A buxom young lass named Molly
thought Irish jigs were such folly.
Until Lord of the Dance
gave sweet Molly a chance…
Boy, could she jiggle by golly!
A buxom young lass named Molly
thought Irish jigs were such folly.
Until Lord of the Dance
gave sweet Molly a chance…
Boy, could she jiggle by golly!
Drudgery of life
So lost in the mundaneness
Never lose your dreams
Here’s a poem I had written 16 years ago and hope to publish as an illustrated children’s book. Enjoy!
While Grandmother Sleeps© 1997
While Grandmother sleeps
the children do creep.
They slip and they slide
They run and they hide.
It’s time for some fun
playtime has begun,
while Grandmother sleeps.
While Grandmama dreams
the little imps scheme.
They plan and they plot
use crayons to jot
hieroglyphic scrawl
upon her tiled wall,
while Grandmama dreams.
While Nana counts sheep
her little lambs leap.
They bump and they thump
they romp and they jump.
Laughing and wiggling
giddy and giggling,
while Nana counts sheep.
While old Granny snores
the youngsters explore.
Up in the attic
they’re acrobatic.
The chandelier swings
as they do handsprings,
while old Granny snores.
While sweet Grandma naps
the little tykes clap.
The tabby cat wails
for they’ve yanked his tail.
They rock and they roll
Oops! Splash! the fishbowl!
while sweet Grandma naps.
Before Grammy wakes
for tea and cheesecake,
the tots retire
tuckered and tired.
With halo in place
and angelic face
before Grammy wakes.
When love is gone
gone up in smoke
do not forget
your vows bespoke.
For children need
both Mom and Dad
’cause you are all
they’ve ever had.
Little angels
two, four and six
can’t understand
what you won’t fix.
Don’t throw away
through selfishness
your children’s right
to happiness.
Bite the bullet
and be a man
you, too, woman
you know you can.
Do not expect
a child to choose
for if you do
you’ll surely lose.
They love their Mom
they love their Dad
accept this fact
and they’ll be glad.
Think long and hard
what you do next
your children’s love
you must not vex.
Pure water, clean air,
a feast for flora, fauna,
man, woman, child, earth.
To heal Mother Earth
one must find a potion cure
thereby saving man.
Her bowels quaking
Mother Earth cries out in pain,
“When will man listen?”
Innocence of Spring
matures in the sultry breeze
of Summer’s first day.
This gallery contains 4 photos.
Humankind’s downfall is feeling superior while only a weed.