After four books
You’d think I would know
How to write fast
And not super-slow
The premise is there
At the edge of my brain
But writing it down
Can drive me insane
A sentence a day
Sometimes that’s it!
The words just don’t fly
It causes me fits
A perfectionist I am,
A stickler for detail
I try for expedience
But often I fail
So if you expect
My new book next week
I confess to you here
Your prospects are bleak
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Hubby is quiet
Most of the time
Except when I
Am trying to rhyme
I compose a poem
Once every week
I aim for jolly
And never bleak
Hubby knows
My Sunday plan
In fact, of my poems
He’s rather a fan
I pick up my pen
To begin the ditty
Aiming for clever
Charming and witty
Hubby gets chatty
The moment I start
I have to tell him
I’m not that smart
I can’t converse
And rhyme together
Talk to me later
About the weather
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Twenty-four-seven
You’d think it enough
To finish what’s on
My to-do list stuff
Crossing off tasks
That is my goal
But while I’m asleep
A mischievous troll
Adds many more chores
To the list I have tackled
Making me feel
More or less shackled
Efficient, productive
I really do try
But this endless chores list
Makes a grown woman cry
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Jeans this style
I like and enjoy
But don’t know a way
I should employ
To keep hip huggers
On my hips
Because my jeans
Do tend to slip
A belt is useless
The way I’m built
The angle’s wrong
My hips, they tilt
Suspenders might
Do the trick
But not a look
I’m apt to pick
A good strong yank
I hoist and tug
Hubby shakes his head
I shrug
But fallen down
They haven’t yet
So more hip huggers
I plan to get
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I went to the shoe store
For gold pointy-toed
But something far different
Was to me sold
For a wedding next month
I wanted something formal
And instead ended up
With practical and normal
Gold pointy-toed
Seems not the current style
But in what I did buy
I’ll walk mile after mile
My old walking shoes
Have seen lots of wear
And so I was ready
To get a new pair
But shoes for this wedding?
My quest must continue
And here concludes the poem
Of my latest shopping issue
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Driving in the driving rain
Was a huge and big fat pain
Especially annoying
I didn’t know where I was going
And of course is was dark
I would have rather stopped and park
But I was expected at this event
An invitation I was sent
And indeed I wanted to go
Oh well, at least it didn’t snow
I made it there in one piece
But the rain never did cease
I got back in my car stalwart
And prepared in the storm to depart
Oh great, we now had fog
But I got a topic for this week’s blog
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Hosting a party
And they all must be fed
Hubby and I will
Put on a mean spread
Appetizers, desserts
Champagne, beer, and wine
Serve them enough
And all will be fine
Pickled mixed veggies
Is one of our faves
And my guacamole
Always gets raves
I’ll make the biscuits
Hubby cooks ham
Give ‘em something Southern
It’s all in our plan
Water chestnuts in bacon
For something served warm
Forgetting the cheese platter
Would not be good form
Folks with a sweet tooth
Will not be forsaken
Three kinds of cookies
Are all in the makin’
And peanut butter truffles
To add something new
We hope everyone’s happy
When our party is through
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This week I have
Something to shout
My fourth novel Four Play
Is published and out
It took a whole year
And at times I did pout
But now I can smile
Since Four Play is here
Want to know more?
Well, please do not fear
In the fourth Cue Ball Mystery
These issues appear
There’s a murder of course
And Jimmy Beak plays a part
Jessie’d like to get rid of him
It would be a good start
And how does she do that?
Don’t worry, she’s smart
Bad plumbing also
Is a recurring theme
This may sound boring
But it’s not what it seems
It involves sci fi monsters
Who make people scream!
But now I have told you
As much as I plan
So go buy the book, silly
It’s at Amazan
You’ll like it a lot
Please tell all your clan
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When it comes to Sundays
They have a way
Of going where they will
No matter what I say
I always make plans
To get a lot done
But what else comes up?
Most everything under the sun
My to-do list lingers
With nothing crossed off
It’s as if Sunday knows
At my lists it should scoff
I plan to go shopping
But a call from a friend
Sets me back hours
The thing never ends
Once I get to the store
My needs they don’t stock
Sunday showed them my list
Clerk says check down the block
But the shop down the street
Today closes early
I go home empty-handed
My mood turning surly
Okay, I’ll try laundry
But lo, I’m out of soap
Maybe I’ll go back to bed
Cuz’ I’m finding it hard to cope
Sunday night is now here
I give up and drink wine
Next Sunday will go better
And everything will be fine
But deep down and honestly
I already know
Next Sunday’s to-do list
To the winds I should throw
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Nantucket’s the topic of many a poem
But alas, it’s a place I never have roamed
I hear it’s an isle in the grand state of Mass
Some write rhymes about it ever so crass
My little efforts are far more G-rated
I allude to some stuff but it’s all understated
And lest I’m accused of being a prude
I’d rather be boring than risk being crude
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