Every Year On April 1

Every year on April 1
The fishermen pursue some fun
They grab their lines, their poles, their bait
Eagerly they await this date.

This April Fool’s Day of every year
The very first day of April you will hear
The swoosh, the thud, the splashing about
As fishermen fish, and fish swim out.

And every year on April 1
Just as the fishermen want some sun
The clouds open up and it just pours
So the fishermen dash
To hand fish-selling stores.



Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas

Soon it will be Christmas
Are you preparing for it yet?
Yard sales and auctions
Such nice bargains one can get.

There was a new teapot for a quarter
A used bike for a wee bit more
And once I found a violin
If only I could play the score

Sometimes you find a collectible
A cup or plate or dish
I was so very stupified
When I once was offered one live fish.

There are slacks and shoes and gloves
Laid out upon the lawns
Upon a side street yesterday
I saw a couple of plaster fawns

But the best view I had of all
When driving around my town
Was a wedding dress a fluttering
A lovely wedding gown.

I inquired what went with it
Imagine my surprise
When the lady selling the thing
Told me clearly — and with dry eyes —

“Why, you can have it all
The dress, the shoes, the veil
I’ll even throw in, for one more buck
The bouquet and the male.

I backed away quite quickly
A groom — not what I sought
Instead I took the teapot
And was glad for what I bought.

Strange But True

Kay could mend with both hands
For her it was easy as sin
She could sew with her left hand or her rightDepending on where she’d began

In that far off year of ’99 at Christmas
She called Santa Claus on the phone
She called him at his workshop
But finally reached him at his home

“Santa, dear Santa, oh please,
might I have 2 thimbles, that’s all”
Santa made a note of her wish
And politely thanked her for her call

And on Christmas morning so early
As the sun brightened Christmas Day
Kay read the note that Santa left
“Here is what you wanted, but I really have to know
Why 2 Kay?

Christmas 2012

I don’t think I’ve done this before, write something for this blog myself, that wasn’t a piece of my mom’s poetry.  But I’m doing it this year because, well just because.  I miss her a lot, and I have missed her more this year than for many, many years.  Some of it is because I got married this year and my whole extended family was there, or a great many of them anyway, and of course Mom (and Dad, too) weren’t, as they are dead and all.  Having renewed the relationship with so many family members, I feel the absence of her more acutely.

But Mom was not good at Christmas.  She did not like it.  She felt that all this holiday sentimentality was “phony.”  And being prone to seasonal affective disorder, she would become quite depressed this time of year.  She would cry often, with sullen, angry tears.  In the language of my sisters and I, Mom was always “in a bad mood.”  We had to tiptoe around and be extra good, but we were kids and that just meant we would fight with each other more, causing Mom to spiral down even more.

She would do her best to rise to the occasion for Christmas Day.  She and Dad would pile up the presents under the tree and the cookies and milk for Santa were gone, proving his presence and the carrot left for Rudolph would be nibbled.  It was magic when we were little, but got pretty iffy and tense as we got older.  Money was a big issue on the farm, usually unspoken but the walls would talk as they did in the DH Lawrence short story, “The Rocking Horse Winner.”  The walls would say “there must be more money!  There must be More MONEY!”

And we (Mom, my oldest sister and myself) left the farm right after Christmas one year, on the day school started again.

Yeah, Mom hated Christmas big time.  But as she grew into her life after the farm and started writing her poetry, she came to give it as gifts to everyone around her.  She would write constantly, coming up with these silly, sometimes brilliant rhymes, and she would do this at Christmas as well.  The local newspapers published them in the letters sections all the time.  Her holiday poems were some of the best.

I am missing her right now.  But reading back over the poetry posted here for the past several years, I know she is right here with me.

I love you Mom!  Merry Christmas!

Only a Few Moments Left Till Christmas

Only a few moments left till
Is your shopping done & wrapped?
Did you start out with good intentions
That lasted just till your
nerves went snap?

Is it any wonder
This season seems to try us”
With stores & TV assaulting
to “BUY US!”

I think I’ll just ignore
All these blatant pleas
And stroll down to the
nearest church and
There fall down upon my

I am tired of all the worry
The hurry and the waste
When just a little
Can be the saving grace.


Oh, Claire!

Oh, Claire!
Do not stare
At the naked hare.
What do you care
What a hare might wear?
Of course,
He is bare.
It’s only fair
He is going to his lair
To munch on a pear.
Why think you it rare
To see a naked hare
Is quite debonair
That spotlight is a glare
Shut it off, Claire
Do not be so square
A naked hare
Is not so rare
Get a grip, Claire,
Err I despair
Please do not stare
At the naked
Easter Hare.

April 1998

Sex Symbol Blues

A Valentine card said it all
“Sigh . . . another Valentine day over
And I don’t know about you
But I’m tired of being a sex symbol”
Nothing is more true.

It is not a card I made
But the sentiment is true
God, it is boring
Being a sex symbol like I do.

But what’s a girl to do?
When she’s as beautiful as I
Why there is not one moment
When I’m not fascinating to some guy.

So struggle with this burden
Do the very best you can
Thank God for all my blessings
Especially for that BLIND OLD MAN.