Category: Poetry

Forest Storm

Skies darken, winds howl

Acorns fall before raindrops

Squirrels take cover

Deep blue framed window

Mute witness across the lake

Watch the storm with me

Thunder fills the gap

After expectant silence

Lightning left behind

I sat on the screened in porch yesterday afternoon as a storm moved in over the lake. The blue window in the middle picture took on the appearance of a face when I looked at it closely. Then, the bottom photo has a somewhat sinister appearance. See if you can find what I’m talking about. It freaked me out a bit.

Oh, and as I finished typing that last bit we had a very close lightning strike followed by an instant house-rattling clap of thunder. Scout (our cat) and I made a hasty retreat into the house. Whew!

Peace, people!

Silken Promise

Sitting slyly perched within

The silver strands stretched tightly

I’ve woven this silk for you, my love

Come lounge here with me nightly

Your gossamer threads cannot hold

Your liquid words won’t bind

I’ll sit with you for just a spell

Then leave your web behind

Of course, she whispered soothingly

Here, rest in my embrace

Through half closed eyes he watched

As she moored him to her place.

On Being Nana

I wasn’t always Nana. Once upon a time I was plain old Leslie, occasionally “honey” or whatever endearment

Came immediately to Studly’s tongue. But by far, Nana is the best name I’ve ever been given. Fifteen years ago this week,

Nana was born when a beautiful, round faced baby girl was placed in my arms. Her wide blue eyes connected with my own

Amazed brown ones, and I have been forever changed. I might have once been ordinary, but now I am Nana.

Happy 15th birthday to our eldest grandchild, Dominique Grace. I meant to post this on Wednesday, but never changed the post from “draft” to “scheduled.”

I’m Never Wrong, Unless I’m Wrong

Yesterday I posted in regard to my angst about this being the final season for the HBO series, Game of Thrones. On my Facebook feed I was soon chastised, politely, for my error. Indeed, this is not the final season. There will be one more after this.

On one hand I’m aggrieved that I made such an egregious error on an easily verifiable issue. I mean, it’s not like I was speculating on the exact date the world will end or the moment the polar ice caps will crumble into the sea. But on the other hand I’m so genuinely glad that I won’t have to contemplate living in a world without Game of Thrones once this season has come to an end.

And the way things are going, with North Korea threatening nuclear war on the international stage and white supremacists threatening on the domestic front, we might not make it to next year anyway. Now there’s a cheerful thought.

Maybe this little poem will ease our troubled minds:

Will Jon Snow find a Walker

And bring him home to Cersei fair?

Will Arya kill Littlefinger

By luring him into her lair?

Is Cersei carrying Jamie’s child?

Only time will tell.

Has Samwell made a prudent choice

In leaving the Citadel?

Has Sansa succumbed to power?

Has it gone straight to her head?

Will Daenerys lead her dragons

In a fight against the dead?

We won’t know at season’s end

There’ll be more shows to come

But I’ll be sitting front and center

Watching every one.

Peace, people!

Surrendering to Love

Surrendering to Love
By Leslie Noyes

Hate is thick out there
Marching through the city streets
Tearing us apart

Love is present, too
Quieter, yet pervasive
Calling for action

Now we have the choice
To which do we surrender?
I'll always choose love

The Long Way

The Long Way
By Leslie Noyes

She likes to take the odd way home and longs for unpaved pathways. A crowding of trees on either side pleases her

More than she can explain. He, though, searches for direct routes, interstates and expressways. No time for

meandering hither and yon. No desire to stroll the byways; a clear cut destination with the horizon firmly in view.

Always ahead of schedule, critical of those who linger over the simple pleasure of traipsing off the beaten trail.

She loves him anyway.

Sugarcoat This

Sugarcoat This
By Leslie Noyes

I cannot sugarcoat this, the life you are destined for. It is not fair, but then life never is. Child, girls tend to get the short

End of the stick. What can I tell you? I am just an old widow, but maybe you should remember to do the bidding

Of your husband. Be sure to do your wifely duties, that might keep him faithful. Cook him three square meals a day,

And always look your best when he comes around. If you play your cards right there might be some sort of

Silver lining down the long road. The young woman listened respectfully to her old granny's words, nodded in all the right

Places, and patted the woman's gnarled hand. "I can't sugarcoat this Granny, and I mean no disrespect, but screw that."