~
Maybe next week, that’ll be great.
We’ll read some stories and stay up late.
We’ll brush our teeth and get ready for bed.
We plan tomorrow then a kiss on the head.
~
We’ll go for a walk, have breakfast in town.
We’ll play in the yard then into her gown.
We’ll dance for a while and talk and giggle.
Then into the car seat with a twist and wiggle.
~
We tell all the jokes we almost forgot
I say she’s silly, she says I’m a nut.
There’s kisses goodbye, though never enough.
Then one last wave, the one always tough.

~*~
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In a Flash

The wait is long, the reward sublime.
In search I am for the perfect time.
My heart is beating and lungs are full.
My mind is racing, I feel the pull.
~
I’m tired but wired, I can’t sleep a wink.
I think I’m unsure of whatever I think.
Thoughts of the past reflect on the now.
Tomorrow’s soon and the why, what and how.
~
I sat and I pondered; what am I to do?
A question confounded by where, when and who.
Then in an instant the answer was clear.
A fool am I, the time now is here.

~*~
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Shared Beauty

Baby blue and pink,
the colors of our birth.
Beauty shared at sunset,
all around this earth.
~
As these colors fade,
stars soon will shine.
Beauty, too, can change,
when our views align.
~
Though our views may vary,
our vision’s all the same.
Raise our children to be free,
to live their lives peacefully.

~*~
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Swap Meet

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*

We’re off to the swap meet today.

Dad says its work, I say its play.

Mom thinks it’s all a bunch of junk.

Who needs an old cast iron skunk?

~

Every year since I was two.

Seen the toes of many a shoe.

In my wagon with squeaky wheel,

once pulled string from an old fly reel.

~

Saw a ship of wood, bone and hair.

Dad got nervous, said don’t go there!

Great memories of dad and me.

I wish that mom would come and see.

~

Up before dawn, first at the gate.

If you’re not first, well than you’re late.

I think that second’s also OK.

Don’t follow, go the other way.

~

A laugh a push a yawn and sneeze.

New spring pollen made someone wheeze.

We’re squashed on the fence right up front.

Soon we’ll start a new treasure hunt.

~

The gate opens, I think we won.

I don’t care; I’m here to have fun.

We see faces we’ve seen before.

But the new ones are a lot more.

~

Soon the sun will rise in the sky.

Down the rows with treasures stacked high.

A day of fun, ready to learn,

Something new at every turn.

~

We pass the women in her shawl.

Sits alone, sells nothing at all.

Walking past, I’d wave and say hi.

But never did I catch her eye.

~

But now I’m ten, no chaperon.

Maybe she smiled because I’m grown.

She waved me over to come right in.

Glad to see her never seen grin.

~

I gazed into lots of old stuff,

even the best looked kind of rough.

She told me stories of each thing,

corner chair and ancient nose ring.

~

“I rarely sell my things of old.

They can’t be enjoyed when they’re sold,

loan things to friends once in a while,

like you” she said with a big smile.

~

“I’ve watched you pass since you were small.

On your dads’ shoulders, eight feet tall.

I’ve seen you smile and watched you grow.

Each time passing you’d say hello.

~

Walking past, eyes open wide.

You never dared to come inside.

Talking to strangers is unwise.

If I scare you, I apologize.”

~

She gave me a book that’s quite small,

not too many pages at all.

The book kept dreams lost in your head,

while you were sleeping in your bed.

~

She opened the book to page three.

Then whispered some secrets to me.

“Dreams are wishes stuck in your head.

They only come out when in bed.

~

Sleeping soundly, eyes shut tight,

mind wondering all through the night.

When you wake to start a new day,

write down those dreams before you play.

~

Follow your heart wherever it goes.

Record your trip in lovely prose.

Don’t stop writing until you’re done.

It’s never work when it’s all fun.

~

First open the book carefully.

Than close your eyes and wait to see,

all your dreams will come back to you.

But it might take a week or two.

~

Just be patient, don’t ever fret.

All things good you never forget.

I need not tell you anymore,

complete instructions on page four.”

~

She found a box, it fit just right.

I couldn’t wait to sleep that night.

Tied it up with ribbon and bow.

She gave me hug, told me to go.

~

It’s been a long winter since then.

Yes I’ve used up many a pen.

I wake each morning at sunrise.

Wipe the night’s sleepy’s from my eyes

~

Mom saw me writing early one day.

She asked to see, what could I say?

Together we both read out loud.

We laughed and hugged, she said she’s proud.

~

Now up after dawn, we’re not late.

Family’s first, treasure can wait.

Another year, there’s much to see,

at the swap meet; mom dad and me.

~

I hope to see my new old friend,

I’ll share my news with happy end.

I tried hard and my wish came true.

Now mom comes to the swap meet too!

*

The End

~

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Available at:  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/470879

Beach Day

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Tomorrow’s to be the best day.

A day of sunshine, swim and play.

Must get to sleep, morning is near.

We’ll wake early, much to prepare.

*

Eat breakfast, find my pail and rake.

Great big castles of sand we’ll make.

Pack cooler with lunch, bring a hat.

Bags for towels and this and that.

~

Morning has come, wide open eyes.

Hoping for those clear blue skies.

It must be early, sky’s still gray.

Maybe I woke on the wrong day.

*

Waited all winter, now’s in reach,

sunny day of fun at the beach.

Went back to bed, nothing to do.

Closed my eyes then the sun shined through.

~

Jumped out of bed, day’s second chance.

Brush my teeth and put on short pants.

Ran downstairs for breakfast and more,

a surprise friend waits at my door.

*

We all got packed into the car.

Hoping the drive won’t be too far.

Wheels turn, were almost there.

Windows open, I smell the sea air.

~

Pull in the lot, our fun begins.

Unpack the car, pull out the bins.

We carry the bags, two for each.

Umbrellas up, blanket on beach.

*

Cooler wheels stuck in the sand.

Dad asked me to lend him a hand.

We’re all set up, time to explore.

There’s much to do at the seashore.

~

We hurry down to take our dips.

First toes then knees, up to hips.

The water’s cold, we jumped back out.

To thick towels we run and shout.

*

My fingers wrinkle, lips turn blue.

The sunshine’s warming me and you.

Sand’s sticking to my wet swimsuit.

Mom gets lunch; sandwich, drink and fruit.

~

Our feast is done, time to play ball.

Huffing and puffing, shared by all.

We blew it up then threw it high.

Caught by the wind, kept by the sky.

*

Grab our shovels, pile the sand.

Moats and towers, kings of this land.

Then waves came in with a crash.

Hours to build, gone in a splash.

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Now we’ll find some big new sea shells.

Some are flat some shaped like bells.

Some you hear the sea in your ear.

Some will have things living in there.

~

Sifting for treasure in the sands.

Time slipping through our small wet hands.

We keep the best in a small sack.

To be explored when we get back.

*

Now let’s try the water again.

First you go then I’ll jump right in.

Dive and swim, watch seaweed float by.

Then the sun sank low in the sky.

~

We all go home, skin pink, eyes red.

Take a cool bath then off to bed.

Going to sleep dreaming of more,

a day at the beach is best – I’ m sure!

*

The End

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https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/472691

Welcome!

Yellow’s out, green’s underway

Pinks will wait another day

Then purples, orange and brilliant reds

Bursts of blooms thrust from beds

 ~

My world awakens, spring’s finally here

Lilac hues fill the air

Sunrise sparkles on morning dew

Budding trees frame the view

 ~

Clear blue skies, picnics at noon

Summer’s next, just not too soon

 *

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Taxation of Tagnation

I was a baby by conception
A child with confusion
A sailor by frustration
And an engineer by education

I’m an appraiser by profession
A husband with devotion
A father of commotion
And a poet by obsession

I’m a man in regression
Not ready for stagnation
So I’m penning a description
On this day of our taxation

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Easter’s Egging

~*~

The church bell rang and doors flung wide.

We raised our heads and ran outside.

Sitting’s done, now’s time for fun.

Our Easter egg hunt has now begun.

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It’s a perfect day with bright sunshine.

Our baskets ready we waited in line.

Till all were scattered on the count of three,

in every direction kids ran free.

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I ran first to my favorite tree.

I found it’s the favorite of not just me.

So off to the hedge where eggs always found,

none’s left there so to the playground.

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While the others searched I rode the swing.

When they had gone I heard birds sing.

I glanced to the trees and sounds nearby.

Then off jumped I and into the sky.

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I landed in sand on two feet and one hand,

then a tumble or two and up I stand.

I turned to the fence where tall trees grew-

to search for a prize of an egg or two.

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The chirps grew louder with each step I took.

Did they tell me to leave or tell me to look?

I kneeled near bushes and peeked below.

I stuck in my hand as far as would go.

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Feeling around for a tasty surprise,

I pulled out an egg but smaller in size.

Holding tight it felt warm to the touch.

Then I knew why that bird chirped so much.

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Gently I put the egg down on the ground,

took a few steps back not making a sound.

A whistle blew, the hunt was now done.

But silently I waited in the midday sun.

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My basket is broken and clothes dirty and torn.

I knew I’d face my mother’s scorn.

But there’s more to life than clothes un-ripped.

There are some events that can’t be skipped.

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There’s saving the things that you love.

Then a bird swooped down from above

She tapped the shell lightly with her beak.

A tiny head popped out to take a peek.

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The mom  nudged her chick back into the bush.

Her frightful chirping turned to a shush

Then another whistle blew, louder than ever.

To stay any longer just wouldn’t be clever.

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I hurried back, joining up with the rest.

Our search was now over finding the best.

My cousin won second, they had four.

I found just one but I think I won more.

~*~

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http://www.childrens-stories.net/featured-childrens-story/featured-childrens-story.htm

Springling

Baby’s first spring blooms with joy.
There’s grass for sitting and nature’s their toy.
There are leaves to touch and bugs to see,
flowers to smell and the buzz of a bee.
~
The sun is warm and the sky is blue.
A breeze tickles toes where once a shoe.
Daring they get and start to crawl.
They chase the cat chasing the ball.
~
Mom gets it first and giggles they share.
She tosses the ball high in the air.
Little eyes get rubbed, its naptime soon.
Then there’s lunch on a spring afternoon.

~*~
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Happy Valendumbness Day

Valentine’s Day comes once a year.
It’s the only day of poet fear.
Words flow freely, most every day.
But once a year, I’ve nothing to say.
~
I share my love with dreams and wishes.
And little things, sometimes dishes.
I hold you close and we stick like glue.
Because every day I love you.

~*~
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Foible

Observing a foible in real time,
much longer than a typical rhyme.
The clock’s ticking and time will tell,
will I finish, or, again say Oh well.
~
Time goes through cycles; we all have our own.
We cycle through life; each turn we’ve grown.
Turns’ incomplete, bumps we will feel.
Will I roll to the end or find a new wheel?

~*~
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Spittleiction

Existing in a parallel reality,
stepping in and out unconsciously.
It’s always good when there’s a word,
a word that’s not too, too absurd.
~
Something descriptive for something unknown.
Letters arranged so there are none left alone.
Horizons abound, three-sixty and more.
Infinite options with only one door.
~
In and out realities converge,
yet this moment’s word yet to emerge.
Thoughts divided twixt hither and yon,
Yin and Yang got up and gone.
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The quest getting long, parallels evade,
as does reality, mind’s left unmade.
My word yet forthcoming, my tongue tip awaits.
Desire’s strong, my hook salivates.

~*~
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the End

If perfection could be found,
is it in or above the ground.
Or in the air or in the sea,
it could be you, not likely me.
~
Does it make a sound, or does it smell?
If found, might I say, “Oh well.”
Is it the same for one and all,
is it big or is it small?
~
Question’s many, quests never end.
Clues abound but truth can bend.
Eyes perceive a painter’s stroke,
meaning safe in a canvas cloak.
~
Circles run in boxes made,
glasses worn throwing shade.
Seekers sought surely stun.
Perfection is: never done.

~*~
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Snowflakes

 If no two snowflakes are the same,

When melted do they come back again?

How do all the storm clouds know,

What each other makes for snow?

 **

Though thought all different, ingredients same

Freely floating flakes, cousins of rain

Minuscule crystals suspended in lines

Destiny’s same – the kiss of sunshine

 *

Just another of natures’ follies, like we all

The higher the cloud, the faster the fall

The longer the blizzard, the deeper the strife

The hotter the day, the shorter the life

 .

Do we really care if snowflakes are the same?

Or are we just repeating an old silly game?

A game that can never ever be won –

When all the pieces melt in the sun

~*~

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