Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Really I blogged yesterday....

I just lost it when I posted it. I am doing yet another cheater blog because I am cooking supper for my kids and we have severe weather on the way.
This time it is a collection of poetry. It is sappy, sentimental , emotional and probably bad.

By Tina Leas

I remember them,
Small and smooth,
Held both completely,
In my one hand.

One little hand,
Wrapped around my finger,
One little hand,
Patting my face

Before I knew what happened,
They were larger,
Now only one,
Held in my hand.

Those small hands,
Tugging on my grandfather’s hands,
Gnarled, scarred and rough,
To the swings at the park.

Sunday, from the back of the church,
I saw them,
Large, rough hands,
Held high in praise.

Suddenly I knew them,
No longer small,
No longer smooth,
No longer held.

By Tina Leas

I watch the leaves
As they form,
Starting tiny and green.

Slowly they grow,
Their colors
Become brilliant.

Seeing the leaves change I reach
Trying to catch them
As they fly away

They loosen themselves
From their woodland home
But I am not ready to let them go


Seeing the leaves I reach
Trying to catch them
As they fly away

They loosen themselves
From their woodland home
But I am not ready to let them go

By Tina Leas

I draw my pictures with words.
See them dance across the page.
A splash of color here,
A bit of shadowing there,
Bold highlights,
Subtle lowlights.

Can you see the reality?
Or is it all just blobs of color
having meaning
To me alone.

By Tina Leas

Happy, cheerful words
Spilling forth, never stopping
Not for breath
Or anyone else to speak.

Rushing on in loud
High pitched tones.
We know it can’t all be true, but
 Oh, you want us to believe!

You are the happiest girl in the world,
He is the most wonderful guy,
His family is great,
The fun never ends.

You sleep too much.
You spent too much.
You weigh too much.

By Tina Leas
     Fine delicate threads,
stronger than steel,
coil in a widening circle,
skipping from one straight line to the next.
The circle appears to have nothing
to do with the lines.
Without the lines the circle would fall,
without the circle the lines would fall.
Together they hold life
Even when death comes in to tear them apart.

Mother of the Year

Looking for mother of the year?
Stop looking,
You won’t find her here.
I’m not in the PTA,
I don’t volunteer.
It’s not that I don’t love my kids.
I’m just trying to keep them fed.
I always wanted to be the mom,
Baking cookies, cleaning house.
But being just a mom doesn’t pay
Enough to cover the rent.
My friends said education
Was the way out of this hole,
But it keeps getting deeper.
I can’t even see the sun.
They say it will be worth it.
But I can’t help feeling
I’m trying to make a silk purse,
And I have never been good at sewing.

Ky’s Poem

I am
Hidden under weeds.

But someone thinks
I am a treasure.
His eyes feast upon me.
He loves old broken things.
He loves me.
Even hidden under weeds.

A poem for Sam

I am proud of the man you are becoming
Even as I mourn the little boy you were.
In my mind I still see you clinging to my legs
As I look up to see your face.

Remember dancing in our seats while
Jimmy Buffet blared on the stereo?
I still dance in my seat but you play it cool.
I see the smile at the corner of your mouth.

The little boy is still around,
I see him now and then.
At night he sleeps in your bed,
Long, dark lashes on his cheeks.

I saw him at the hospital,
After your surgery,
After everyone had left.

He needed his mom
Next to his bed
So he could sleep.

My mind is like my house

My mind is like my house,
Dirty, cluttered, crowded,
So full of unimportant things
That the important things are lost.
When they are finally found
They are crumpled, dusty, worn,
Almost unrecognizable.
Sometimes I think it would be better
If it would all blow up.
But then I would lose the
Important things too.

The Girls

My oldest and youngest daughters,
On a warm sunny April day,
Run down the boat ramp together,
Holding hands, towards
The water rippling in the breeze.
The oldest 18,
Her “Dark Fairy” outfit,
Black flowing skirt,
Black t-shirt and flip flops.
Willowy and graceful,
long dark straight hair.
The youngest 12,
Everything her sister is not,
Standard tomboy attire, faded jeans,
Bright t-shirt, tennis shoes.
Blonde curly hair and curvy figure
Belie her chosen style.
This is my favorite picture
Of the girls.
It was taken before
The oldest decided
She had no life with us.
Before she left a note on the table,
On her brother’s birthday.
The morning after she left
I looked at the picture again.
Then I noticed
She was already pulling away.
The youngest seemed to be holding
The oldest back.

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