Broken Pieces (about Mosaic crafts)

Broken pieces, put together
    In a very special way
Shows us how as broken people
    We too can be whole some day.

Only God can make us
   as He wants us now to be,
Look to Him and your mosaic
   Will be beautiful to see.

Mothers Day

As mother’s day approaches, I think we feel the weight

Of loss of someone wonderful, whom we should celebrate.

She is not here to talk to, or to give her some nice flowers

Or sit with her and visit, and while away the hours.

Perhaps we can remember, that she’d usher us to church

And then maybe we'd go back home, she didn’t like to splurge.

I’d make something for dinner, and we’d sit down to eat

And say nice things for ‘mother’, and tell her she was sweet.

She really did appreciate, the time together she’d get

Perhaps we’d be in Lund, getting the store all set.

We’d help set out the books and things, and set up the displays,

She loved you all for being there, she did love you always.

This mother’s day I think that I, can try say one thing:

Your mother always loved you, not just one day in Spring.

If she could speak she’d tell you that, and say that she would pray

For all of you, and also that, she'll wait for you some day.

Oh how it would be nice, if we could go to way back when

And say more things we should have said, and say them all again.

Perhaps somehow she’s listening, and watching from above
So we can still give up our thanks, and for our mom, our love.

My nutritionist said I should eat more nut butters,

She said "they are good for you, and for most others."

But I have to admit that brown paste is not glamorous,

I'll have to get used to them, maybe even "enamorous."

"Put it on rice cakes.."  She said almost cheerfully,

I thought "not another Yule Gibbons!" most tearfully.

But she's been right before and I feel much better,

So I will do just what she says, but not always to the letter.

To the Brown's

Two years ago now?  How time really flies!
Yet you remember like yesterday when your loved one just dies.
I know.  I remember.  I was there in your grief.
And in ways it's still hard, and in ways it's relief.

Relief  because you know where she's gone.
And quite possibly right now she is singing a song:
To her Lord up on high, what a glorious sight!
You'd like to sing with her, and well, you just might.

You can join her in remembering the mom that she was.
How she loved you and cared for you...   just because.
It's good to remember, and it's good to be sad,
It's ok - because then you can also be glad.

She's gone.  She no longer can talk to her child.
Or her husband, in soft tones, with eyes that are mild.
A house now is emptier, no voice from that room.
That you just took for granted each morning, or noon.

Yet she's here, in the things that you do every day.
She molded and shaped you, she's "in" you some way.
So you can go on, knowing some day you'll meet
And things then will be perfect, and good, and complete.

The Whiner

I took my Ambien thinking i'd sleep,
A restful long night.
When inside of my dreams there was something - a creep,
That gave me a fright.

I can't hide from things that my mind has to fear,
Until the right time.
I wake up, disturbed by what I now hear:
A soft high pitched whine.

Coming out of my slumber I sit up in anger,
My dog's sitting there.
I look, and he looks, he's now in high danger
Of me pulling his hair.

What does he want now, some water or food
Poured into his bowl?
My thought is:  some poison!  Yes that would be good!
But I'm stayed by my soul.

So I condescend with some food for his tummy,
Yes, that will be fine.
But he just dances around like a dunce or a dummy,
"I'll get him some wine!"

He's drunk with some purpose, it's haunting my dreams.
I'm trying to balk
From giving right in to what it just seems:
A short little walk.

It's cold outside, me in shirt and some shorts,
I hope it is dark?
'cause I'm not getting dressed when I head for out doors.
Then hear a loud bark.

A walk, yes, I think, just shaking my head,
He looks right at me.
My "Jammie's" still on - he should be shot dead,
But he just has to pee

This verse is now written, back in bed for a spell,
and I cannot sleep,
My brain is awake, tho not thinking too well
I believe he's a creep.

So I write here in silence and stare at the ceiling,
My eyes open wide.
Thinking He should be happy, in thanks should be kneeling....
He just snores at my side.

A website, by me, of some of my verse!
Some poems will be better and some will be worse
No reason for rhyme, this is part of the fun
Now that I've started, am I under the gun?

Perhaps 'round these verses will be buttons to press
Then you'll find more of my stuff - till I learn how to dress
up this sight with pictures and sound
So all of your senses will maybe be drowned.

In past years, till now, and way far beyond
I have written some verse to throw into the pond
of reflection, and some times the falls of poor humor
Not all of it's great, is the talk and the rumor.

But it's mine, and it mostly came out of my brain
Inspired by love, and sometimes by pain
Sometimes it's just a thought popping my head
So I write it down and hope that you'll get it instead

I know this is most times just verses of rhyme
But sometimes I really will take quite some time
To put down deep things that come mostly at night
And mayhaps you'll think that my head isn't right

But it's me.  And you don't have to follow this blog
For sometimes I'll leave you in a bit of a fog
My purpose is oft to just make you blink
At others, it might be to just make you think.

Number 2 (A Post Surgery Poem - I was probably on drugs - or not)

(May, 2010)


"Number 2", "Number 2", "Number 2 ", yes, "Number 2",
This is what they ask you:  "Have you done a Number 2"!
3 or 4 or 5 - these numbers simply cannot do. 
To get out of there you have to do a Number 2.


Number 1 is good, if you will do it with a flair.
But number 2 is wonderful even if you foul  the air. 
Number 3 - you might think - that it was even better
But number 2 is what you need if you're a "stander" or a "setter."


I didn't do it right away, and that caused some concern
I simply didn't understand the meaning of the term.
Sometimes I count in binary - I'd get the meaning then.
All they'd have to ask for, would have been a number 10.