Lend Me Your Ear

When I was born  they helped me hear

The original function of the ear.

Next, they helped hold back my hair

so my eyes could glance, or see, or stare

Earbuds were inserted  for music and song

Before Bluetooth cell phones came along

Then vanity was added on to hearing

When I pierced them  and wore earrings

Next came glasses to better see

Letters no longer clear to me

Now that masks are daily wear

My ears have more than they can bear

Hearing aids not yet required

Nor or they as yet desired.

 

 

 
Virus Outbreak New York

Poem 26: In honor of Arbor Day and National Pretzel Day

Pretzel shapes

Pretzel shapes are varied

Like knots, or twists or loops

The baker decides upon the form

From the pretzel dough he scoops

Nature usually shapes the  trees

Based upon the type

Unless mankind interfers

with his usual hype.

He grafts a twig  upon a trunk

Intending to create

Something never seen before

But hopes it will be great.

Branch graft
Branch graft

 

Poem 23: Shakespeare’s Birthday

shakespeare
William Shakespeare (believed to be born on 23 April 1564 – 23 April 1616

 

Happy Birthday to the Bard

We really can’t send you a birthday card

Your rhymes are better and more renowned

Than the rhymes, I’ve read on the cards I’ve found.

Why do rhymes today sound so trite?

Is it the modern way that we write?

Our vocabulary may have gone astray

by using emojis to mean what we say.

Is an emoji worth a thousand words?

The very thought seems so absurd.

We couldn’t use an emoji to write a sonnet

even if we stumbled upon it.

Guest blogger: JeanMarie Olivieri

JeanMarie posted this gem on her blog.  Click here to read the entire article, Dear Diary.

junk drawer

Purpose

A place for everything ̶
everything in its place ̶
everything else in the junk drawer.

A tidy home is not the same
as a clean home. I know
where everything is;
just don’t look close at my floor.

Everything has a purpose
except the quarter inch of plastic
I found on the floor one day.
It might be a screw,
but it has grippers on it,
although it’s too small to hold a picture.
The hole on top
is for an allen wrench
if I had one that small.

Where did it come from?
What does it do?
Can I afford to toss it away?
These unanswerable questions
keep it in my drawer.

Poem 17: Red, White and Blue Ridge

Barboursville Mansion 20200415
Barboursville Ruins.  Designed by Thomas Jefferson for Governor Barbour.  Burned down on Christmas Day,  1884.  Legend says that the family, realizing that they could not save the mansion, finished their Christmas dinner on the lawn as the mansion burned.

Redbrick ruins front

White snow in April flocking

Blue Ridge Mountain peaks

 

Man’s reign lasts longer

Then the ephemeral snow

Mountains survive both.

 

Poem 8: To Anna Anderson

anastastia and anna anderson
Anastasia (l) and Anna Anderson (r)

Anastasia was your name

bringing you haphazard fame

without proof to back your claim

Then,  rumors were put to rest

With the results of the DNA test

No longer can anyone cotest

Little girls still like your story

 Their favorite princess allegory.

Mahan grave in the UVA Graveyard
The Manahan Grave Marker at the UVA Cemetery in Charlottesville, VA.  Anna Anderson was not buried here–her bones are at Castle Seeon.

Anna Anderson was the most famous of the many women claiming to be the Grand  Duchess Anastasia of Russia.  She eventually married an eccentric professor near Charlottesville, Virginia.  Her memorial is at the University of Virginia graveyard.  Her ashes were buried in the churchyard at Castle Seeon on 18 June 1984.

Click here to read more about Anna Anderson.

Poem 7: April 7 is National Beer and National No Housework Day

Since I don’t like beer, where I write beer–for me think wine….

I think I’ll start the day with beer

So there will be no cleaning here

Once I fill that mug with brew

My daily chores will be all through

Today will have no pain and sorrow

They can’t return until tomorrow

Carpe diem is what I say

Raise your mug and seize the day.

Poem 4–Winter’s Delaying Tactics

Old Man Winter doesn’t know when to leave;

His long nails are caught  in Spring’s lacy sleeve.

Despite her March winds, his grip won’t let  go,

His delaying tactics make her progress too slow.

The flowers are blooming, new green on the trees

But the temperatures still fall with each Wintry sneeze.

Temps rise each week  to a new average high.

But at least once a week, we  shiver and sigh

Let Go, Old Man Winter!  Please just say Good Bye!