House Work

My dishes are not done, 

there's laundry in the loo,

the carpets full of crumbs,

and there's dusting here to do.

Some say a house is loved

when all these things are done,

 I say a house is not a home,

if the rooms aren't cluttered up.

Of course some say it's laziness,

just excuses for idle hands,

who are they to condemn

they're not holding the dustpan! 

Ive better things to do today 

than wonder at the mess,

it's not like I've company,

who cares if I'm not dressed!

Another time I may have cared,

but that's all past me now, and

I've grown quite accustomed

to the writing on the wall.

A house is not a home 

if there never is a mess,

and only gets all gussied up, 

when you become her guest.

So I'll just sit and think about

the beds not being made,

and if you happen by today,

well that would be a shame.

There's never a need to rush about,

or worry bout the lack of help,

and in the rug- there lies the lump!

It's where I put the maid.

Field Of Daisies

I dreamt I met everyone I ever knew

in a large field where daisies grew.

And some of you were visions blue,

and others more a vibrant hue.

You brought your stories,

and read your poems,

some were sad, and some were bold.

But here is where the dream took hold;

Moonbeams, and butterflies, and teardrops of dew,

sunshine, and rainbows, and star gazers too.

Night time darkness, rattled, on skeleton places,

souls on fire, and pagan faces.

All sharing your secrets, expressing your views,

in a field full of daisies, all sung to my muse.

The Mistress

She, the new love of your life,
like a picture framed in glass, sits upon your lap, under the lamplight of rose colored glass. You stroke her with your fingertips, oblivious to my watchful gaze. You think I'm unaware of the love taps, or you just don't seem to care. You don't hear me calling your name anymore, as you smile at the glass, and continue your love taps..Tap Tap Tap.

Willow

Willow, My first poem was a remembrance poem for Jackie.


Pendulous and flowing, graceful I am

stirring in the breezes.

Laughter lingers in my elegant limbs,

and mingles with the rustling of my leaves.

You once played under my arching boughs,

sharing your secrets,

dreaming of child hood plans.

And I hid all of them for you while cradled in my branches.

For a long time I sang your songs,

sent them along the gentle breezes.

Waiting for your return I gracefully bent my boughs,

and wintered the storms for our summer greetings.

You returned one year no longer a child,

and sat under these limbs now heavy and laden,

and I cradled you once again.

You whispered this time and I wept.

The songs have all faded now,

my leaves are all gone, the winds have taken my limbs.

No longer to cradle the child I played with,

I have surely become the weeping old willow,

no longer graceful my friend.

  

My First Ever Blog

I have No Idea What I am doing..This is my first attempt at creating a blog. If anyone happens to see this - Suggestions and Tips would be most welcoming!

It won't be long now. In The meantime wont you sign in and join my blog. It would mean the world to me to see those who support my work..

PS, while your waiting- Check out the blogs I follow.

Sincerely
Jackie <3