The following poems are offered free for your enjoyment. Click the Download Now link to get the printable version. Each title below displays a short snippet of the story and the link to the downloadable PDF.
A woman fell into a hole; a deep, dark slimy hole. She struggled, but could not climb out. Desperate in this ugly pit of despair, she called out help. A passer-by heard her cries. He said, “Don’t worry, I’ll find someone to help.” No one ever came.
I managed to put about two-thirds of my routine, albeit a slow jog, behind me. Endorphins were ready to break loose. My anticipated ‘runners’ high would be just a few steps ahead. And there it sat; an uglier-than-God-ever-intended, mid-sized alligator snapping turtle. It stared at its very own end of life at the corner of Shadow Forest and Lake Woodlands Drive. I broke my sweaty momentum, forfeited the anticipated ‘high’ and stopped.
“Finally, nighttime. I love this part of the day,” said the letter opener. “In the dark, we don’t have to be embarrassed.”
“You got that right, Opener,” said the phone hanging on the wall. “My purpose has been reduced to obnoxious people selling useless crap. The lady of the house yells into my lower end, then slams my upper end into my hanger part. If I wasn’t plastic, I’d be one big bruise.”
Our Collective Soul
I believe the soul is the spiritual link between Mother Earth and every mother’s child. It’s a thought connection that transcends physical bonds—the lingering memory that keeps me grounded.
Mom passed away at forty-nine years, two months, and fifteen days. I foolishly believed her voice fell silent. I was wrong. I forgot to listen.
Yes, we share the same name, whether it be Deb or Price. And, we also share the same high standards, sense of family, and good humor. But that’s not what makes us sisters. Names and similarities are merely the cement for a bond that is impenetrable.
Instinct is first nature. “Or, nature first,” said Mother.
Muscovy ducks and red-eared slider turtles dominated the Shadow Bend pond. By mid-August activity had slowed to complacent. As I approached, the chorus indicated change. I rounded the curve on the bike path and there, in a medley of duck tunes were at least fifty black-bellied whistlers. They stretched across the water, shore to shore, trumpeting their news. The side-lined muscovies seemed to enjoy the break in their tedious summer routine.
What Is Mom?
Mom is nothing . . . without her child. A birth gives Mom the chance to grow with her child. She becomes the nurse, teacher, mechanic, cook, seamstress, janitor, taxi driver, and guidance counselor. Mom learns so her child can follow.