Poetry Night

POEM: a piece of writing that partakes of the nature of both speech and song, and that is usually rhythmical and metaphorical

Son’s school is hosting Poetry Night tonight.  I love poems – from the silly to the sincere.  Sometimes I try my hand at writing them.  I’ve posted a few below for those of you who consider amateur night at an open mic a good time.  For those of you who would rather have your fingernails removed, please check back in a day or two when I’m back to prose. 

Mommy Needs a Sick Day

Mommy needs a sick day

That her contract doesn’t provide

I’m usually eager to see you

But today I want to hide.

I hear the pitter patter of your feet

You’re awake and coming near

From 1 to 10, how bad would it be

If I pretended I wasn’t here?

What I want more than anything

Is to stay under my covers

Perhaps you could canvass the neighborhood

Looking for a temporary mother.

No, that won’t work – they’ll call the cops.

So I gear up for what’s ahead

Breakfast, clothes and brushing teeth

Just as soon as I’m out of bed.

There is no rest for the weary

It’s time to face the day

My glands are ten times normal size

Can I submit for hazard pay?

No.  There’s no extra compensation

For mothers with the flu

We still cook and clean and carpool

Because that’s what mothers do.

But, someday when I’m old and gray

The tables will be turned

I’ll be living in your basement

Collecting what I’ve earned.


Diverging Roads

Frost saw two roads diverge

in his yellow woods.

In my experience,

things are rarely so simple.

Life’s intersections are crowded.

Paths are rarely marked

with destinations and mileage.

The less traveled ways are lonely and overgrown.

They can be hard to see

unless you look closely

at the spaces between the brambles.

Adjacent paths that seem to head

the same direction

can end in vastly different vistas.

It only takes a few degrees difference in course at the onset

to result in great separation

after years of travel.

Seemingly small choices:

alone or together

today or tomorrow

speak or bite tongue

intervene or look away

full disclosure or embellishment

are turns.

If someday I wander Frost’s yellow wood

and am forced to choose between two diverging paths

I will savor the simplicity of that moment.


Sir Mix-A-Lot Does the Laundry

 I like matched socks and I cannot lie

You other mothers can’t deny

When the laundry is done

And you’re down by one

You get miffed.

You’ve had enough

Where did that sock get stuffed?

You’ve looked low and high and higher

Took a second glance in the dryer

Checked the pockets of the jeans you’re wearing

You’re mad and begin swearing

Other mothers tried to warn me

But those little socks can be so ornery

I read in Little MissMatched magazine

That unmatched socks are the thing

But, take the average mom and ask her that

She’ll tell you that look is not yet back

So, Mamas! (Yeah!) Mamas! (Yeah!)

Are you missing lots of socks? (Hell yeah!)

Take your clothes and shake ‘em!  (Shake ‘em!)

Shake ‘em! (Shake ‘em!)

Shake them ‘till they drop

Baby’s got socks!


The Poet’s Pen

Held tightly by determined fingers

Fulfilling a higher purpose than could be conceived

By those who assembled your parts

You are simple

Not elegant

Without metallic flourish or substantial weight

And yet, your product is of great value

Your colleagues use their power to transfer funds

They remind housewives to buy sugar

But you, you use your power to change lives

To profess love

To capture grief

To freeze the sun and stop the wind

You are plain

And yet

You provide a window to a stranger’s soul

Vision for the blind

A voice for previously mute insights

You are a spotlight shining on the human condition

You reveal the details

The beauty

The pain

The flaws

Without you, melodies and cadence would remain shackled


Take pride in your work

The most elegant of your peers could not do better


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