a dozen will have to do

a dozen will have to do

I will cross the finish line

far behind all you folks

I was needed as Grandma

A most precious dear post

 

Twelve poems on the books

Though a true dozen short

Too late for the deadline

I am sad to report

 

Bravo to the poets

Who finished this task

Understand that I tried

Is all that I ask

 

Though my notebook’s half empty

No certificate here

Know the writing was healing

And I’lll see you next year

 

 

 

 

 

 

Winter complainers … up from the south #12

Winter complainers 

            up from the south

Needing to tell us

The cold is all wrong

And we must be crazy

To call this place home

Quick frankly I’m happy

Each year when they leave

Cold peace and quiet

Is all that I need

It’s hot where they’re going

They must keep the air cool

In their houses and autos

And maybe their pools

Our winters are warming

The skiers all know

Even at Christmas

We are missing some snow

Soon leaves will be turning

And bees stop their hum

We all will be grateful

For the leftover sun

Wave goodbye to the snowbirds

We’ll see you next spring

After snowdrifts and ice storms

You won’t miss a thing

SB #11

SB

Samantha Bigby

Is an annoying child

With too many toes

And a big snoopy nose

 

Samantha Bigby

Orders every kid around

With her loose floppy lips

And wiggly blue hips

 

Samantha Bigby

Doesn’t like to share

Her orange head just so

Making sure you always know

 

Samantha Bigby

Pushes to the front

Poking meanly here and there

Cause she really doesn’t care

 

Samantha Bigby’s

Birthday was today

Purple candles brightly shone

As she sat there all alone

I care #10

I care

She passed on this day

Thirty-six years ago

I will remind no one

Only I seem to care

 

She let go on purpose

Testing them forever

Perhaps this time will work

Only I seem to care

 

Buried in a silver can

Their grief withheld

Maybe later they will sob

Only I seem to care

 

I wanted you to know

As a witness to my loss

And to tell her once more

Only I seem to care

Dogs like pink #9

Dogs like pink

Dogs like pink he tells me

After sixty-nine hard years

With several dogs I never knew this

He is young at seven

 

We hardly know each other

Three days will be a short visit

I work to join him in play

Making memories for our sake

 

Wait, Grandma, watch this

He taps the screen

Building his Minecraft world

Not understanding I smile

 

Daddy is allergic to cats

He begins to confide

Smiling as he looks up

From his blocky construction

 

Will I see this child married

Having his own babes

Who know things he will not

Asking him why

Retired #8

Retired

After a bad night of bowling

His Brunswick rolled out the door

To be thrown off the Winooski Bridge

Into the Lamoille River

 

There’s a lot of balls in that river

He muttered still wearing the

Red and tan triple X shirt

Boasting Iggy’s Piggy’s

 

Wednesday nights now precarious

Offering blue light danger

Weaving from drink

He knew it was time

 

Leaving risk to younger men

He stayed home watching the game

Knowing he was done

Being anyone’s teammate

Toes & Fingers #7

Toes & Fingers

Aging appendages becoming

Independent leaning in

All sorts of directions

 

Flexing the right foot

Is a knobby enterprise

With casual cracking

 

Amusing though painful

Joints are becoming round

As youth disappears

Old Air # 6

Old Air

Painted shut for decades

The old farmhouse windows

Hold wavy glass perhaps

One hundred years old

 

Remaining closed in spring

The bedroom stuffs up

With air that has been

Sitting since winter

 

Fans are placed to keep

The idea of fresh new air

But it is a ruse for

Those who know

 

Years of complaints

Matter little now as

They have grown old

With the air in the room

Corner Cafe #5

Corner Cafe

Outside the plate glass window

Overlooking the backyard

On the painted sill

He has set up shop

 

Filaments crisscrossing

The far right corner

Shine in the morning sun

Holding pods of the fallen

 

Each day the web is repaired

And constructed to last

Perhaps until the leaves

Turn red and gold

 

 

A fortuitous gatekeeper

Waiting for his prey

Knowing she is there

They share mutual respect

 

Catching a glimpse of him

With his remarkable size

She turns relieved

He is one the other side

 

 

 

 

 

 

Afternoon Waltz #4

Afternoon Waltz

Slapping soaked rags to the floor

She lifts her Crocs and settles

She stretches across the kitchen

Waltzing the Blue Danube

 

Coffee stains disappear with ease

While sticky juice droplets

Require another pass or two

Until their cling is forever gone

 

Into the bucket she rinses

And slaps to continue gliding

Now The Waltz of the Flowers

She danced as a child

 

In time the rags are dark

The floor showing no signs

Of early morning breakfasts

She twirls for the applause

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