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This page contains a few of my original poems. Hope you enjoy!
Although I do come from a large family, as I'm on the tail-end I never got to experience much of what it is like to live with lots and lots of siblings. However, I do know it can be both a trial and a joy, and a few months ago I wrote a poem about it--although from the perspective of somebody with perhaps twice the number of siblings I live with every day!
Life In a Large Family
Life can be tough
When there’s more than enough
Of siblings to go all around.
I don’t know if it shows—
But any big family knows—
Trials and problems abound!
However it’s seeming—
That you’re peacefully dreaming,
Or so sweetly a-lying in bed.
You’re really near dying
For the baby is crying
And somebody’s foot’s on your head.
You fight for the shower
For nearly an hour,
And almost give up in defeat.
When you finally get in
You find with chagrin
That the water is all out heat!
When you get to the kitchen
Your next morning mission
Is fighting for some of the food.
You have to be fast
And just hope you’re not last
To arrive of the whole starving brood.
You’d think that the pluses
Of so many us’s
Would show when it comes to the work.
You’d think that chores must be
So easy—but trust me!
It’s really not much of a perk.
You’d need ten strong men
Just to tidy the den,
And don’t get me started on cooking!
You’ll find a deposit
Of junk in that closet
If anyone cares to be looking.
When it comes to the schooling
You’d have to be fooling
To think you could find a spare tutor.
Ask for help with addition—
And you’ll get, “What’s remission?
And Spanish for ‘food’ and ‘computer’?”
When you think you’re half dead
You collapse into bed
And beg God for an eight-hour night.
But try closing your eyes
And you’ll get a surprise!
Hey! Mass pillow fight!!
Well, when all’s said and done
This can be kind of fun—
Even with all these sisters and brothers.
Yeah, we big families have trials—
But we’ve plenty of smiles—
And I wouldn’t trade mine for another’s.
This poem has always been one of my favorites. I wrote it in 2008 during June, a time of year I spend the majority of my day in the garden. One day while I was picking strawberries, I began to wonder what life on our farm would look like from the perspective of somebody only a few inches high. By getting as low to the ground as I could, I got to see a little bit of what it might be like. A few days later, I wrote this, and it is still one I love!
On The Farm
Green leaves hide a quick brown hand.
Shadows stretch across the land.
Crimson berries waiting stand--
Morning on the farm.
Busy feet rush to and fro.
Fruit-filled baskets come and go.
Small hands reach for weeds below--
Fore-noon on the farm.
Dirty shoes on front steps sit.
Chair legs tipping back a bit.
Crumbs of bread, a cherry pit--
Lunchtime on the farm.
Hoe blades slice through thirsty dirt.
Shade falls on a cast-off shirt.
Dirty hands bind up a hurt--
Past noon on the farm.
Scattered grain upon the ground.
Lost shoe waiting to be found.
Fallen berry, smooth and round--
Late day on the farm.
Small paws follow home from chores.
Stained clothes litter bedroom floors.
Worn shoes rest by scratched up doors--
Evening on the farm.
Crickets gather, softly sing.
This poem was inspired by Matthew, after he caught and killed a skunk that was causing trouble around our farm. While discussing the incident later, he jokingly asked me to write a poem about it called "Ode To Skunk". Much to his surprise, I took him up on it, and did! It became an instant favorite of mine, even though a friend that I shared it with told me it was 'just terrible', although I think (I hope) that was more her opinion of the subject matter than my skills as an author!
Moon shines on a fallen ring.
Dew distills on everything--
Night-time on the farm.
Ode To Skunk
As in your tomb you lie today,
No friends come for to tribute pay.
No tombstone does commemorate
Your tragic and untimely fate.
And so for you, a lifeless chunk,
I write this poem: Ode To Skunk.
Your life was simple, sweet, and short;
Filled with meals and pleasant sport.
But your stomach sealed your fate
When one night (was very late),
You found out, with a squeal of rage
That you were locked inside a cage.
Your life from there was hours long
For cages sing a funeral song.
So Matthew, with a loaded gun,
Began a countdown: three, two, one!
The shot was heard in Tumbucktoo,
And that, skunk, was the end of you.
So now you're dead, and, sadly, gone,
And no one minds it, no, not one.
For skunks are not the fad today;
Their smell keeps most of us away.
But now for you, a lifeless chunk,
I end this poem: Ode To Skunk.