When I drink too much
Wine
One of two things
Happen:
Unfortunately I
Cannot
Remember
Even
One.
May God bless and
Keep each of you,
Dear readers.
Peace, people!
Category: Poetry
Tuesday Poem
Tuesday’s child,
Full of grace
Excluded from
Beauty,
Saved from
Woe, by two
Dozen hours
Or so.
Fickle time
Declares which
Gifts might be
Bestowed,
Based on a stroke
Of luck or the
Hands of a
Clock.
Tick tock.
As a child this poem always bothered me. It seemed to put poor Wednesday at a disadvantage from birth, while Sunday got all the good stuff. Hardly fair! Always interested in justice, that’s me. Oh, I was born on a Friday in case anyone’s keeping tabs.
Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace, Wednesday’s child is full of woe, Thursday’s child has far to go, Friday’s child is loving and giving, Saturday’s child works hard for a living, But the child who is born on the Sabbath day Is fair and wise and good in every way.
Peace, People!
New-to-me
Places I’ve never been
Are my favorite destinations
I cannot wait to place my
Feet on new-to-me land.
Don’t get me wrong;
I’d have been a terrible
Pioneer.
Scared of snakes,
Petrified of the unknown,
Reluctant to venture
Outside the camp’s
Boundaries.
Still, there is a large
Part of me that needs the
Thrill of driving on
New-to-me roads, of
Treading on new-to-me
Sidewalks, of eating
New-to-me foods.
Like an overgrown
Child on a raucous
Rollercoaster,
For the very first time:
Hands in the air
Stomach in my throat
Wheeeee! 
Antigua, here I come.
Peace, People!
Monday Poem
Please spare me your Monday hate
Your “weekend’s over” ire.
Approximately one-seventh of one’s
Life is spent on Mondays.
One-seventh!
Disparaging Mondays is akin to
Putting down the first (or second, or third, etc.)
Decade of one’s existence.
Let’s revisit our relationship with
Monday. Put a crown on it,
Cloak it in ermine-trimmed velvet and
Parade it through the halls of your
Life.
Name a rum drink in Monday’s honor:
“Monchata!” 
Now let’s celebrate!
Only Two Remain
duke blue devils
wisconsin badgers
one team will win
one team will lose
after all, nobody’s
perfect.
just ask the
kentucky wildcats.
Easter Sunday Poem
Where are the children
Dressed in Easter finery?
Babies grown and gone.
Once there were pretty
Baskets filled, overflowing
With colorful eggs
And sweet chocolate bunnies.
Now we enjoy brunch
With pitchers of mimosas
No children in sight.
No giggles, no smiles
Just videos across miles
Better than nothing,
But my poor heart
Aches with emptiness and love
Miss you, children.
Notice Jason’s mullet–he thought he needed the haircut to be a better wrestler. Ashley didn’t want anyone to see her snaggle-toothed smile, thus the firmly closed lips.
My beautiful almost grown up children during their year together as students at The University of Kansas. Now they’re both parents. Sigh.
Peace, People!
Love-less Poem
April is National Poetry Writing Month, and today’s task called for me to write a love poem without using the word “love” or employing any of the phrases associated with love poems.
His butt looks kind of perfect
Wrapped in that turquoise
Towel.
I mean it’s not a work of
Art or anything, but it’s the
Part of him I watch when
He leaves our bed to
Shower.
His eyes could be a deeper
Shade of green,
I suppose,
Though I doubt they could
Twinkle any more than they
Already do.
He never brings me
Breakfast in bed, and
Seldom sends me
Flowers.
I should probably
Divorce him over those
Lapses, but he cries at
Sappy movies, and
Would probably
Cry if I left.
I know I would if the
Situation were
Reversed.
Final Four
All the hoop-la
All the noise
On an Indiana floor.
Sixty-four teams
Whittled down to four
Duke takes on Michigan State
Kentucky meets Wisconsin
Let’s see who wants it more.
As the saying goes, I really don’t have a dog in this fight, so may the weekend be filled with lots of great basketball and may the best team win.
Three Letter Word Challenge
Every story,
Every sunrise,
Every moment in time
Requires rules of some sort
Many constructed subtly,
While others seem to be
More well-defined.
This poem as example
Is written with no words
Of just three letters as
Prescribed by Daily Prompt.
I nearly failed this
No three rule, my hands
Trembled as I typed;
However, I saved myself
In a single move by
Changing “the” to “a.”
Damn. Foiled again.
Peace, people!
Saturday Poem
Saturdays of my
Youth were spent
Vacuuming floors and
Dusting furniture:
Household chores my
Mom insisted be done
Before any of us could
Have weekend fun.
Friends would call with
Invitations, but until
Our home shone
Like a pretty penny
There was no reprieve.
Hatred of housework
Is too mild a phrase to
Explain my feelings then,
And even now I detest those
Chores that kept us all
Shut in.
Romantic daydreams
Helped such days go by;
Some days I was a servant girl
On others a glamorous spy.
I’d sing plaintive tunes and
Dance with my broom,
Cinderella had nothing on me,
But no fairy godmother ever
Came to set this princess free.
I am not a domestic goddess, despite my mom’s efforts to make me one.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 