My nails are seldom
A Beautiful sight
But in gardening season
They’re rather a fright
I start out in gloves
But that never works
Bare fingers prove better
To dig in the dirt
Mud-caked and chipped
And forget about polished
A week’s worth of planting
Means ten nails demolished
They get clean eventually
And grow out again
I brush on new polish
They’re okay, but then
Look! Over there
Some weeds are now growing
About that new manicure?
Guaranteed, I’ll be blowing
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Have made it to
My Vermont summer shack
First wildlife I see?
A bear that was black
He was frolicking (?) on
The road to the store
I walk there daily
There’ll be many more
Walks that is
But bears? Let us hope
He was lost and now’s found
Cuz’ with bears I can’t cope
Garter snakes and deer
The occasional toad
These I expect
On my little dirt road
But bears are too big
With huge teeth and four claws
If I see him again
It will give me great pause
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No real issues
No big deal
But what’s surprising
A tad unreal
The other driver’s
A friend of a friend
And before either car
Was put on the mend
At the same party
We found ourselves
On our small accident
We chose not to dwell
It’s a small world
As this tale does attest
So it’s always wise
To drive at your best
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Life would be
So much easier
Things would run
So much breezier
If Hubby would
Simply agree
If the man would
Suddenly see
That I’m the one
Who’s always right
Whatever the problem,
Purpose, or plight
Cindy, go figure,
Always knows best
No need to ponder,
Question, or guess
If only he would
Trust me on this
Oh happy day
And marital bliss!
Husbands, perhaps
Might argue this point
Get themselves riled
A bit out of joint
But wives everywhere
Will surely agree
And right now are saying
“Just listen to me!”
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This is nothing
But a lame excuse
But blame this week’s stupor
On my difficult muse
Whatever I tried
My muse did refuse
To offer anything that
Might remotely amuse
Here it is, Sunday night
And my poem is really bad
Considering my standards
This is truly sad!
Maybe these next few days
My muse will turn to glad
And what I end up writing
Will somehow turn out rad
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As a writer
I pay attention
To any word
You care to mention
Since this week
I had the flu
“Feverish” struck me
I pondered anew
Doesn’t that word
Mean impatient and irked
High-strung, annoyed,
And going berserk?
Well, that’s how I act
Most of the time
My personality is not
What you’d label sublime
But when fever strikes
I’m all mellow and calm
A little high temp’s
An emotional balm
Nothing bothers me
My worries subside
I move a bit slower
Let the little stuff slide
So the feverish me
I rather enjoy
The feverish approach
I’d like to employ
Even when
I’m not feeling sick
To be mellow and calm
Now that’s quite a trick!
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I’ve written about
This topic before
If you’re actually
Keeping a score
But my to-do list
Has not gone away
A fixture in my life
Alas, it’s here to stay
Day after day
I cross things off
But I guess I never
Work hard enoff
One chore gets done
And two more appear
Month after month
Year after year
Like the Greek Hydra
My to-do list won’t die
It keeps on growing
Despite how I try
Maybe I’ll just
Toss the thing away
And go outside
To enjoy this lovely day
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You can’t miss it!
Well, take a guess what
The phrase fills me with fear
And puts knots in my gut
If there’s a way to get lost
That’s all I will find
The landmark’s dissappeared
Drives me out of my mind
The GPS system
On my fancy smart-phone
Generally speaking
Can get me back home
But it does make mistakes
That’s what I think
And I find myself lost
Before my eyes blink
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A second book of poems
What were the odds?
But risking the wrath
Of the poetry gods
Here’s More Playing With Poetry
That is its name
Just in case you were worried
Yes, I’m insane
It’s less than a dollar
If you have money to waste.
So head over to Amazon
click here, make haste!
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I like my wool sweaters
Really I do
But by this time of year
You’d think I’d be through
Record cold temps
The weatherman tells me
So of my wool sweaters
I’m not yet set free
I have cotton blouses
And tee-shirts galore
Shucking the heavy stuff
That’s what spring’s for
Grey, beiges, and blacks
I’m so sick of these hues
I’m ready for paisley,
Pinks, and bright blues
Daffodils have blossomed
Robins have appeared
But I’m still wearing wool
Sorry, but that’s weird
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