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Category: Say You Wanna Resolution
To write a poem in five minutesIs a skill I do not possess Just like simple mathOr complicated mathOr any mathBut fortunately math skillsAre not on display Like grammatical onesAnd so I will tell youOf my evening At the roping penThe first one this yearAnd it was not too hot And it was not too coldUntil it wasAnd I had to teeteeOf the twenty ridersThere were two in blue sweatshirtsOne horse who flipped completely backwardsRiderless, thank GodA dozen lazy No countCounterfeit SteersAnd I smiled About a horse deal that could not be madeBecause the horse in questionWas bought for $300Made $3000And he was offered $1000Then $1500 in the next breathThere was hesitationBut he liked his little horseI wondered what the sorrel mare thoughtAbout being talked about Right thereHer future in their handsShe blinked Her intelligent eyeAnd didn’t move muchI wondered if her mouth hurtOr if her saddle pad felt okay And if she likes doing what she doesOr if she’d rather be a trail horseBut mares don’t talkAnd the deal wasn’t struckAnd I think everybody was relievedUntil the horse who was upside downTried his trick againAnd I remembered a black filly I once hadNamed OctaviaWho broke everything Including my foot So third go lasted six secondsAnd Waffle House was my futureDiced and coveredAnd the perfect waffleFrom a genuine Waffle House waitress Sparkling personality But less than ideal teethAnd her storyWhich you never know But you have to listenWhile you eat your waffleAnd wonder what life decisions…
Another day of Redbud WinterOr is it Locust??Will we get three of thoseSince we’re getting three hatches?Or is this just SpringAnd we need to take every dayAs it comesI think soAs I ladle more soup into my bowlMore insulation I tell myselfAnd add cheeseSo jitteryFrom too much coffeeAnd suppressed aggravationDowngraded from the rage of yesterday Looking forward to tomorrow And coffeeAnd finishing booksAnd conversations about birdsOr what have youIt is just wordsI tell myselfAs I read the story aloudFor the first timeTo the one it’s aboutEven if he insists it isn’t And I tear upAnd my throat closesIt is just wordsKeep readingDon’t you dare cryJust wordsWhy am I such a tender heart I need to stay toughNot a wimpy little girlWay too late for feelingsAdjust the armorDraw the swordAnd march forwardI hope that someday A poem reaches your heartAnd caresses your soulAnd makes you yearn For something you had long forgotLike when you stumble across a retro toyIn an antique storeOr your grandmother’s perfumeOn a scarf in a drawerIn my libraryIt doesn’t matter what winter it isIt doesn’t matterWhat time it isBut it does matterBecause I cannot keep my eyes openAnd these are just wordsSometimes It Be That Way~JewelNight with its shattered teethAttempts to speakMy pen is present butCourage left via the sinkAnd I’m sorryI snuck up on youFrom behindI’m sorry not allMy love letters did rhymeAnd I’m sorry thatJesus died for my sinsAnd I swear to…
When I have found myself Inordinately angryOver a little situation In an otherwise unblemished dayI also find that a Reese’s cupOr a cuddle with my dogOr a glass of wineOr losing myself in a bookIs a successful methodOf moving past itBut when I have caught a liar-No matter how small-And plan confrontationNothing settles me Until I have brought matchesAnd kindling And keroseneAnd dynamite And lit the fuseAnd watched you burnHopefully it comes withA volcanic explosion Because I find thoseVery satisfactory But I will appease myself with blistersDo not crossAn Irish temperWith an overly caffeinated GeminiWho has already had itWith dinging phonesAnd snot sniffersAnd pure lazinessAnd renters who don’t know their addressOr how to parkOr to wear pantsWhen it’s fifty degreesAnd the wind’s whippingAnd there’s snow on the mountainDo not mistake my friendliness For kindnessOr familiarity For friendship Do not thinkBecause I listenI careAnd if you lieSay goodbyeTo anything moreThan detached professionalism Because it is blatant disrespect That made you tell meAn untruthAnd you thinkThat I am stupid As you areNo lie is insignificant Because if you’ll tell a tiny oneFor no good reasonThen you’ll lie About important thingsAnd if you’ll lieYou’ll stealAnd now I know Everything I already did Love and zero tolerance from Appalachia, ~Amy P.s. there really truly is snow on the mountain!! I TOLD you it was cold yesterday! P.ps. I forgot to include a poem from a real poet. So here ya go…
Yesterday was tank tops and sunroofsToday was wind and rainShould have enjoyed it more because Tomorrow is more of the sameI shouldn’t try to rhymeIt’s too hard to keep upMomentumUmmUmmmmmCould write about the skies of blueBirds diving after fliesCould tell you how to sit and watchFor a wood duck to flap byGood days in bootsSpent caring for the landAre here and gone before you knowPassed through like grains of sand I want to lingerLoiterFrolic and lollI want to sprawl upon the groundI want to see the ridge where bobcats stalkA gurgling creek the only soundWhere do you find your relief? Where can you lose yourself for hours?Shadow clouds on windswept grassDotted with wildflowersTurkeys strut While on their morning strollNothing permeatesThe realm of peaceSettled deep within your soulAnd time is so shortWhen you do what you love Praise be and thank GodIn the heavens aboveFor the blessings aboundWhen you’re aroundYou sat here for some minutesAnd solitude foundAt last, a kindred spirit I will probably work on this one for awhile. I’m not happy with it and I’m tired of it. But right now I want to take a shower and go to bed. Here’s the link to one version of Home on the Range. It’s in a book of poetry I have, but no author is credited. I went down the rabbit hole in about .03 of a second with this and this is the one I chose. Mainly because I’m LAZY…
April is National Poetry Month, a time when booksellers, libraries, poets, publishers, and schools are encouraged to promote the importance of poetry and its significance to society and culture. So I suppose I should share a recognized poem of importance along with my garb. So I’ll do that. Poetry is tricky business It need not rhyme Or have flowery proseBut you can’t write about Things like Ruining a good shirtCarrying black mulchOr how Dairy Queen Cost $18.64For four chicken stripsFriesA cokeAnd a small Reese’s blizzardI have to say Things likeI watched the carpenter bees work the redbud treeThis afternoon From my porchOr I spoke honestly to a friendAnd maybe damaged feelings When it wasn’t my intentBut to bring understanding And how pushing me into a cornerIs never an ideal spot for meBut the beauty was inThe grace that my words were receivedAnd so April has burst forthAt eighty degreesWith blowing yellow pollenAnd tiny yellow flowersAnd it was my yellow shirt I soiledCarrying black mulchAnd no blog post is completeWithout mention of my dogWho is laying at my feetSmelly and greasy from flea treatmentBut better that than itchy With fleas{that one was mine, in case you couldn’t tell} I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees…
The last day of March. Wow, it flew. I’ll just go ahead and say those dreaded words, “it’ll be Christmas before we know it.” I sat on my front porch the majority of the day watching Chester pursue carpenter bees. He killed three that I witnessed. Now he’s laying at my feet, wore out or possibly slightly poisoned. I know he’s been hard at it all day. Me, on the other hand…not so much. I did wage war on the vines in my flowerbeds but every time I started to sweat I quit. Seemed especially wrong to do any kind of work on Easter Sunday. I still need to spray. That might be tomorrow’s afternoon activity. And of course there are still plenty of vines left to pull. They’re kinda like gray hairs, pull one and three come to its funeral. I did enjoy my porch time. I watched the neighborhood hawk be chased by the local crows. I observed some buzzards flap around. They weren’t circling, it seemed they had another purpose. I sat there and thought about how much more peaceful my road used to be, and how much I missed the hayfield. Instead of ten acres of hay and ten acres of pasture, now it’s thirty homes. And thirty homes come with about a hundred people. And a hundred people come with about 75 cars. And so it’s a constant commotion of movement, and car radios blaring…
I forgot how old I was today. I couldn’t decide if I was 43 or 44. That’s how it starts, isn’t it? This blog is work. It’s a job, and one I don’t enjoy when I’m struggling with subject matter or when I’ve left it for very last thing and I’m so sleepy and just want to go to bed. Or when my phone keeps dinging with texts and I feel obligated to answer, because y’all don’t know when I’m writing and when I’m just sitting around. And besides, it ain’t like I’m in the middle of some big scientific breakthrough or other Very Important Task. Today I went furniture shopping. We started at Big Lots, because it was on the way and you never know. The salesman there was very friendly and helpful. Then our journey took us to Knoxville Wholesale out Clinton Highway, where we met a nice lady by the name of Shannon, who carried a tape measure and wore dress pants with tennis shoes. I get it, lots of running around, but the men were still in dress shoes and slacks. Maybe she had a medical condition. Somehow we managed to evade all the traffic and made it over to Rooms to Go, where we encountered a guy named Wayne. It wasn’t Wayne’s first day, but I don’t think he’d been there long enough to have a birthday…
Good Friday, yes. I did not have to go to work at Co-op. Good Friday is Co-op’s Black Friday, and I saw proof that it was several other retailer’s, as well. I had some ambitious goals for today. They were as follows: Would you like to know how many of those were accomplished? Two. The answer is two. Well, technically, I did take the trash off, but I brought it back, so I’m not sure that counts. Here’s what happened. I lollygagged around here all morning, drinking coffee, watching birds, finishing my book and doing my New York Times puzzles and helicoptering over Chester, who was acting off. By the time I realized I was starving and sustaining life on a banana, it was nearly noon and I still hadn’t showered. Of course I will do yard work without being squeaky clean, but I didn’t want to go gallivanting around my hometown and run into every person I’ve ever known in my whole life home for Easter. So anyway, I get ready, load Chester up (I figured it’d either make him carsick and therefore purge whatever had him feeling less than perfect or perk him right up.), and headed down to Loveday’s. If traffic was this horrific on this end of Sevier County, I do not even want to speculate on what it looked like in Pigeon Forge. I whip into the last spot at the market and I…
Ok, this one truly is #88. I somehow managed to skip #87 and someone who pays attention to details caught it. I do not pay attention to details. I barely pay attention to the main attraction. Especially if there’s food. Or dogs. I am really truly looking forward to the long weekend. In a very selfish kind of way….which is obviously the wrong mentality, especially seeing as how it’s Easter. But still. I can’t help it. I just love being home. Even though I’m prollllllly gonna get out; I need to visit a garden center for mulch and some flowers. And if I go to Loveday’s I can get one (ONE!) of them little hand pies. Oh my stars they’re so decadent. The lemon is my favorite. I want to try the chocolate, though. And blackberry is really good too. And of course the peach is always gonna be a hit with me. Great balls of fire, I wonder what time they open? I just ate a half of a sleeve of thin mints like they were going out of style, and now here I am thinking about Dutch girl pie. Anyway. I came home and knocked out the key players of housework which leaves my weekend fairly free. But I do want to go ahead and spray and work on my flowerbeds since I neglected them last year. Hey, not my fault. I was dealing with that massive tree that had fallen…
Well I will say it was a very beautiful day indeed, and the only thing that put a pall over it was my own brain making up scenarios. The brain is a powerful weapon, and honestly, not always a friend. We would do well to tell it to hush a lot of the time. Lemme see if I can find that poem. Standby. my brain andheart divorced a decade ago over who wasto blame abouthow big of a messI have become eventually,they couldn’t bein the same roomwith each other now my head and heartshare custody of me I stay with my brainduring the week and my heartgets me on weekends they never speak to one another- instead, they give me the same note to passto each other every week and their notes theysend to one another alwayssays the same thing: “This is all your fault” on Sundaysmy heart complainsabout how myhead has let me downin the past and on Wednesdaymy head lists allof the times myheart has screwedthings up for mein the future they blame eachother for thestate of my life there’s been a lotof yelling – and crying so, lately I’ve been spending a lot oftime with my gut who serves as myunofficial therapist most nights, I sneak out of thewindow in my ribcage and slide down my spineand collapse on mygut’s plush leather chairthat’s always open for me ~ and I just sit sit sit situntil the…
