Com-Posting

 THE VICTOR was a quarterback way back in college days,

And, though the years had passed, his neighbours still could be amazed,

Remembering his triumphs and the victories he’d won,

And grateful just to label him their city’s favourite son!

By THE VICTOR he was known and though he really didn’t press,

His neighbours bragged a lot to anyone I do confess…

THE VIC as he grew older, became somewhat conscious of

Just doing what he could for this old world that he loved,

Began a compost pit behind his house where he would add

The food scraps from his kitchen and any trimmings that he had,

But living by himself, he really didn’t produce much,

So he’d canvass the neighbourhood and take their scraps and such,

Each Saturday at 9, there’d be The VICTOR with his pail,

And folks would toss in spoiled scraps from meat to bread to kale…

A newly moved-in neighbour saw all this for the first time,

And asked the guy next door why folks would give a man their slime!

The man explained the offerings of the former braised or boiled,

One final thing he added, “To THE VICTOR goes the spoiled!”

(SNORT!)

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 will be my favourite things,

Hot Air Balloons will give us wings!

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!)...

Compost (May 29) Today!

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)

ThanksScheming

The day before Thanksgiving, Joey’s phone began to ring,

He wondered why his father would be calling his offspring,

They’d talked a day or two before, when Joey told him that,

He’d not be home for turkey. Work just had him right out flat!

“Hi, Dad,” he said. “Is something wrong? Problems on the course?”

His dad said, “Son, I’m sad, but we are getting a divorce.”

“Oh, say it isn’t so, Dad!” Joey moaned into the phone,

“It’s true, but I can’t talk of it. Go tell your sister, Joan!”

So Joey called his sister, then, to give her the bad news,

She called her dad, said, “Dad, we’re coming! This woe we’ll diffuse!”

Her dad hung up the phone and turned and hugged his smiling wife,

“It was a little complicated. Caused a bit of strife,

They’ll be here for Thanksgiving, should be flying in by ten,

Now getting them for Christmas…could we try all this again?”

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, we're eating yummy stuff,

Come early! There will be enough!

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!)...

Giving Thanks -or- Thanksgiving! (November 21) Today!

French Toast--or Breakfast (November 28)

Mittens (December 5)

Poinsettia -or- Potted Plants (December 12)

Muffins (December 19)

Candy Canes (December 26)

Treasure (January 2)

Stuffed animals (Januray 9)

Get lost (January 16)

Clocks (January 23)

Time (January 30)

Honoring the Women

 

First, there were great grandmothers, I love them, one and all!

Supported husbands, working hard, raised fam’lies large and small,

Bore the biases and duties of the women of their day,

Then packing all and sundry, left their countries far away.

 

My maternal grandmother left home and family, too,

To carve a legacy with a young man she hardly knew,

Together knew disasters, lost their work to treachery,

But managed, still, with grit, to carve a life they’d not foreseen!

 

My Grandmother paternal left her comforts far behind,

Moving north to Canada, she knew not what she’d find,

Took on the rancher’s life which oft proved perilous at best,

Nursing, caring, weaving, bearing—helped the world progress!

 

My mother had eight brothers, she grew up as ‘one more boy’,

Inside or out, housework or chores, wow, that girl was employed!

But she withdrew from scholarship, a pro career as well,

To be a Rancher’s wife—have kids—and ring a dinner bell.

 

My elder sister’s graceful, prone to fashions (more than me),

My younger and I have some laughs, both filled with fun esprit!

My sisters both are redheads, (who know where this blonde came from?)

But they both helped me be the woman I’d one day become.

 

My daughters (and in-laws) are grown and raising families,

All girls that I am proud to know and bring along with me,

Their daughters, too, all have my heart. Don’t know what e’er I did,

Before I knew them, everyone, and claimed them as grandkids!

Now in a small addendum here, I will, to you, explain,

That what was once pejorative, is something else again,

Cause ‘spunky’ is a word that means courageous; full of cheek,

And a ‘broad’ ‘s a girl who doesn’t take herself too seriously.

 

So, when I think about the women I have in my life,

Past or present, young and old, in days of sun or strife,

Daily, I am praying, thanking God for what He’s done,

Cause he gave me my ‘Spunky Broads’. I’m proud of every one!

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 Jenny, 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, if you come here, you'll see,
Our craziest vacation memory!

Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?
We'd love to welcome you!
Topics for the next few weeks...
Craziest Vacation Memory (February 8)
From Your Pet's Point of View (February 15)
Favourite Word that Starts With D (February 22)

Peanut Butter Day (March 1)

Teacher Mine

Miss Woronoski, for a start...
I'm the little monster second row, far right who refused to wear something 'nice'.

Through my life, there’s things I’ve learned,

And knowledge gained and kudos earned,

All of which just would not be,

But for the teachers sent to me.

There’s Miss Woronoski, for a start,

In Grade One, took me to her heart,

So kindly, she began to lead,

From her, I learned to love to read!

Then Mrs. Hainsworth in Grade Six,

Her massive class was quite the mix,

Convinced me not to scratch and bite,

Instead she taught me how to write!

Now Junior High was a surprise,

Ms. Wollersheim with gimlet eyes,

From the day that we arrived,

She’d do anything to help us thrive.

And Grade Nine brought me my first crush,

That Mr. Bauer turned me to mush!

We girls were stricken, every one.

And who knew Science could be fun?

So many more that got me through

To university. It’s true,

To Mrs. Fooks the very last,

Of ‘official’ teachers from my past.

Their names: McMillan, Herbst and Ford,

Some I feared and most adored,

And Mueller, Jeffers, Chipman, Read,

Taught me lots of stuff I’d need.

Hendrickson, the music fan,

And Bob, who parked like Iron Man!

And Laqua, Thomas, Seltzer, too,

From them I learned what I should do.

Each has a place there in my past,

And in my heart where mem’ries last,

I’m glad they could, my teachers, be,

T’was each of them who made me, ME!

Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,

With Poetry, we all besought

To try to make the week begin

With pleasant thoughts,

Perhaps a grin?

So, all of us, together, we

Have crafted poems for you to see.

And now you’ve read what we have wrought…

Did we help?

Or did we not?

Jenny
Charlotte
Mimi

Next week's poems might turn to rants,
Our topic will be wretched 'ANTS'!

Last Cigarette

My parents weren’t the smoking sort,

They told my sibs and me,

That in a world of healthy choice,

Not smoking was a key.

They two went on a buying trip,

And left me at my friend’s.

(And incidentally, this is where,

My smoking story ends.)

For just one week, they’d be away,

I found myself, aged ten,

The happy week-long dweller

With the best of my best friends.

For several days, all went as planned,

Just her and me and fun,

But then her cousin came, to whom

We small-town girls were dumb.

She took control. My friend and me,

We simply watched in awe.

We learned the gentle art of theft,

 And life outside the law.

My best friend’s cousin stole some change,

And bought a pack of smokes,

I weakly tried to protest,

Yep. Was thinking of my folks.

“Let’s go somewhere we won’t get caught,”

The Cousin said to us,

“We don’t want parents hanging round,

To make a silly fuss!”

She looked at me, “Your folks are gone!

And your house sits there bare.

I sighed. I wanted so to please.

Like a deer in headlights. Snared.

My parent’s townhouse, empty sat,

‘Twas summer—time to farm,

But I knew where the keys were hid

And what would be the harm?

So silent and obedient,

We trailed her to my place,

Crept inside the silent loo,

Put on our bravest face.

She showed us how to ‘light them up’,

 And how to make them glow,

I must admit, I thought ‘twas neat,

I felt mature and old.

Now, I knew that both my folks,

Weren’t due till sometime ‘hence’.

Turns out that phrase means just the same,

S’the one for ‘Present tense’.

My best friend’s sister, posted there,

On bright-eyed watch, was she,

Came running in, “You’re folks are here!”

Not one of us believed.

And then behind her came my mom,

We both were quite surprised.

And I put down my cigarette,

Then paused to be chastised.

“I’m disappointed, dear,” said she,

“I thought we taught you well,

Now you go out and join your dad,

While I dispense this smell.”

With lagging feet, I dragged myself,

To the car, where Daddy sat,

He took one look at my set face,

Was silenced, just like that.

Mom told my dad what I had done,

While they two were away,

And then he spoke. I’ll not forget

The words he used that day.

“I’m disappointed, Hon,” said he,

“I thought you, better, knew,

“We trusted you to live your life,

The way that we would do.”

And with each word, I knew for sure,

I’d smoked my last, because,

I discovered that I wished to be

All my daddy was.

And incidentally, it’s not nice,

When Daddy’s blue eyes turned to ice.

Mondays do get knocked a lot,

With poetry, we three besought,

To try to make the week begin,

With gentle thoughts--perhaps a grin?

So Jenny and Delores, we,

Now post our poems for you to see.

And when you’ve read what we have brought,

Did we help? Or did we not . . .

Next week, we'll share ('Tis just for you),

Our favourite thing to see. Or do!

Old Mules Rule

It was a cold November morn,

And Sid had come to town for corn,

But when he passed old Joseph’s farm,

He thought there might be some alarm.

A crowd of men were packed in tight,

So Sid went over, thought he might

See something curious there today,

A thrill to send him on his way.

So as he moved on through the crowd,

He voiced his question right out loud,

“Say what has happened, folks?” said he.

“What is it that you all can see?”

“A tragedy,” said his friend Gus.

“It’s really causing quite a fuss.”

He pointed. “See right there by the straw?

The old mule kicked Joe’s Ma-in-law!"

Sid craned his neck and, sure enough,

The woman lay there on her duff,

Not moving much that he could see,

As cold and still as she could be.

Gus shrugged and then he looked around,

“Joe found her lying on the ground!

 The old mule kicked her in the head,

We do believe the woman’s dead!”

Sid nodded, “Yep. Misfortune, true.”

He looked around, “But don’t be blue.

“It’s obvious she’d lots of friends

To come and mourn her in the end.”

Gus shook his head, “Yep, they were stirred,

And they came running when they heard.

But not for sympathy, the fools.

They simply want to buy the mule!”

Mondays do get knocked a lot,

With poetry, we three besought,

To try to make the week begin,

With gentle thoughts--perhaps a grin?

So Jenny and Delores, we,

Now post our poems for you to see.

And when you’ve read what we have brought,

Did we help? Or did we not . . .

Next week, we'll share, if you are good,

A lesson from our childhood!