Monday, May 11, 2015

Bucket and Mop

Bucket and Mop, Bucket and Mop
The pair is always seen
One with the other, next to each other
To divide them? Nothing between.

Bucket and Mop, Bucket and Mop
I'll say what I always say;
If you grab the Mop, the Bucket will follow;
Nothing will keep her away.

There was a time, a long-ago day
When Mop was seeing Ms. Broom.
Mr. Mop, it's said, was left beet-red
When away from him walked Ms. Broom.

Them Ms. Bucket, seeing his shame
Came and rested beside him;
And from now on, (or so they all say)
Nothing will ever divide them.

Bucket and Mop, Bucket and Mop
The pair has ever been true.
Now let their sample be an example
And a lesson for me and for you.

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Flash Fiction - Lonely Man

Lonely Man

                “Well I guess I’ll join the party” said the lonely man in the crowded room. The walls listened at his back and side. The room stank of some cheap Hawaiian-scented air freshener. It clearly had been applied with a heavy hand and a guilty conscience.
                “Squeezing through” should not be a literal term. But there were clearly some who loved the atmosphere. At the moment his arms were free to move about him without apology, so he had no cares for either side.
                His tipping point was usually a reminder to a friend that some waitresses worked for less than minimum wage. To sit a dance out was one thing. To linger in a dark corner for a half hour would soon bring the label of ‘stalker’. So the lonely man in the crowded room decided to join the party.

Friday, May 8, 2015

The Sloth

A week ago I discovered this creature;
Hairy and gangly, plain in his features.
From underneath a branch he did hang
Not a sound he made or brayed or sang.
The first day was slow as I sat and wondered
Whether this creature's days were numbered.
If a lion were to come and take a swipe
It's paw would fling this sloth out of sight.
On day three, with my tape that cinches
I measured that the sloth had moved five inches
So Honey Dearest, Mary Belle,
I'm sure you can see things are going well.
Please send me more food to last a while-
I'm staying here 'til the sloth climbs a mile.

The Elephant

The Elephant

Through the thick jungle, slowly I creep
At a slight sound my heart tends to leap
I hear a rustle behind me, then a low rumble
Sweat forms on my brow and my stomach tumbles
A great shape looms before me, it's shadow envelops
In my small body a trembling develops
An Elephant! Creature of great pride, sense, and girth
But in those deep eyes I sense his great mirth
He reaches out his trunk and gives my head a pat,
Turns to walk away and leaves that at that
As I make my way back to my camp that I've laid
I find myself humbled by the new friend I've made

Thursday, May 7, 2015

A Burst of Poetry

Well, I just got back today from a trip. I was traveling with part of my college choir for a miniature tour/vacation. Before the tour started we were each assigned prayer partners. You were to pray for these people, but the system is also a 'Secret Santa' sort of thing. Every day you are to give a note and/or a little gift of some kind. So I wrote a note and, because of some idea I wanted to express, I said to myself "I think a little poem would be fun/cute here."
So I wrote a little one-stanza poem, four lines long. And the idea grew. From then on, I found myself writing more and more poetry. As I've expressed to my friends several times already, my poetry writing in these past four days has been more productive than the last several months! :)
So in the next few posts, I'm going to put up some of the poems that I've written in the last few days. I hope you enjoy them!
Here's one to start us off.

The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round
From watching them go 'round I've found
That there really isn't much to see.
No pardon me, I'm very dizzy.

Saturday, April 18, 2015

I was poking though some of my stuff the other day, and I discovered some poems which I had written a few years ago. I hope you enjoy them!

The Explorer

When I first saw them I had to laugh
At all of these creatures obscuring my path

They crawled with a grunt, with a hoot they hopped;
They picked and they kicked and scrabbled and stopped

Laughing is not a good thing to do
When chimps beyond count are staring at you

Now some say we're cousins, or something like that
So they should appreciate my humor so tact

There must have been something wrong with this group
Instead of laughing one gave a hoot

One big monkey came up from the rest
He was the biggest, and clearly the best

His little eyes narrowed as he looked me over
He began to study me, moving closer and closer

I moved back, 'til my foot hit a stump
And then I landed on my seat with a bump

I jumped up and turned to run
Shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun

There was a screech and chaos ensued
As a group of mad monkeys began their pursuit

So here I am now, at the top of a tree
I'll just have to hope that they can't climb like me

First it was half-past, then quarter to ten
Before Miss Fangle-Dor-Fee stepped in.
"I'm sorry class," was here excuse
"But today I ran into a traveling moose!

No, don't be alarmed, it's perfectly fine.
I was driving my car that stops on a dime.
The moose politely asked if I couldn't spare
A dime or two, to pay for his fare.

He was taking the subway to get our of town;
He'd had a job offer, which he hadn't turned down.
Don't you worry, he's well on his way
To start his new job with twice his old pay."

She sat in her seat and looked in her book
Before she saw Tommy, who gave her a look.
The class was abuzz with news of this moose
And how this old creature was out on the loose.

Little Tommy raised his hand, as quiet as can be
Before speaking up apologetically.
"I'm sorry Miss Fangle," (for that's what we called her),
"But if this is a tale I don't know of one taller.

If there was a moose who is traveling far
He'd be sure to get lost, for I know that moose are
very bad with a sense of direction they say.
That's why you find many moose gone astray."

Tommy sighed and he paused, thinking hard as he sat
In contemplation of this little-known fact.
"The moose that you met, in this story you tell:
Perhaps he wasn't a moose, but an elk?"

Sunday, August 10, 2014

The Boy and the Train Station

                I sat on the subway bench, waiting for my train to come. The air was dense; the darkness in the tunnels lent itself to the thickness of the air. I had a paper with me, but I didn’t bother reading it. Anything important I wanted to know I’d seen already on the news station.
                I sighed, shifting in my seat. As I glanced to my left a smile played on my lips. There was a little boy, no older than 6 years old, sitting on the bench about six feet from me. A floppy, stuffed dog was beside him. From its looks it must have belonged to a parent before being passed to him. But the boy’s hand now held my interest, as well as his.
                I couldn’t tell what the boy was doing. He was frozen, looking down at his hand with droopy eyelids. His hand was in a very loose fist, raised just to shoulder level. His index finger was raised, and his thumb curled neatly beneath to meet his other three fingers.
                If the boy was trying to point to something, I didn’t know what, as his finger was curled. He turned and looked at me. I made eye contact and gave a little smile. The boy’s expression didn’t change much, but his eyes glanced over me. His solemn little face then turned its attention back to the finger.
                A subway roared past on the opposite track. The boy paid no mind. Slowly he arched his neck forward a little, bringing his head a bit closer to his hand. I still couldn’t tell what the boy was doing. Suddenly the boy’s little red tongue darted out. It hit his finger just as his mother turned around. I instantly turned, unfolding my paper, but I kept an eye loose as I listened to the mother loudly scold the little boy. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, gathered his stuffed dog and took his mother’s hand.