Friday, April 18, 2014

Skin and Bones

Do you know me? 
I am not skin and bones.
My muscles, they’re strong.
My young skin glows.
Can’t you see me?
I’m not skin and bones
My cheeks are flushed.
Lot’s to do; in a rush.
Where are you taking me?
I’m not skin and bones.
I have plans.
My dreams are unfolding. 
I think I’ll get going.
Why is this chair locked?
I’m not skin and bones.
My daughter, she’s growing;
see her picture?
I better head home.
Who are you talking to
in childlike tones?
I’m not skin and bones.
I’m accomplished.
Well versed; I could teach you.
Are you listening?
I am not skin and bones.
My love is coming;
picking me up, He’ll
be here shortly.
Have you seen him?
I’m not skin and bones.
I don’t want your potions
or afghans and condescension.
Do you think I can’t hear you?
I am not skin and bones.


Surely, I’m not. 

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Silver Fox

This poem is very tongue in cheek! A silly poem to make my sweetheart laugh. 

There was an older man
Who thought his wife was weird
Because she was in love
With his prickly silver beard.

His face, to her, was handsome,
Encased in only air,
But, oh, so much more gorgeous,
When covered with gray hair.

He says, "I just look older."
He wants to stem the tide.
She says, "You're main objective
Is to excite your bride."

She tells him almost daily
That if every strand falls out,
She'll love him still, forever.
He has no cause for doubt.

But when he threatens shaving,
She feels a vengeful state
and warns him, should he prune it
She will retaliate.

She leaves for him to figure,
The punishment he's due.
Without much mental effort,
You may just guess it too.




Tuck Everlasting

This poem won't really mean much to anyone but Claire and I, written to remember our special time saying goodnight to each other when she was little.  It really was everlasting!  And such a joyful time for both of us.  Goodnight, my sweet, little-girl-ClaireAnna.  I will never forget you or our special times together. 

Kiss, kiss

Hug, hug
Squeeze
Good night, stinker butt.
Kiss, kiss
Tickle, tickle
Giggle
Jesus loves you
Smooch, smooch
Hug tight
Read your Bible
Love, Snuggle
Kiss, pinch!
Ouch!
Giggle, giggle
I will!
Hug, Hug
You’re my favorite
Love, Kiss
Kiss, squeeze
I know
Kiss, hug
Hug, Kiss
Say your prayers
Snuggle
Smooch, Love
Hug, smooch
I will
Kiss, Smooch
You’re my chocolate ice cream
Chuckle, giggle
Kiss, kiss
Smooch, Kiss
Goodnight, looney bin
Chuckle, hug
Cling, squeeze
Not yet
Kiss, Smooch
Tight hug
Okay, Gotta Go
Kiss, squeeze
Cuddle me!
Snuggle, snuggle
Kiss, kiss
Ganigitched
Nut burger
Hug, cuddle
Mommy loves you
Kiss, cuddle
You’re my peanut butter cup
Kiss, hug
Cuddle, cuddle
Love, love
Jesus loves you
Kiss, love
Love, hug
Hug, squeeze
You’re my roly poly bug
Silly giggle
Goodnight
Snuggle
Goodnight
I love you
Kiss, kiss
I love you
Goodnight
See you in the
Gamorganogonousen
I love you
Hug, hug
You’re smart
I love you too
I love you
You’re beautiful
I love you
Goodnight
Kiss, Kiss
Snuggle, hug
Don’t go
Good night
I love you
I love you too
Stinker butt
Goodnight
Goodnight




I love you

Table for One

This poem is "different", I know, but I really love it.  I absolutely LOVE eating out in a noisy restaurant, alone. So I wrote this poem about that experience. 

Booth or table?
How many?
They never infer
she won't be joined.
There are no expectations.
But some suppositions.
Lonely?
Deserving?
Intermittently, she's
reading, thumbing,
even listening.
Enveloped in the
clamor.  Soothed by din.
Counting the minutes of neutrality.
Rushless,
she falls into conjuring,
staring at the in between,
motionless far too long.
Demented? Affected?
There are no expectations.
But some are waiting,
others speculating, and
she doesn't care but
slowly relishes teeming
solitude.


Tuesday, April 15, 2014

A Different Path

By Lisa Marie Harmon

Cruising down the highway of your dreams
It really can’t get better than this.
Smooth roads ahead are all you can see.
Who do you thank for this ignorant bliss?

Then something comes at you from far below,
And jerks the wheel sharply to the left.
A more unexpected jolt you've never known.
A sharper turn would have meant your death.

Your eyes are filling up with your blood.
You’re dangling just above the savage cliff.
Fear runs through your bones just like a flood.
Against the fall, your very soul grows stiff.

Straining, you look up for a line,
Though you think you know it doesn’t exist.
Why waste your time hoping for a sign?
It makes more sense to shake an angry fist.

So in midair you find yourself trapped,
Between the wicked rocks and twisted steel.
Within the wreckage you have been strapped.
There’s no way out; no Let’s Make a Deal.

You fall into a deep but restless sleep,
And in your dreams you find you’re not alone.
Was someone sitting in the other seat?
Someone that you know you’ve always known.

You look into his eyes and see him wince.
His wounds must be far greater than your own.
You look into his loving eyes again.
And feel a desperate longing for your home.

As you wake, your body trembles cold.
You wonder if your dream was only shock.
But deep within you, peace has taken hold.
“Don’t be afraid.  I will be your Rock.”

It wasn’t belts and straps that held you firm,
And prevented you from being torn apart.
It was His steadfast everlasting arms,
Arms that bound His Spirit to your heart.

Today you’re headed down a different path.
In your gut you feel a dreadful grip.
No longer do you travel blind or fast.
This isn't going to be a blissful trip.

But now you know with every twist and turn,
As you anticipate a rugged ride,
A fire within your soul forever burns,
That travels strong and present by your side. 

Friday, April 11, 2014

Mother

There is a woman close to me.
I've known her all my days.
She makes me raise my eyebrows
With her "interesting" ways.

Sometimes she is quite normal.
Many people call her friend.
She gets along with everyone;
Tries hard not to offend.

Her favorite food is chocolate.
She likes the color blue.
She has a love for animals.
To Jesus, she is true.

A writer of fine poetry.
Her verses often rhyme.
She likes iambic rhythm
In a syncopated time.

Her emotions overcome her
In a tender circumstance
She cries at sappy movies,
Loves to watch a good romance.

But not everything about her
is as perfect as can be.
With all her little quirks
She can drive you up a tree.

Odd faces, silly nick names,
Funny songs she loves to sing.
She talks too loud and much;
She can be embarrassing
 
And often she’ll confound you.
She’s as loony as a toon.
Her reason comes and goes
with the phases of the moon..

Wait a minute I’m confused;
A conundrum I can see.
Is the reflection in that mirror
Of my mother or of me?

National Poetry Writing Month, day 11

Prompt: Mother

At The Beach

By Lisa Marie Harmon


It was in The City
On a halcyon, starlit night
Where he first saw her ink-black hair
Those piercing dark eyes
And the smile that killed him

It was in The Park
After the symphony, as they both were leaving
When she tripped on a stone
He caught her elbow, learned her name,
And slowly walked her home
 
It was at her mother’s
On a rainy Christmas Eve
When he first hoped it might be never ending
She smiled then too
Leaving him defenseless

It was at their favorite restaurant
With no armor
Where he finally braved the question
And as she said yes
He died and went to heaven

It was in their life together
Where he took the colors
That she gave him and learned his purpose
To make her smile that smile
To be with her forever

It was in the doctor’s office
Where he first felt that fear
The worst kind, that
Twists your guts and shakes your bones
And steals the smiles

It was in a mountain cabin
Where they cried together
He wrapped her tight in quilt and arms
As they watched the clouds
Roll through the hills

It was at the beach
As the sun was brightly shining
Where he knew a new despair
Asked a thousand whys
And stood alone for a long time


National Poetry Writing Month, day 11
Prompt: At the beach


Thursday, April 10, 2014

Say Love

By Lisa Marie Harmon


A lonely girl who never quite belonged
An injured sparrow long without a home
A woman longing for a lover’s song
Or maybe she'd be better off alone

She was afraid she'd never trust in love
Her simple faith had fallen like a stone
The fraud she’d known had trapped her like a glove
Her heart was broken, bloody to the bone

Then on an unexpected sun scorched day
A man from nowhere entered from the left
And boldly stepped up on her fractured stage
His deepest love for her he would profess

He didn't ever know quite what to say
He never understood her wrenching pain
Her tears confused him, left him out of play
Still he bound himself to her just like a chain

His gentle ways were like a flowing stream
That slowly washed away her secret rage
His hazel eyes to her seemed like a dream
A light by which she turned the tattered page

Say, Love, am I really safe with you?
Or are you like a house built on the sand?
Reflected in those eyes she saw the truth.
And timidly she bravely took his hand.


National Poetry Writing Month, day 10
Prompt: Say love

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

A Good Decision

by Lisa Marie Harmon

What should I do? What should I do?
The choices equal fifty-two.

Wash the cups? The dirty plates?
Check for new insurance rates?

Clean the bathroom? Sort the socks?
Pack up the donation box?

I've got to plan my co-op class.
Place an online order fast!

We’re out of milk and Claire needs shoes.
A shopping trip is overdue.

The office is an official mess.
An appalling mess I should address.

My house is full of chores, no doubt.
The barn? Don’t even talk about.

There are so many pressing needs.
In me, a mound of stress, they breed.

So now’s the time I will decide.
My horse, I think that I will ride! 


National Poetry Writing Month, Day 9
Prompt: Accept the fluster

There's Nothing in My Sippy Cup!

By Lisa Marie Harmon

There’s nothing in my sippy cup!
Mama, won't you fill it up?
I don’t want water, milk or tea.
Please pour some apple juice for me!

There’s nothing on my kiddie plate!
With my dinner don’t be late.
I don’t want carrots, corn or peas.
Spoon me up some mac and cheese!

There's nothing in my puppy's bowl.
Can I give him half my roll?
Mama, help me just in case,
Puppy tries to lick my face! 

There’s nothing in my big toy box!
Nothing but some dumb old rocks.
Mama, please come through that door
And pick my toys up off the floor.

There’s nothing fun to do inside.
Will you take me for a ride?
Hurry! Get my stroller out.
The park is what it’s all about!

There’s no one in that toddler swing.
Mama, put me in that thing!
Push me high until I shout,
“I'm scared! Mama, take me out!” 

There's sure a lot of mud and dirt
On my body and my shirt.
Mama, please fill up the tub.
Get the soap and help me scrub! 

There’s no one in my rocking chair,
Except my big brown teddy bear.
He can’t give me what I need.
Mama please come rock with me.

There’s no one in my toddler bed.
Only I, there, lay my head.
I really like my mama’s lap.
But now I need to take a nap. 

There’s nothing more for mom to do.
It's time for her to lie down too.
But first she folds her hands to pray.
Lord, thank you for this perfect day.


National Poetry Writing Month, Day 8
Prompt: In my cup

Monday, April 7, 2014

Where I'd Rather Be

By Lisa Marie Harmon

The question's often posed
By those with a travel vocation.
Will you please disclose
Your consummate destination?

Where would you like to go
To get away from stress?
What should be the text
Of your new short term address?

I’d like to see the redwoods,
Fly to Bonaire and SCUBA dive,
Watch whales in the Pacific,
Ride horses on a cattle drive.

I’m not much for big cities,
But fancy ancient history.
Old Jerusalem where Jesus walked
Is a place I’d like to see.

A visit home to see old friends
Would bring to me delight.
On a mountain cabin campout
I would go without a fight.

But if you put me up to it,
Forced me to choose today.
Where would I rather be tonight
If I’d be leaving right away?

I'll give no hesitation.
Won’t name a beach or town.
I’ll turn down a long vacation,
And simply turn around

There’s someone waiting down the hall
Whose arms are warm and strong.
Beside him’s the best spot of all.
It’s right where I belong. 


National Poetry Writing Month, Day 7
Prompt: Where I'd rather be

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Melted

By Lisa Marie Harmon

Sobbing, he ran,
little bare feet
imprinting a trail
from castle to mom.
The perfect tower,
feather flags and
pebble windows,
a moat with flip-flop bridge,
his summer day fun,
melted in a moment
by one big wave.


National Poetry Writing Month, day 6
Prompt: Something Broken

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Not Mine

By Lisa Marie Harmon

I've received a gift from God, divine
A life of measured minutes,
An ordained part in His design,
A race for me to finish.

This gift, I know, I must return
And consider it not mine,
If, from the Spirit, I’m to learn
As a graft upon the vine.

Learn what it means to turn a cheek,
To be the light and salt,
To feel His strength when I am weak,
To love and not find fault.

I want to show my neighbors
Where to quench their thirst.
I want to die, like He did,
To be the last, yet first.

I could fill my life with pleasures,
Seek just my own advance,
But I’d miss the perfect treasures
Of our mystical romance.

I only have so many days
And so very much to learn.
I’ll put aside my selfish ways
And for His wisdom, yearn.

For when my days are done
And I stand before my King,
I pray, in me, he sees the Son,
And joy, to Him, I bring.



National Poetry Writing Month entry Day 5.
Prompt: Not Mine

Friday, April 4, 2014

Good Together

By Lisa Marie Harmon

Tubes and wires
Nurses, needles
It was a shock
To see him
So pale, so weak
We could barely breathe
Wondering
We never stopped
Praying
He seemed so helpless
And he would have been
But he wasn't
Because she was there
At the foot of his bed
And the other two
Each holding his hand
The boy was there
Making us laugh
And the six of us
In that tiny room
Were strong
Strong enough
To steel him up
And lead him out
And now
He’s good
Because we were good
Together




National Poetry Writing Month entry, day 4.
Prompt: Good Together



Thursday, April 3, 2014

What Hurts

By Lisa Marie Harmon

It doesn't hurt when she steps on my booted foot
And won’t step off for at least 4 Mississippi.
Not at all….
She’s not that heavy.

It’s no big deal when she pulls the line through my lazily ungloved hand.
Is that a rope burn?
Nope.
Just a scrape.  It’s nothing.

What? No. My back is fine.  This saddle only weighs 40 pounds.
I lift with my legs,
And swing it over.
No problem.  I got it.

But sometimes, as the cold fingers of reality poke my aging body,  
I realize there may (soon?) come a day
That has no boots.
No ropes.  No saddles.


That’s what hurts. 



National Poetry Writing Month entry, day 3.
Prompt: What Hurts

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Ground Beef Cabbage Soup

Eight individual servings of Ground Beef Cabbage Soup ready for the freezer. 


1 pound lean ground beef
1 large onion, chopped
1 large clove garlic, minced
4 cups beef stock, preferably homemade bone broth
1 can tomato sauce
1 can tomatoes, petit diced
2 large carrots, thinly sliced
4 large radishes, thinly sliced
2 ribs celery, thinly sliced
1/2 medium cabbage, chopped
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon marjoram
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon salt
2 bay leaves
1 dash ground cloves, optional
4 dashes Tabasco sauce, optional

1. Brown the beef, onions and garlic in a large stock pot.  Drain if desired.

2. Add all the remaining ingredients and simmer till the cabbage, carrots and radishes are tender, about 25 -       30 minutes.

Servings: 4

Notes:

I use any combination of beef stock and tomato products, sometimes sauce, sometimes paste and water, sometimes just petit diced, etc.  Just so long as there's broth and tomato, it's good.

You could certainly add whole grain rice, quinoa, buckwheat or barley to this for a carbohydrate source.



Revenge

By Lisa Marie Harmon

In my hand
The rubber-band
That Brother shot
At me

What he doesn't know
Is that I hold
In my other hand
Twenty-three!



National Poetry Writing Month entry, day 2.
Prompt: In My Hand

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

A Purple Heart

By Lisa Marie Harmon

She wore a favorite purple shirt
The day she learned the truth
It didn’t stop the stabbing hurt
Or take her back to innocent youth

She ran through purple flowers
Tried so hard to get away
She ran, it seemed, for hours
But truth was there to stay

She glared up at the purple sky
As her dreaded day drew closed
The many tears she shed, now dry
Her mind and body, now composed

She walked back through purple flowers
Steadily mustering as she went
The total sum of all her powers
Control of every sentiment

She opened wide the purple door
Choosing to be strong and brave
Deny the truth, she would, no more
And thus, no more, a slave



National Poetry Writing Month entry, day 1.
Prompt: Something Purple