31 Monday Mar 2014
His small hand
tightly clutches the present,
the one he picked himself.
So full of pride is he
as he hands me
a golden yellow cluster
of petite petals dangling
from its spindly stem.
“I picked a flower,
‘specially for you.”
Carefully, I take the
delicate gift and
find a mini vase
to showcase its beauty.
“Oh, thank you, honey.
I love it!”
I don’t have the heart to
tell him I’m allergic to
dandelions!
24 Monday Mar 2014
Cinderella kissed her fellow,
Georgie Porgie kissed girls,
yet virtue was not in question
as we spoke these little rhymes.
We weren’t exposed to TV;
theaters were all PG.
Our innocence was real;
we knew not otherwise.
So these silly jump rope jingles
were just words upon our ears;
simply rhyming ditties that
kept us occupied.
03 Monday Feb 2014
09 Monday Dec 2013
Buried beneath tools
in a cluttered garage,
lies a childhood sled,
hidden from view.
Twenty-five years since
it was actively used,
our lively five-year-old
set on having fun.
Today the same sled
saw the light of day,
as I tugged and drug
it from beyond its lair.
Our five-year-old grandson,
set on having fun, sledded
the snowed hill our
daughter had done.
Hard to imagine
in a techno world,
an old-fashioned toy
would be more fun!
30 Saturday Nov 2013
I remember when I was young,
you seemed so very large.
As a small girl, it seemed like
such a long way when you
bent down and picked me up.
I thought you must be the
strongest man in the country
as I watched you work, handing
you tools, helping, learning
solid work ethics, day after day.
I held my heart in my throat as
I watched inclement weather
threaten your entire year, yet
your fortitude is how I now
survive adversities in my life.
I remember advice you gave, in
such a subtle way, as we drove
around the farm. I only wish I
could have such opportunity as
I give guidance to my family.
But most of all, I respect the
way you’ve aged, the way you’ve
overcome countless challenges,
accepting your time of life with
grace, and an occasional chuckle or two.
God bless you on this, your 84th birthday.
Love,
Your Daughter
29 Friday Nov 2013
27 Wednesday Nov 2013
Tags
child, children, conflict, custody, divorce, games, London Bridges, poems, Poetry, tug of war
My heart breaks as
another child is caught
between struggling parents,
the bridge that was to
hold them together forever, yet
“London Bridge is Falling Down.”
With each episodic scene,
arms close on either side of
her, closing off one side or t’other.
“My fair lady,” says the rhyme.
Hardly, says me.
Tossed back and forth between
clutching arms, the victimized child
struggles to escape the game,
only to discover the rules have changed…
tug-of-war is now the game, a game
where rarely anyone escapes unharmed.
Phyllis Moorman 