The future is a mystery yes it is

Mystery is in the future oftentimes.

There’s so much we don’t know I suppose

We won’t know until it’s here.

There is  no use worrying, that’s for sure

Most people worry about their money .

Either they have it or they do not

So the worrying is mostly futile.

So just try to relax and not worry

Future will be here too soon.

When it gets here, the worry is forgot

Seemed to be all for naught.

When all is said and everything is done

We go through the vicious cycle again.


Ocean waves

I live close to the ocean

I’m happy I must say

It’s colors are breathtaking

Over each and every day.

Sometimes it’s a greenish or again it’s a blue

When the waves crash the color is white

Seagulls come out to play for a while

Sometimes they do start a fight.

I used to walk the few blocks to go

To the ocean so close to me

But now I find my feet slowing down

So I doze now in my reverie.


I did the Prompt: Landscape

I did (I think) the Device  Enumeratio

Not enough time to do the Form:  Found Poetry

I will try it another time.

Thanks for your comments and feedback.


table for blogMG_0079

The single drawer in the night table

Holds things that I hold dear

But none so dear as the missives

From my sister through the years.

She was a happy and generous person

Loved by all she knew

She enjoyed parties and plays and then some

We danced until the curfew blew.

She suffered a loss that changed her

Though she tried to carry on

It became too much for her to bear

And now I have the letters in the drawer.


Today’s Device is Fingers, an interesting subject to work with especially using Assonance and Prose/Poetry.  Let’s see what I can do with these subjects.


fingers for poem
This is a sketch I did after Michelangelo.


My fingers danced across the page,

and again on the computer.

I stressed and strove to sound the vowels,

it was not as easy a task as it seemed.

 My brain was stressed while doing its best,

pain went from my brain to my fingers.

They hesitated, then tried once more,

while again the pain persists in spite of all.




Mother with Anna
Mother with Anna

She was a simple lady

A simple lady was she

Kind to all who knew her

Her name was Kate.


She was an Irish woman

Cooked up a stew in a flash

She cooked up a stew

Her name was Kate.


No one bossed her

No one crossed her

Her man did try

He was sorry that day.


The family came first

Of girls there were four

She took care of her family

No more than four.


She worked and she scrubbed

To bring home the bacon

And when she was done

All her bones were aching.


Her man was no good

Refusing to work

He sat in the chair

Acting just like a jerk.


One night she decided

To kick him right out

It did not go well

He hit her in the snout.

She told him to go

And he did refuse

She struck his head

Until he got the news.

When he was gone

The happiness reigned

Their life once more

Was not a bit strained.



Here are a few poems I picked out of “The Norton Anthology of Literature By Women.”  It’s a book that was required for the college class I was taking quite awhile ago.       I found two poems today that I had never read, by famous authors I have admired.  The punctuation is the authors or the editor’s.  The spacing also is not mine, as the posts are only set up for straight text and spacing.  Not sure how to go in and enter the code to change the spacing.



by Edna St. Vincent Millay

The courage that my mother had

Went with her, and is with her still:

Rock from New England quarried;

Now granite in a granite hill.

The golden brooch my mother wore

She left behind for me to wear;

I have no thing I treasure more:

Yet, it is something I could spare.

Oh, if instead she’d left to me

The thing she took into the grave!

That courage like a rock, which she

Has no more need of, and I have.



Emily Dickinson

Good morning – Midnight –

I’m coming home –

Day-got tired of me –

How could I-of Him?

Sunshine was a sweet place-

I liked to stay-

But Morn-didn’t want me-now-


 I can look-can’t I-

When the East is Red?

The Hills-have a way–then

That puts the Heart-abroad-

You-are not so fair-Midnight-

I chose-Day-

But please-take a little Girl-

He turned away!

A Foggy Trip

Ocean wavesI am digging into my archives to post this poem until I have something else more current to post.  Hope you enjoy.  Thanks for reading.

This poem is about a trip I took with my best friend to work for the summer.  We had gone all through Catholic grade and high school together which took twelve years and had only graduated a short time before taking the trip.  We were going to the New Jersey shore to work as waitresses, then she was going back to school to become a nurse or as they called it then, “in training.”  My plans were a little more vague but I knew I had to get a job to support myself and help out at home.  Little did I know then that I would be moving to New Jersey and making a life there.

We had a  wonderful time at the shore, getting jobs right away and finding a boarding house to live in.  Unbeknownst to either of us, that would be our last time together as she and her family moved away soon after we returned from the trip and we never saw each other again.  But that is another story.


 We traveled by train to reach our destination

It was foggy most of the way

As the train pulled in, the fog was lifting

A sign of the good days ahead

We worked hard all the days we were there

It was more like a sort of play

In the evenings we danced until our feet ached

Not noticing the pain till the end

We laughed, we cried, the time passed too quickly

And too soon we had to leave

Never knowing that this was our last time together

We frolicked on the train all the way home.