herbiehancock

In a small town on a Saturday night, Who knew? That so many would think that the very best thing to do  would be sitting and watching the parade go by from left to right. We watched but never questioned why. Riding in chairs on a truck--  there goes the city band! Oh and don't forget the Spangler's candy tanker  and the trolley that came along  with the Dum-dum sucker man. Who would have guessed there are so many kinds of Shriner? Those riding little cars and little bikes (One bike lost a chain in front of the diner) . Big men wearing tasseled fez caps,   and some dressed like clowns going round and round in twos, and those on flying carpets wearing gold hats  and pointed shoes, (Well, you know, there's nothing finer!)

Morning Moment Outside in the treetops, the blackbirds chatter-- clacking and clicking like stones striking stones. Leaf-filtered sunlight slips through the curtains, dancing on my eyelids-- in flickering tones. I'm tempted to rise, but resist.   My bare shoulders are cold. I pull up the covers and snuggle back under. I'm saving this moment  to remember when I'm old.

MAGNOLIA TREE From across the street it looks as if  a flock of pink parrots have taken over the limbs. A closer look reveals branches full of buds like the points of pink lipsticks twisted to the rims. Some of the buds have opened swirled among the tree's twigs like cotton candy on a paper cone, sweet proof that with faith and patience  good things will come...  if good seeds you've sown.

April is National Poetry Month.  I had hoped to write and post more poetry this month here on this blog, but time has a way of getting away from me, and now spiders have begun to build webs in the corners of my blog, and the month is nearly over.  Some of the bloggers that I visit have been writing and posting a poem every day from a list of poetry prompts.  I didn't sign up to do that because I knew I wouldn't get it done.  I thought I might use the prompts, however, to occasionally give me a jumping off point for my poetry.  You can see the list of prompts on the March 30th entry of JL Dodge's blog  here if you are interested. The poem I am writing for today is using the first prompt in the list which goes like this: " Grab the closest book. Go to page 29. Write down 10 words that catch your eye. Use 7 of the  words in a poem. For extra credit, have 4 of them appear at the end of a line." The ten words that I chose from page 29 of a nearby book were...

We finally had some warmer temperatures here this weekend.  I was thrilled to get in a couple of walks in the park.  I noticed the daffodils in this flower bed had buds on them getting ready to open.  Just as I was about to take a picture of them, I realized that there was more to my picture than just some soon-to-open buds.  Do you see her there? IN THE FLOWER BED She crouched behind  a daffodil. I nearly missed her,  she stood so still. Not a whisker moved,  till the camera click. Then she bounded off,  spry and quick. She bounced away,  camera-shy, waving at me a white-tailed goodbye.

My boys were all home at the same time for a while last weekend, so I made a chocolate peanut butter truffle pie . (That link is for the recipe in case anyone wants to try it out.)  I took a picture of one of the pieces.  I had to be quick about it because it didn't stay around too long.  So I had this picture, but never got around to blogging about it.   Then I read on JL Dodge's blog about a poetry challenge.  I decided I would attempt her poetry challenge and write a poem about that piece of pie.  She challenged her readers to write a monotetra.  You can read about what that is on her blog, JL Dodge Writes .  I don't know if I did this right, but this is my feeble attempt.    I know, I know.  I cheated on the first line by adding an "s" to the word "call" which makes the rhyme not quite right at the end.  I'm also not sure I followed all the rules that were set forth in the challenge, but oh well, what's a broken rule here a...

                                                                   Diamond Rain                                              The diamonds rained down                                              and stuck to the trees.                                              The people stayed inside,                                              afraid of the freeze,    ...

And So On It Goes Every week, it's the same.  He must watch the game. She sighs, shakes her head. She finds football so lame. He settles in with some snacks, entrenched in the couch. The TV drones on. He begins to slouch. . She has left the room.  The game is SO boring, not worthy of watching, only ignoring. He stretches out on the pillows, and drifts away snoring. He never even knows how it goes with the scoring. And so on, and so on, and so on it goes.

Winter's Grip A giant hand  with snow fingers and nails of ice  gripped the awning  over the porch until the warmth of the afternoon sun relaxed it  and coaxed it to loosen its hold, causing it to let go and slip  and drip away. (from inside the door looking out)

ANOTHER CHRISTMAS COMES AND GOES After all the hoopla and hurry-scurry, all the planning, all the worry, so much build-up, so much to do, and just so quick, it's done and through. Presents bought and wrapped and given. Visiting family---the miles driven! So much food---what a feast! Much more than we needed,  (to say the least). Fudge was boiled up.  Eggnog was poured. Carols proclaimed the birth of the Lord. There were parties and concerts,  celebrations galore, lights were hung, wreaths were placed on the door, but now the tree is empty of boxes and bows, and outside it gently snows, and another Christmas comes and goes. Another Christmas comes and goes. Will they remember why Christmas came and say a prayer of thanks in His name? We can hope...but only Heaven knows, as another Christmas comes and goes.

Between the Pink Flowers I'll meet you there on the bench we share that sits between the pink flowers. We'll talk and smile for just a little while, wishing it could be for hours. And then off we'll go because we must you know. Duty calls us in a very loud voice. Say goodbye to the sun. Work needs to be done. We have no say in the matter,  no choice. But the time we meet might not be as sweet if it filled all the time that we own. These moments we share are precious and rare, and make worthwhile  the time spent alone.

The Last Bit of Day The last bit of day slips away sliding off the horizon and into the night, pausing for a moment right at the edge, shimmering, hesitating, in satiny light and then letting go and plunging  into the black, giving up, without a fight. It's probably best to just take what comes, embrace it, and know you're blessed, for as sure as each day arrives and greets you with delight, you know it will slip away and leave you like the rest.

In my poetry picture poll a few posts back, some of you requested I write a poem using all of the pictures from the poll in a poem.  I decided to give it a try and this is what I came up with. A Poodle in the Park So much to do for a poodle in the park. Chasing runaway bunnies, it's hard not to bark. So much to sniff:  flowers around a rock, hickory nuts that look like toys, by the fence-- a shoe, a sock. And oh so much to see...  pink porcupines up high, down low some prickly green, and buzzards floating by. On the way back home now, can you hear the cicada buzz? The poodle is getting tired. He's not as bouncy as he was. The lily by the fence and sunflowers in a row, the poodle perks up a bit. He's back home now, don't you know. And though the park is fun being back home is really good too, especially for a poodle dog whose nap is overdue.

Buzzards on Branches At dusk they look like big black shriveled prunes, stuck to the dead branches of the tallest trees as they settle in  to sleep. But in early morning, when the light is new, they remind me of wrinkled leather hats that have been carelessly tossed on the hooks of a coat rack. A sudden noise lifts them, sends them swirling,  as if they were caught up in a strong gust of wind. They circle around and settle back in and down, slow and graceful, patient, choosing the perfect branch to perch upon, talons curling and clutching, locking them on. T he rustling of their wings as they spook and return sounds like an old umbrella  opening and closing. Up and down, out and back. From their vantage point high above all,  in the branches there, they are sentries, keeping watch, on guard. They keep me company, and remind me that we,  all of us , have a purpose.