Tag Archives: poem

‘Twas the Write Before Christmas

‘Twas the days before Christmas, and all through my place.

Not an idea was stirring to share on this space.

My stocking was hung by the chimney with care,

(Which meant there would be no more dusting right there.)

And then there was me, wearing what I wear best.

Yoga pants, sweatshirt, well you know the rest.

When out from the driveway, I heard something clatter,

And turned to the window to tend to the matter.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear?

But a Lexus that made me ask, “Who the heck’s here?”

The lost-looking driver sped off in a fit,

And I knew those commercials were still full of shit.

Speaking of cars and a holiday ruse,

Those dressed up like reindeer that Santa might use?

The antlers on top and a red nose to boot,

Send mixed messages when drivers give the one-fingered salute.

“Freaking merge!” “Learn to park!” They all shout and they call!

‘Tis the season for road rage for those at the mall.

But back to the story of writing this post.

Even though all the readers are logged off, like most.

I thought I could write a more eloquent poem,

That centered on exploits from June, our old gnome.

But this year he’s tanked and refuses to eat,

Except numerous Vodka-filled candy cane treats.

I’m left on my own to come up with this stuff,

Something holiday-centered, sprinkled with fluff?

I had an idea of where things could be going,

In my head all the words just kept flowing and flowing.

But then in a twinkling, I heard in my head.

The prancing and pawing of something instead.

“Did I put back the Swiffer I used on the floors?

Of course I should check, and then clean out some drawers.

Perhaps now the shower could use a good scrub?

I’ll keep writing as soon as I clean out that tub.

And now the mirror’s streaky, so that gets cleaned, too.

What’s with my eyebrows? Let’s pluck one or two.”

My eyes looked quite tired, my hair still a mess.

My chest most resembling a flat iron press.

A shirt stained with hummus not hiding that stealth.

But I laughed when I saw it in spite of myself.

Then I remembered I wanted to bake,

There were cookies and candies I still had to make!

Once that was over, with treats wrapped up tight,

I had no more excuses to not sit and write.

“Okay, back to work.” I decided right then.

I resolved to see this post right through to the end.

But then laying the cursor aside of my lines,

I somehow clicked over to go back online.

To Facebook I sprang, and of course, then to Twitter.

As long as I’m there, e-mail too. (I’m no quitter.)

My train of thought suddenly derailed again,

I figured that yoga might help me feel Zen.

small_Yoga-EXC003

Down dog and pigeon and side planks galore,

I couldn’t help notice a string on the floor.

Out came the vacuum to suck up that stuff,

And at that point I figured enough was enough.

Clearly this poem wasn’t going that great,

A much better post would just have to then wait.

So I sighed and I shrugged and then turned on TV,

And crashed on the couch for a Food Network spree.

Now where was I going with this rambling spiel?

Oh yes, for you people I like a great deal:

May your holiday bring you much joy and delight,

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

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P.S. Have you joined the cult yet?

Tipsy Turkey Day

T’was the week of Thanksgiving, and all through the house,

People were blogging and clicking their mouse.

Looking for last-minute things they could share,

And figuring out just what dish to prepare.

Family soon would arrive at their door,

To eat lots of food and to drink even more.

Yes, the holidays are such a two-sided sword,

Eating gravy and taters and pies made of gourd.

But then there are in-laws with “helpful advice,”

Or that weird cousin’s kid with a head full of lice.

But seeing it’s only for one day a year,

Just muster a smile and shotgun a beer.

Then go and head over to read for some fun,

About my Thanksgiving spent with a drunk nun.

In the Powder Room is where I’m having my say,

So click here and then have a great Turkey Day!

powder-room.jpgLike the blog? Buy the books!

Happy Birthday to my Mom

My mom’s birthday is this weekend and even though she hates to make a big deal out of things, I refuse to let the day go by without stressing over the fact that I want her to have a good day.

friends-couples-relationships-lazy-birthday-ecards-someecards

So I baked her the cupcakes I bake her every year—on Tuesday—just so she could enjoy them all week. I also gave her one of her cards already and she kind of knows what she’s getting for a present, only because once I actually have the gift, I have a hard time holding on to it.

But since she reads this blog, I decided to give her a little birthday poem as one more thing to add to her birthday list. So without further ado:

Many years ago you came out grandma’s lady parts,

With five loud boys already they were thrilled with all their hearts.

Finally! A girl this time! And born on Father’s Day!

Grandpa was so thrilled that it had all worked out that way.

Little did they know that Kathy was a wild one.

Catholic school and church had little impact on your fun.

But you made it through and married and got pregnant one fall night.

Bringing me into the world, a freaking ray of light. 

toilet

Now we drive each other crazy but a “crazy” that we get.

With drunken nuns and shopping trips that we can’t soon forget.

You’ve always done so much for me despite your daily pain,

and you rarely throw things back at me when I’m acting insane.

Then there are the emails and the texts you send each day,

To tell me that the ass of your old jeans has ripped away. 

Or sometimes just to update me on ballgame scores and such,

and send me links to baby sloths you know I love so much.

My point is that you’ve played the role of both my mom and dad,

Teaching me to give more than I ever thought I had.

So even though you hate a fuss and frankly, I do too.

Enjoy your cupcakes and your gifts, perhaps a beer or two.

As for cards, I found the one you needed in your hand.

card

For those of you who read this post, I know you’ll understand.

Happy Birthday (week) Mom!

Like the blog? Buy the book.

Do you request any special food or treats for your birthday?

Heart Day Haiku

Valentine’s haiku,

Or maybe what fits the beats.

That’s much more likely.


Lots of red and pink,

Hearts and flowers everywhere.

Love is in the air.

1265194865peggyviola

Grade school class parties.

Painted milk jugs for the cards.

Only want the treats.


Conversation hearts.

With wonky words and phrases.

Really taste like chalk.


(Mini Doves are best.

With special words and phrases.

Always taste divine.)

dovechoc

Chubby angel flies.

Shoots arrows down at people.

Hits them in the ass.


Adults who are struck.

Have obligation to share.

Lovey-dovey things.


Many cards given.

Filled with someone else’s words.

To say “I love you.”


Women are sent gifts.

From the men who think they should.

If they want action.

small_Valentines-Day-Love-You-VAL003

Flowers are common.

Overpriced for this whole month.

Men will pay it though.


Good food and some wine.

Get each other liquored up.

Sexy time can start.


He gives her her gift.

A new pair of underwear.

She wanted chocolate.

someecardvday

The music starts up.

He does his little dance thing.

She stifles a yawn.


She still is too full.

Dinner was very filling.

Only wants to sleep.


But it’s a “big” night.

At least that’s what Hallmark says.

And he did buy wine.


She tries anyway.

Lord knows he will always try.

Oh yes, oh yes…done?

He smiles and sighs.

She smiles, hops out of bed. 

Looking for chocolate.


Each are satisfied.

They can both just fall asleep.

Pressure now is off.


Cupid hibernates.

For another year or so.

Then he strikes again.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

“Love” the blog? Buy the book!

I also want to thank you guys for such nice congrats on my last post. It’s not a big deal, but it’s still kind of cool to me so I’m letting myself enjoy it. I didn’t reply to your comments like I normally would because of the giveaway, but I love your pet name stories and thank you all again!

A Gnome Noel

I know most of you are busy doing holiday things and not reading blog posts from yours truly. (I won’t take it personally, unless I should. Should I? Excuse me while I go obsess about this.)

But I thought I would amuse myself by presenting to you a poem with a little help from the incomparable Uncle June.

A Gnome Noel

gnometree1

I’ve already published some holiday posts,

But Uncle June wanted his say.

So now we present to you our little poem,

To celebrate on Christmas Day.

He’s had quite a year and has seen some new things,

from  New York to Detroit he did go,

And who could forget the night just last month

at the theater to see a show.

There was mystery surrounding a fountain or two,

And the big gnome was left off the hook.

Uncle June told me they’re all in the clear,

As gnomes always live by the book.

Speaking of books he did make his debut,

And is waiting for agents to call.

I tried hard to tell him the point of the book,

Wasn’t fame, but was giving to all.

gnomebook1

But still he assumes that the one page he’s on,

Will guarantee fame and some riches.

I found Post-its around with his chicken scratch notes,

About book tours and agent pitches.

He’s kind of confused but I think he’s okay,

And told me to tell all of you.

The support that he’s witnessed has blown him away,

(He’s small, but that’s still hard to do.)

But as for this week and the holidays now,

He’s spreading the “spirits” ‘round town.

gnomemantle

Eggnog and cocktails and things filled with rum,

There’s really no drink he’ll turn down.

Myself, I’ve laid low and just hung out a bit,

But the same can’t be said for the gnome.

Last night he was passed out right under the tree,

This is what I found when I got home.

drunkgnome

Then later I found him all dressed up again,

with mistletoe stuck to his head.

And I still have no clue how he managed to climb,

Up the tree without winding up dead.

Between book things and travel and blog cameos,

He appears to be getting quite haughty.

Perhaps he’s just sowing some more wild oats,

Or the holidays bring out the naughty.

What I think it is is the presence of elves,

The other small guys in December.

They make all the toys and they get all the credit,

While old Uncle June’s not remembered.

So instead of enjoying the holiday season,

The family, the food and the lights.

stocking1

My little gnome friend is apparently bitter,

And drinking away silent nights.

But with all that said he still sends you his love

And I don’t think that’s just the rum talking.

For when he’s not drinking or pimping “his” book,

He also spends time cyber stalking.

Blogs and The Facebook and Twitter sometimes,

He feels grateful to know all of you.

And hopes that your Christmas was filled up with joy,

Or at least a strong cocktail or two.

As for me, I’m not drinking, but wish you the same,

And look forward to times up ahead.

I feel like there’s so many things left to share,

And many words left to be said.

Hopefully Santa has brought me a muse

And some focus to get those posts done.

But now I’m just dealing with one drunken gnome

who apparently loves everyone.

bumble

So no matter the way that your holiday’s spent,

I hope that you enjoy your day.

And know one drunken gnome and a rambling blogger

send heartfelt good wishes your way.

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Turkey Rhyme Time

I know most of you are busy doing Thanksgiving things and shopping and not reading blog posts from little ‘ol me, but I thought I would amuse myself by presenting to you a poem (and a small gift) of thanks, as illustrated by the incomparable Natalie Dee.

Because quite frankly, I’m thankful for her every day.

(clears throat and steps up to the podium…)

I’ve already published a Thanksgiving post,

But given this whole book ordeal.

I thought that I needed to say thanks again,

To those reading after their meal.

gravy-guzzler

Now that the turkey has seen better days,

And your stomachs are full of good food.

It’s time to remind you that shopping from home,

Can help out much more than your mood.

Remember that book that I told you about?

The one that I just threw together?

Amazon has it available now

And will ship it despite crappy weather.

Truth being told I’m not comfortable here,

Asking you to buy the book.

And tell all your friends and then write a review,

But those are the steps that I took.

you-wont-need-legs-where-youre-going-little-pie-dude

Because sometimes my pride gets put up on the shelf,

For things that are bigger than me.

Like animals needing a shelter or home,

So I reached out and what did I see?

People responded with comments and notes,

Or sent out that post in a tweet.

For someone not comfortable doing all that,

I was kind of knocked off of my feet.

A click of the mouse or a Tweet of a link,

And people were made more aware.

Not only of me and the book that I wrote,

But of animals needing more care.

And even if only a few of you guys,

Actually do buy the book.

Those few extra dollars will go to good use,

(And not to my hacked pocketbook.)

I promise my next post is not quite this lame,

And grandma will make an appearance.

There’s drama involving a fork stabbing claim

And a tablemate’s strange disappearance.

Yes, things will return to their once “normal” state

In the weeks and the posts up ahead.

But I’ll still try and urge you to buy up the book

And help keep the critters well fed.

(And undead, but that didn’t sound quite as rosy.)

We know holiday shopping is now in full swing

And a book is so easy to wrap.

But I won’t start becoming that whiny-ass girl

Who annoys everyone with this crap.

he-has-a-better-life-in-your-guts-now

So I’ll end this right now with a wish sent to you,

For a holiday great from the start.

On this day of gratitude I give to you,

A humble thanks straight from my heart.

As a small thank you, I would like to offer a free copy of the book—and possibly some of my chocolate pretzel treats—to anyone who leaves a comment and then tells someone else about the book and the post, either online or off.

You don’t have to tell me that you did. I trust you.

If you don’t want the book, no big deal and no hard feelings! I will send you a $10 Amazon gift card and a bag of pretzel treats that I licked and then rolled on the floor.

I’m kidding—about the health violations, not the gift card.

So you have until Sunday night to leave a comment here about anything—it’s like open mic night at the bar. In fact, feel free to recite a beat poem about holiday family dysfunction while we snap our fingers or bust out with your rendition of “Baby Got Back.”

Then while you’re still riding that adrenaline rush, go tell someone about how buying the book can save a kitten so I can quit being that whiny-ass girl.

You’re a weirdo, but that’s okay

Hey, you.

Yeah, you.

Come in a little closer, closer…

Good.

I want to tell you something very important, something I think you should—no, something I think you need to hear.

Are you listening?

Good.

I just want to tell you that you’re not alone,

in feeling the way that you do.

You might be a weirdo for dozens of things,

but never for just being you.

I know, I know…

You’re rolling your eyes and sighing out loud,

ready to click of this site.

Letting that guard down is not quite your style,

and talking about it’s not right.

But I bet you’ve had doubt, I bet you’ve had fear,

I bet that you’ve questioned your thinking.

Walking that line between okay and not,

feeling your heavy heart sinking.

Days when you feel like the silence you hear,

from words that the others don’t say,

is a chasm to fill with assumptions and doubts

about how you have failed in some way.

It might help to know that you’re not by yourself,

and that someone else feels that way too,

But maybe they don’t know just what they should say,

as they’re not as open as you.

Most people won’t tell you about all the times,

they feel cheated or hurt or confused.

The might never speak of the ache that they feel

when their confident ego gets bruised.

It’s often believed being strong has to mean,

going alone on that ride.

But a stronger thing still is to make yourself fragile,

and speak of those things that you hide.

I bet there are times when you read through a post

and think, “I feel the same exact way.”

Relief in the knowledge that someone out there

expresses the words you can’t say.

I know this is true as I see it a lot,

in the comments I read here and there.

How someone knocks down any walls that they built

through the words that they’ve chosen to share.

They might feel a vulnerable itch as they write,

not knowing how things will turn out.

But even if one person kind of relates,

it’s enough to erase any doubt. 

The person who gets it might not be the one,

that you talk with in person each day.

It might be a “stranger” from some other state,

that takes time to read things you say.

The distance won’t matter when matched against depth,

and authentic relationships form.

As shedding the layers of doubt that we wear,

reveals there is no baseline or norm.

My point is that often we feel like we’re weird,

and honestly, that’s probably true.

But it’s not for the reasons we probably think,

It’s never for being just you. 

Now feel free to click off this site if you must,

I know that his poem’s kind of lame.

But sometimes you need a swift kick in the ass,

and this weirdo is eager and game.

Summer Rhyme Time

Today’s post is the result of what happens when it’s 96 degrees outside and I don’t have air conditioning. It is also a combined effort of a prompt from Studio 30 Plus—Summer Days—and the Red Dress Club—something you memorized or remember from childhood.

Mine involves a hook man and a pot selling ice cream truck. Go figure.

Anyway, it’s a two-for-one prompt special today. Next time I will try and compose something more coherent and less heat-stroke induced. Now without further ado (ahem–clearing throat here,) begin!

Long gone are the mornings spent scraping off snow,

wearing our hats and gloves each place we go.

Flip-flops (or no shoes) replace our big boots,

and out come the T-shirts and bright bathing suits.

But when I was a kid summer meant a bit more,

you never quite new what fun could be in store.

No school to attend and no homework to do,

or boring assemblies left to sit through. 

Instead I would sit on my bike or the swings,

falling in rosebushes, icing bruised things.

Wiffle ball games were held back in the grass,

so that it would hurt less to slide on your ass.

The arguments came with about every play,

as someone who sucked at the game would then say:

“I so wasn’t out, you can all go to hell,

get off of my property before I tell.”

Running through sprinklers and stepping on bees,

Skateboarding fearlessly, skinning our knees.

The trampoline served as a real launching point,

as we “popcorned” each other right out of the joint.

Over the fence they would fly with great height,

setting new records for seconds in flight.

Slip and splash basically served as a way

to quickly maim someone through innocent play.

SlipnSlide

A water-slicked tarp leading straight down a hill?

A highway to taking one hell of a spill.

Trucks all pimped out with some music and lights,

would sell us kids all kinds of frozen delights.

(Looking back now I think most of those rides

were really a front to sell pot on the side.)

At any rate, we ate treats in a cone,

and our parents bought brownies and left us alone.

We always would find that one friend with a pool,

(the one that we never hung out with at school.)

Camping’s been talked about here once before,

but it’s simply a summer thing I can’t ignore.

For I still remember the fear and the fright,

when told of the Hook Man each hot summer night.

the-hook-01

Thanks to the moron who told me that bit,

I was waiting for serial killers to hit.

(Another reason I don’t like camping.)

Anyway, now that I’m older and work every day,

this “job” that I speak of just gets in the way.

Work on my tan is replaced with real stuff,

like deadlines and editing drafts that are rough.

But things balance things out with the sunshine and heat,

flowers in bloom and the market with treats.

My skin glows with color and freckles appear,

that normally hide for the rest of the year.

The smell of a charcoal grill still can’t be beat,

even though I’m not into consumption of meat.

Things can get steamy, uncomfortably so,

but at least I’m not shoveling three feet of snow.

So while things are different for whatever reason,

summer is still quite a wonderful season.

I might not get weeks off but with any luck,

I soon will cross paths with that great ice cream truck,

(For ice cream, of course.)

Humor me—summer memories from childhood?

Gnome Poem

Alternate title—a final recap before moving on with my life

New York was less than stellar,

Of that I must admit.

But Uncle June still wants to share

some really random shit.

juniorcomputer

Photos weren’t taken

of the work that we got through.

I made some great connections

and I learned a thing or two.

But a gnome would have seemed out of place,

despite the artsy group.

So he stayed back tucked in my purse

and fell out of the loop.

Yes, Uncle June was rather bored,

And posed with boring food.

junesalad

With time and choices limited,

It wore upon his mood.

I did get to try lobster once

And learned it’s too much work.

Spending time to find the food

To me is not a perk.

But since I wasn’t paying

I just figure, no harm done.

Plus I got to wear a bib,

And that was kind of fun.

Side note: I should always wear a bib.

Times Square hasn’t changed much

Since the two years I’ve been there.

Lots of stores and people,

Cowboys in their underwear.

07_cowboy_lg

People stopping in mid-stride

To photograph some crap.

Not looking up before they fall

Into a tourist trap.

But walking through the city you see

trends of every kind.

Some I think are very weird

while others blow my mind.

And one that I can’t get behind

is feathers in the hair.

Feathers1

(But remember nothing changes

when you stick them way down there.)

When it’s raining as it was each day,

the cabs are slim to none.

So you end up walking through the rain

which isn’t very fun.

Not to say that cabs are really

that much fun to take.

It seems that every driver has

no concept of a brake.

In fact, my cab ride leaving town

was anything but plain.

My driver swore and ate some soup

while weaving through the lanes.

alg_nyc_cabs

I swear I saw a pigeon

flip him off as we sped by.

It was anything but Cash Cab

but at least I didn’t die.

Anyway, I guess that’s it

my trip is now complete.

I’ve griped about the travel

and the things I had to eat.

(Now we can move on to topics

yet to be selected.

Important things like peeing that

I might just have neglected.)

So Uncle June bids you adieu

and thanks you for your time.

He hopes to see you once again

to share another rhyme.

(Just not about traveling, of course.)

Reflections

What do you see when you look in the mirror?

An image of hope, maybe eyes tinged with fear?

When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror,

I’m often surprised at what tends to appear.

The image reflected looks nothing like me,

At least not the me that I want you to see.

The angles are sharp and the features jut out,

The eyes appear tired and full of self-doubt.

Hair that once shone is now showing the wear,

Of numerous struggles  I’ve forced it to bear.

I feel like an outsider just looking in,

At somebody else who is fragile and thin.

While I know who I am and that inside I’m strong,

This foreign reflection I feel proves me wrong.

The kicker it seems is I couldn’t care less,

how others might look or how others might dress.

Yet I always assume that I’m judged by my size,

by my clothes that don’t fit and the size of my thighs.

Even if inside I know I don’t care,

what somebody thinks of my body or hair,

Part of me wants them to see me as more,

as someone with talents and thoughts to explore.

If I never caught sight of the external me,

of this physical presence I’ve since come to be,

Would I do more with friends and not doubt their intent,

or wonder again what that last comment meant?

If this image stayed hidden and out of my sight,

would I think I should stay home for not looking right?

Of course, there’s that small part of me that is vain,

that wants a real ass and toned legs back again.

Who doesn’t like compliments on how they look,

when others take notice of steps that you took?

But the image reflected and what causes pain,

has nothing to do with ideals to obtain.

It’s not about pleasing the eyes of some guys,

or having somebody approve of my size.

Despite what is thought it has never been that,

I’ve never seen myself as pudgy or fat.

If I could dig out of this hole that I’ve created,

and drop all these habits I’ve long since berated,

I feel like my outside could match what’s within,

a spirit that’s light and not one who’s just thin.

I’m confident things will get better some day,

but my actions speak louder than words that I say.

Each day I try but some days I slip back,

turning to exercise, skipping a snack.

We all have our habits and vices to break,

smoking or drinking or risks that we take.

Things that we hope will distract us appeal,

more than things that we know we just don’t want to feel.  

There’s much more to everyone else than the look,

reflected in mirrors or in pictures they took.

I just want my outside to match what’s inside,

a sense of contentment, occasional pride.

A strong ear that hears and does actually care,

shoulders that help hold the burdens you share.

Sarcastic yet willing to give you my heart,

(But often reluctant to show off that part.)

The scars will prove how many battles I’ve owned,

not just with myself but with all that life’s thrown. 

What do you see when you see me today,

A girl who’s too skinny and wasting away?

Or someone who might just be dealing with more,

than she lets on each day or just hopes you ignore?

It’s not about looks or how things may appear,

as we open the page on another new year,

My goal for the year is the same that it’s been,

each hour and day all through 2010.

Deal with the struggles I face every day,

with courage and strength that I will be okay.

Reflect on the things that can bring me a smile,

a talk with a friend or just writing awhile.

The simplest things make me happy—that’s clear,

and I wish that for others this upcoming year. 

But I also reflect on my health and that look,

that I saw in the mirror with each glance that I took.

I want my reflections to match up at last,

not feeling regret for the time that has passed.

So when I catch a glimpse of myself  here next year,

I want to be proud of what person appears.

The image reflected will still look like me,

But this time the me that I want you to see.

This time the me that I know I can be.