The Happy Place

When I was younger, I’d lean nearer,

My reflection in the mirror,

And study (not what you’d assume…)

The things behind me in that room.

 

Because I thought that other place, 

More intriguing than my space,

And golly, wouldn’t it be swell,

To go there and bid home farewell?

Just think of all the fun I’d find,

Adventures of the heart and mind,

Why, I could almost picture it,

As through the looking glass, I’d flit.

I did not know, I could not tell,

‘Twas a reflection, just a shell,

That ‘other room’ did not exist,

With my face floating in the midst.

And even if I managed it,

(Going there for just a bit)

Well, backward everything would be,

And I’d have trouble being me!

And so I put that dream away,

But brought it out just yesterday,

A great deal older now, I look,

Things still look good in that Mirror nook.

I couldn’t see the dust and litter,

No noise to make me squirm or skitter,

And backward everything may be,

But no more backward, now, than me! 

I wouldn't have to cook or clean,

I'd go in and come out lean!

So Through a Looking Glass you see,

Sounds like a perfect place for me!

This poem is part of a Monthly Poetry Challenge.

Each month a new theme is chosen.

This month's theme?

Through a Looking Glass!

Care to see what the others have done with the theme?

Look here! 

Baking In A Tornado: Look Again

Messymimi’sMeanderings 

 

Bossy's Drawers

In the days before email...

As a landowner, employer and community leader, my Dad received a lot of correspondence.

A lot. 

I know. He used to send me or one of the other kids uptown with A PILLOWCASE to retrieve it.

True Story: I would dump the pile on his desk, wait while he went through it, then ask, "Anything for me?"

To which he invariably answered, "What's your name?"

To which I invariably replied, "Diane."

To which he invariab... you get the point.

Back to my main point. 

Daddy (not me) got a lot of mail. From all sorts of people.

One letter stands out...

One day, he came into the kitchen holding a piece of paper.

Mom looked at him. "What is that?"

"Oh, something interesting."

She looked at him expectantly.

He grinned, then beckoned her to the table.

I came too because... 'something interesting'.

Daddy: "This is a letter from a woman protesting the naked state of the animals in the fields."

Mom, frowning: "Do tell!"

Daddy: "She proposes that we start a push to clothe said animals."

Mom: "Sooo...cows and stuff."

He nodded.

Mom: "Ummm...."

Daddy: "My thoughts exactly."

Mom: "So what are you going to tell her?"

Daddy: "Oh, I'll think of something."

Mom: "But you aren't going to encourage her?"

Daddy, waggling his eyebrows: "What do you think?"

Mom: "Mark!"

Daddy did respond.

His reply was somewhere along the lines of, "Dear Madame. What you propose would be interesting, indeed. But sadly impossible from both a logistical and a practical sense.

For example, once Bossy has dropped her bloomers out there in the field to 'take care of business', how, exactly is she going to get them back up again?"

Yours, truly, Mark R. Stringam DVM

She did reply, somewhat put out by his response.

But the whole matter was dropped there.

Kind of like Ol' Bossy's drawers.

Daily Mail

Potty Consonants

In our early days, there is just so much to learn.

One of the most important of which is ‘language’.

And getting those pesky consonants to say what they are supposed to say.

This will become evident further along.

Ahem…

Tiny Daughter (hereinafter TD) had just passed the time of DIAPERS.

She was now in big girl pants.

But the toilet ‘procedures’ were ongoing.

Mostly successful.

At times…downright humourous…

Mom: “Now remember to wipe from front to back…”

TD: “Bagina to bum. Bagina to bum!”

(Remember where I mentioned ‘consonants’? That would apply here.)

Mom: Va…Va… Vagina. Like V...Volcano.”

Silence for a moment…

TD: “Volcano to Bum. Volcano to Bum.”

Training is ongoing…

Broke Baroque

A museum planned a concert with their Baroque instruments,

But then they saw the gadgets needed care for the event,

A great Vivaldi violin and a harpsicord of Bach’s,

The keyboard needed tuning and the violin had pox.

And all the others needed even more of urgent care,

And so they called the specialist to help with the repairs,

The man looked them all over (and there really were a bunch),

He said, “Where should I start? And know, I won’t be done by lunch!”

Director looked at him and said, “When you’re making all your picks…”

“Our rule for this concert? If it ain’t Baroque, don’t fix!”

Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So Karen, Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Next week's post might smell a bit,

But 'Compost', sure, will be a hit!

Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?

We'd love to welcome you!

Topics for the next few weeks 

(with a huge thank-you to Mimi, who comes up with so many of them!)...

Musical Instruments (May 22) Today!

Compost (May 29)

Hot Air Balloons (June 5)

Red Roses (June 12)

Kissing (June 19)

Canoes (June 26)

Mirrors (July 3)

Teddy Bears (July 10)

Emojis (July 17)

Cousins (July 24)

Avocados (July 31)

Moonshine (August 7)

Roses (August 14)

Sea Monsters (August 21)

At the Beauty Parlour/Parlor (August 28)