Mainely Write

The new year sneaks in  Past the old  And lays claim to  All that is  And is yet to be.

Sometimes when you are reading other people's material, and you make a connection . . . like, "yeah, that's totally happened to me", or  "hey, I'm with you on that one, dude". . . but you never wrote it down . . . Unwritten thoughts Spilled and are lost All for the want of my pen Gone to the wind Float to the sky Never my musing again Someday they will Drift back to earth Finding some other like soul With pen in hand They’ll scribe those thoughts Claiming a notion they stole Check out more poetry topics for Friday on Poetry Friday hosted by Julie at The Drift Record

Funniest thing - just before I this happened, I read Christy's posting about the train wiring directions! Goose bumps.  I just had to post! My husband and I went to RI for a couple of days last week on business.  As we were driving down, I received an email on my phone from my sister.  She had come across my grandmother's recipe for Carrot Pudding, hand written by our mom, on a little piece of paper tucked in an old cook book. Loving the sweetness of seeing it written in our mom's handwriting, she scanned it and shared. A couple of days before getting the recipe email, I had been thinking about making my grandmother's Carrot Pudding for Christmas, but didn't know where to find the recipe.  Then, here it shows up in my inbox in Mom's handwriting!  I hadn't even told my sister...  I asked my sister if she might also have the copy of the recipe for the White Sauce for the pudding, but all she'd found was the pudding recipe. On our return hom

I looked down.  And there it was.  Sad, lonely, waiting. The first lost glove of the season. It had followed its owner to Starbucks, riding quietly along in the car in the front seat.  Gloves had been very helpful in the chilly air as Mr. started up the car.  But it got warm in the car, so Mr. took off his gloves and laid them on his lap for the drive to Starbucks before doing a bit of Christmas shopping with Mrs.. Mr. and Mrs. had talked about what to get the kids.  New mittens, of course, would be on the list.  Having a basketful of mismatched mittens at home from prior seasons of cold, meant it was time to adopt a couple more pairs from LL Bean or Reny’s. When they reached Starbucks they pondered whether they should go in or just get a drive-thru coffee vente.  Mr. thought they had plenty of time, so they decided to go in and enjoy a few minutes of Starbucks magic. As Mr. got out of the car, the inevitable happened.  One glove fell to the floor of the car, while the othe

Mr. Claus? Mrs. Claus? 'Tis the season. Visions of sugar plums, hopes of glimpses of that jolly old elf...that's what's going on. Last year in December, someone mentioned in passing that my husband and I looked like Mr. and Mrs. Claus. And this year, this week, out of the blue, on Monday, we were at our local Starbucks, and the staff exclaimed, "Here come Mr. and Mrs. Claus!" as we entered the shop. I do not know these people. They are not welcome to sit on my lap, nor my husband's.  No one but me is going to sit on my husband's lap...although that hasn't happened since the time he said he couldn't feel his feet. This morning we got on an elevator heading for the rooftop....well, the top floor, anyway. A woman was already on the elevator as we got on. We rode in silence to the fifth floor where the elevator stopped for her to get out. "Have a nice day, Mr. and Mrs. Claus!" she called back as the door closed. Our bellies sh

Linked to Dori Reads blog, hosting Poetry Friday for December 23, 2011.  Go there to read more great poems posted by others! I am thinking about getting into the Christmas spirit.  This year Christmas comes on a Sunday.  I hope that doesn't interfere with celebrating Christmas... now what was it I was supposed to be remembering on Christmas? There's so much to do,  with fruit cakes to make,  Decorations to strew, and cookies to bake. There should be some stockings to hang with some care, And a tree to install or the house will look bare! The manger must grace the uppermost shelf Where it will be safe from Cat, Grandson and Elf. The turkey once bought will have to defrost, But first I'll buy presents no matter the cost. Lights will adorn the windows and more, And a wreath will encircle our humble front door. Put out the NOEL mat To scuff off all shoes. Get out the Santa mugs; there's no time to lose, For Christm

My 15 words for today... For my husband. Just when I think Our love Is fully grown - New shoots On old branches Appear. Note to self and others: I wrote 379 words to come up with these 15.  Sometimes you just have to write a lot to get a little.

  Quinzaine comes from the French word quinze , meaning fifteen.   A quinzaine is an unrhymed verse of fifteen syllables. There are seven syllables in the first line, five in the second line and three in the third line (7/5/3). The first line makes a statement, and the next two lines ask a question relating to that statement. I used the Quinzaine format, to make a longer poem of 8 stanzas. My husband killed a spider last night...and we all know what that means for the weather.  And of course the dog got alerted to something...probably the rain.  She usually does that when my husband isn't home. I love that.  Don't get me wrong; I'm happy that she lets me know about dangers and such, but she usually goes and hides, barking from a distance.  And then when all quiets down and you're all cozy and comfy, don't you just hate when you have to uncozify and uncomfyize to wake up and go to bed???     The dog growls low and then barks. Did she hear somethi

The eyes don’t have the depth of color But twinkle just as nice. The ears don’t hear the quieter sounds But listen for them twice. The legs don’t move as fast as once But make a comfy lap. The arms don’t hold the weight they did But hug you while you nap. The lips don’t always speak as quick But hum a happy song. The heart doesn’t seem to beat as loud But loves you just as strong. *I know some of these should have 'ly' at the end, but I don't care...poetic license, doncha no.

We may be older We may be slower But only because we have Lived long. We may be more sore We may be more stiff But only because we have Lived fully. We may be more deaf We may be more blind But only because we have Lived aware. We may be more reserved We may be more discerning But only because we have Lived watchfully. We may be more loving We may be more forgiving But only because we have Lived with faults. We may be wiser We may be happier But only because we have Loved truly.

A new child Untold tale Nothing’s been scribed Or erased Tabula rasa A blank slate Nothing’s been etched Or traced   Beginning now No regrets Nothing’s been tried Or tossed Newness of life Fresh new start Nothing’s been won Or lost Life beginning Script to come Everything’s planned And known Guided soul From the start Something once hidden Now shown

I was cleaning today and found this poem I'd written in 2008. I remember feeling this way as a kid.  I had a few "best friends", depending on the day and the situation - what I felt like playing that day, where I was in the neighborhood, who had come to my house... As a teacher, at recess duty, I always tried to imagine myself at play again with the imagination and enthusiasm of these charges that are "off duty" from the classroom.   I treasure the glimpses into their world. Swinging, sliding, Playing tag with a friend, Laughing and racing Every day without end. Best friends forever, I looks like we might Be best friends forever. Who cares if we fight? The next day we're back To share a new day Ride on our bikes and Run off to play. Best friends forever, It's our goal to be Best friends forever Just you, you and me! Oct. 21, 2008