Tag: poetry
member name: Grandma Maggy
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November 11, 2006 10:20 PM EST --
I do not want to sweep the floor
nor wash the dishes any more
or mow the grass, or make the bed
my cooking skills have long been dead
I open a can when I want to eat
the dust keeps gathering round my . . .
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October 29, 2006 05:24 AM EST --
I saw this ad one day on my TV.
So I grabbed a pen and quickly wrote it down.
Something about it made me want to see
for myself what untold gems there may be found.
(Edited version of first four lines . . .
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November 14, 2006 12:44 PM EST --
Am I ashamed of growing old?
To ask this question I am told
should not be asked. To be so bold
to ask about my growing old
has all been studied and foretold
by ones who like to scoff . . .
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October 13, 2006 07:17 AM EDT --
This was written for my first granddaughter when she and a friend had a spend-the-night party at my house when they were only 13.
They laughed
and giggled
and stayed up very late.
Loud music
played games . . .
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October 16, 2006 03:09 AM EDT --
I have a river of leaves
coursing around my house.
The reds, the gold, and browns
have swirled around
till they look like marble icing on the ground.
Along the fence they snake and drift,
and break where . . .
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October 22, 2006 06:12 AM EDT --
I would appreciate any constructive criticism about this poem so that I could become a better writer. Also how do you feel about it?
If my mind were like a closet
and I could go inside
I might . . .
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November 24, 2006 01:20 AM EST --
I can still hear the ring of their laughter,
the echo is fresh and clear.
The rooms that are empty and silent,
were only yesterday filled with cheer.
It's sad when the holiday is over,
yet the memories . . .
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October 12, 2006 02:00 AM EDT --
Often I sit
under the night Autumn sky
and listen to the earth
tell Summer good-bye.
A sighing breeze
whispers through leaves
remaining on bleak boughs of branches,
nodding, yawning,
gently murmuring
their . . .
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October 10, 2006 01:58 PM EDT --
Who's that?
In the mirror I see
A stranger
Looking at me.
Dark circles
Under the eyes,
The sagging skin,
And oh! Those thighs!
Is this
A reflection so real?
It doesn't look
The way I feel.
Yesterday, . . .
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