I have spent eight hoursOn my porchTodaySo farAnd in that timeI have observedSo many carpenter beesWorking the redbudsChesterChasing the carpenter beesExcept he can’t flySo he falls off the porchTally twoRobinsRound with eggsDovesSingles and severals Crows flappingHawks glidingAnd I swear that tree has gotten greener While I sat hereMr. Jenkins tilling his garden spotYes it’s Sunday But I think he enjoys itMany vehiclesWith windows downAnd arms outI approveClouds gently sliding across the skyWest to EastSo many airplanesAnd LifestarI have had two wardrobe changesAnd now under my t-shirt quiltI wanted to spray weedsBut I’m secretly relievedThe weather has been too chillyI have only sneezed once Even though everything is yellowI have drank a lot of waterAnd wondered about putting sunscreenOn my handsAnd my foreheadI do not want a repeat Surgical procedure I did not read my book again I did not do laundryI just sat with the beesAnd thoughtA haiku would be easier ~From Winnie the Pooh, by A.A. Milne I eat my peas with honeyI’ve done it all my lifeIt makes the peas taste funnyBut it keeps them on the knife! Love from Appalachia, ~Amy…

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…