Hey Kids,
If I do it, I’ll do it.
If I don’t, I don’t.
Leave it to fate,
And your will, it won’t.
Day 199
Words that Rhyme
The Muse
Who is this Muse of which I speak,
That enters my thoughts at will?
She is the one that forms the verse
And words that make me feel.
Sometimes like a big brass band
She sounds within my head.
Other times I must stand still and listen
When she whispers it instead.
Sometimes She speaks in words
Or views,
Or scents,
Other times she hides from me.
I, the writer, have but no choice
To wait,
Pen ready,
Until told what words shall be.
I watch the world and tales untold
Dancing and taunting before me.
But not until Her music plays aloud
Can I hear the song of the story.
I pray she’ll always stay with me.
And always try to make her smile.
For she is the one worth writing for;
The one that gives my form, its style.
The Day After Christmas
After all the presents are opened and the day has moved past the night
The day after Christmas and all its mess begins at the first break of light.
The tree now looks so lonely and bare, the presents guarded now gone.
Ornaments not quite so cute, the lights not so bright; if we turn them on.
Space in the living room is at a premium, how long to keep this stuff?
The wreathes, the knick knacks, the little displays. Enough is enough!
Tradition states, we recall, that all must remain at least to New Years Day.
It’s a whole ‘nother week and then, the work begins to put it all away.
Each year I swear as I pack up each and every Christmas Decoration box
I won’t do it again next year, no I won’t, I don’t like it, “not even with a fox”.
Not a light to hang, not a Santa to play, not even a ribbon or bow
Next year, I’m not even going to hang any advantageous Mistletoe.
But the year rolls on and the seasons change and while I eating the Bird
I get excited to go outside and decorate, to light my little part of the world.
Oh the Season is the Season and I can’t help but to play and participate.
I think, however, I need to remember, It’s only the Day After that I hate
Five Ticks
Five ticks, twelve times a minute, the second hand advances,
Either with a steady eye on watch or momentary glances.
So also does my heart; I know not the number each minute;
Counting down the beats of life, no matter the deeds within it.
Related articles
- Tick, tick, tick… (thewritingidealist.wordpress.com)
- “I Was Never Good With Goodbyes” (jesswchen.wordpress.com)
Admiring Others
I think it’s important to take time to admire the contributions of others. It’s so easy to become self important and absorbed in our own endeavors that we can ignore or even dismiss what others have done.
I am currently trying to memorize the poem by Robert Service “The Cremation of Sam McGee”. It is a poem that has captivated me since early teens but I have never taken the time to learn it by heart.
I struggle to memorize things. I get concepts but the order of the words is not something I can keep straight in my head. Never let me quote you! But this poem is of such a sweet spot in my heart, I think it merits the time to work on it and get it right.
It may take some time, but I’ll get it. It’s worth it.
Related articles
- Poetry Wednesday: The Dimensions of Robert W. Service (wessonblog.wordpress.com)
- Day 27 Wednesday July 3 Whitehorse, YT to Dawson City, YT (northtoalaskablog.com)
Mike M Jensen 