She Mows In Beauty...?

I've been watching a lot. Secretly staring from across rooms. Taking in small details from the corners of my eyes. Memorizing bits and pieces to hold on to later. I stare out windows, unseen from the second floor. The scarlet mower bright as a cardinal against the summer green grass. She pushes. Petite but, sturdy is the word that comes to mind. Muscled legs in short denim shorts propel her onward. Black tank top. Black high top Converse. She has wires pouring from her ears. Her fine boned jaw is set, determined. Sharp cheekbones breaking the softness of rounded nose and high arched brow. Regal is the word that comes to mind. Her shorn hair, tree bark brown and damp with sweat. Gone the stark white of childhood, the later deep burnished gold, thick and wavy. It now matches exactly the deep mahogany of her eyes. Exposes the surprising grace of the rising slope curving from neck to shoulder. The unexpected charm of sinew and rounded bicep. Grasping the handle with deeply calloused palms.  The same grip with which she grabs an opponents GI, and holds them to the floor. The same grip with which she grabs a bar to pull herself up ten times, in preparation as a warrior. Powerful is the word that comes to mind. "Where has my little girl gone?", is the thought I search. The mower stops and starts stops and starts. I wondered if something was wrong with it, so I went out to see and end up seeing only her. She lets go and the engine dies. Creeping to the front of the mower she bends her knees and slowly reaches out, then suddenly scoops. Her hands cupped closed she travels to the wooded area at the end of the yard and stoops again, opening her hands and watching, then returns to mowing only to stop again moments later and repeat again. I can't resist. I blow my cover on the upstairs balcony to ask, "What are you doing?" "They're baby lizards, she says. They aren't moving out of the way. The brown ones. They just sit there so I'm moving them. '' The engine revs up again and I watch. She is almost directly beneath me. She grabs a large brown leaf and begins coaxing something into it. Her solid legs flexed, her rounded shoulders hunched. She stands. Her face tilted upward to look at me, her dark eyes innocent and sweet. And for a flash she is five again as she holds the leaf up to show me. "It's a slug, she says. Where should I put it?"



The Littlest Mower

She mows in beauty like a knight
A determined force they cannot fight
All fall before her blades when she pass
Cutting a swath through the grass
At the same time not depraved
Knowing some souls can be saved
Powerful leader, and never pawn
Joan d' Arc of the lawn


This has been a shameless and sacrilegious parody of Byron's stunning She Walks in Beauty
Brought to you by:
 The Center for Compulsive Bad Poetry Research- also known as my brain.





© 2013 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

It Just Isn't a Holiday Without Bad Poetry

So I dug into my archives from 2009 to reproduce this gem originallly entitled:

So I Missed My Calling (As a Greeting Card Writer)

May your turkey be tender
Your stuffing just right.
The corn mellow yellow
And your cranberries ripe.

May your blessings be numbered
That when you behold
How many you've Thanked for
Your food has gone cold.

Mom of the Perpetually Grounded
Inflicting bad poetry on others since around 1979
( when she was usually grounded )

Have A Happy Thanksgiving!

Now does anyone know the measurements to make green bean casserole? Because the worst has happened and the recipe is not on the cans for the green beans, mushroom soup or onions.

Yes. I'm serious.

; )


© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

bzzzzt...bzzt.. bzzt

I arise early to start my day
I have lots of errands
No time to play
But for a change my car
Is sparkling to see
Because my Mid washed it for me
It's usually a dusty field
With kitty prints covering
the hood and windshield
I climb in at dawn with Lit by my side
It's too cold for bikes
She needs a ride
I turn my key and lo and behold
Bzzzt says the engine
Like a honey bee scold
I turn it again with heightening dread
Bzzt said the engine
That sucker was dead
I did lament how could this be?
Nothing was left on
That I could see
We get back out and I sighed
This is the third time
The dang thing has died.
We have a charger to hook it to
we charged it up and vroom
Good as new
It needed to run for a bit
To get the charge set
I'd have to drive to finish it
I cruised the neighborhood, said a prayer, lit some votive's
Watching for cops as I circled
who might question my motives.
When I came home it seemed to be fine
I could do all my errands
No need to whine
I had letters to mail and banking to do
And a pretty big list
for the grocery store too  
I hop in the car ready to go
Bzzzzt said the engine
Oh $#&%@..I mean Oh No!
I even called Mid hoping to find
a possible cause
For this bind
There's something that I need to know
Did you run the radio while you washed my car?
To which I heard...Ummm...No?
So I sit here waiting for The SeaMonkey to rescue me
Like a knight in shining armor
Bearing a New Car Battery
As I wait I sadly find
That concerning my day
I'm three hours behind
So if I don't visit today as I sit
Please know it's because
I'm having a fit
Bzzt says my brain I cannot get started
Bzzt bzzzt says my day
I'll skip the obvious bzzt rhyme for started.
I'm looking for some good vibes to borrow
Otherwise I think I'll
Start over tomorrow.

Vroom Vroom...off I go...


© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

I'm Recovering From Christmas

I'm recovering from Christmas
And mostly can be found
Reclining on my sofa
With a cat and a hound

Watching old movies
Perusing my new book
Playing Guitar Hero
And refusing to cook

I'm enjoying my last glimpses
Of our ornaments glowing
Before the huge haul job
Of packing and stowing

I'm feeling pretty lazy
And too tired out to write or talk
I'm napping in the afternoon
And hitting bed a eight o'clock

We had a lovely season
And to all of you So Dear
I hope your Holidays were Brilliant!
And even Brighter your New Year.



I'll be back around when I don't feel like I was delivered by FedEx.


© 2011 All Rights Reserved

Getting My Grooves On

Happy Birthday they say, you are Forty Six!
Sometimes I'd rather they just threw some sticks

because rocks might break my hip and then I'd die of pneumonia

The years carved in my forehead, rings in the tree
The passing of years has strengthened me

unless the wind blows too hard because I'm starting to lose balance

I have obtained wisdom I would never return
To the innocent girl with a whole lot to learn

cause these knees might go with it and she had a whole lot of roller skating to do

You can also read Joy in the fine lines I wear
Written from neck line to graying hair

at least I can with some 2.75 readers

So I've tipped the balance in the middle of where
If I live to be ninety it's all down hill from there

which is good cause I'm really out of breath

I would not trade a trade a thing I've learned
I would not take back a moment I've earned

except maybe when my boobs disappeared...

And I really don't mind that I've grown to middle age
Gone through the mill I like being this page

cause even though it's been crumpled up it will smooth right out with some Olay,  Right?

; )


© 2011 All Rights Reserved

But Does It Define Me?

Surprise! I'm back again already. Which may mean I have a remarkable amount of free time on my hands. Or that I'm not doing other stuff I should be doing. You decide : ) Besides, it wouldn't be a Special Holiday if I didn't mark it with some Really Bad Hokey Poetry!

I am twenty one years
From my body she pours
With a smile they lay her upon me
Take her. She is yours.

A short time freed daughter
A fifteen months wife
Twenty one years of  myself
Now A mother for life

I have done many things. I have not done everything. When I look the choices I have made and ask myself, how have you done? I have to say, Ok. Which as you may know works for me : ) If I ask, what  have I contributed to this world? What is my masterpiece? Did I win a Nobel prize? Did I secure world peace? Did I save the environment, lead a nation to greatness, create art found in the great museums, write the book that defines my generation? Well, hell no.


As some time passed
I considered the choice
I listened to the multitudes
But chose my own voice

I am twenty seven years
When my life I define
Reach for this burden of love
I take her. She is mine.

But I can say to the world, Look, I made you these human beings. The glaze is a little cracked on my first try but it gives it amazing depth and character and I think I completely missed a piece on that second one but it's so beautiful and exceptional the way it is, no one notices and the small one seems like just an adorable trinket at first glance but is so intricate and complicated you can stare at it for hours and never completely figure it out.

I am twenty nine years
Sooner than we thought
But we have no less joy in this
blessing We wrought
 
Snatched at first breath 
I invoke the divine
Battle the fates for this prize
And win. She is mine.
 
It still remains to be seen what my actual contribution to the world will accomplish.  Some may say that it is a waste to feel that motherhood is all you have to offer. Well. I don't think it is all I have to offer. But out of everything that I have done and plan to do it is what has real meaning for me. And really,  even if I did change the world, or define my generation in some way, or even just did a kick ass job at whatever I do for a job, all of it is just "something I did."  Anyone else could have done just as well if they had a mind to.
 
My days and contributions to the world may be transient and whether my accomplishments are unremarkable or remarkable to others,  wordly awards and accolades mean nothing to me.

Whatever they may give,

I am a mother as long as I live.
 
 
 
Besides, who needs a Nobel prize.
 

I Got A Spatula !



Flip the spatula to read more



HAPPY MOTHERS DAY TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD SPATULA!!!!!!!

© 2011 All Rights Reserved
 

Time Travel

For what is a New Year?

Is it here we begin?

Not really a first, more

Starting over again.

We pull from the past

Another year through

We carry the love

And gifts good and true

The heartaches we faced 

Let us leave to last year

I lay down these burdens

I haven't shared here

There is always healing

Working its way

Filling the potholes

We met on the way

Still intact we move forward

A family entwined

Lifts us out of our stumbles

Leaving no one behind

There is no map to guide us

The terrain is unknown

 We step firm into time

Claim each moment our own

For, B & Me and also N & K. And most of all for my K and my C and especially my O.


© 2010 All Rights Reserved

Re-Calculated What???

Let me tell ya'll a story
bout a girl named Mid.
A real bright child
was supposed to Gifted.

And then one day
she decided not to try.
Sat on her ass
and made her mother cry

Tears that is...about her grades.

So senior year comes
and she rocked the SAT's
She's proud that she proved .
she knows more than ABC's.

But the classes she was takin'
were apparently a bore.
And her GPA
reflects that sorry score.

Low that is......Like the tide sucking you out.....

The moral of the story is do your work in school.
the colleges don't care if you're brilliant but a fool.
Sorry to say it, but it's really true,
you ain't livin in my basement; when your thirty two.

Or 22....or ever if you don't have a job.........; )



But I am your mother and you know I still love you.

© 2010 All Rights Reserved

Meanwhile...Back At The Cardboard Box.

My family is playing stomach flu dominoes and we are down 3 out of 4 with a possible alternate in Biggest because she spent a lot of time here this week. As the last one standing I am hoping to keep up my visiting/reading the next few days in between Gatorade refills and before I go down but I'm not feeling very promising at the moment so if I seem to have disappeared SEND GATORADE!....

If you are new here or missed my: Ms. G. is Grounded post, In September I thought that since I chronicle my teenagers here it would only be fair to share a little bit about myself as a teen back in the renaissance. You remember the Renaissance right? As I dug threw my cardboard box I came upon this brilliant gem that I penned in March 1982 when I was 16.  So here is a second installment filed under Pack Rat/ Me As A Teenager. The Poetry Edition.

At this mid point in my life, I again peruse these lines that bear my profound young soul and emerging self knowledge and I realize something.
I really haven't changed too much.

Fantasy
1982

Rising out of the ocean
Golden skin glistening in the sun
This is how I first  saw you
The unbelievably perfect one

If I were Aphrodite
You'd be my Adonis
And I'd hide us away
So no one could find us

Perfectly carved features
Almost painful to see
I couldn't believe you
Would really want me

And I was right
You walked right past
I knew something that good
Just wouldn't last.


By Miss G. aged 16 but probably telling people she was 18 ...or maybe 20.
© 2010 All Rights Reserved



Not a full moon but might as well be

A Mediocre or possibly worse....Poem

I've been checking Word Up, Yo!  ever since I heard

The Nerd Mafia challenge, Post with the Weekly Word!
The problem for me? I'm a mediocre nerd.

A never mediocre place you can log
on..and find the challenge is at this blog;
a belle a bean & a chicago dog

Check out Mommy of a Monster and  Taming Insanity

The other un-mediocre places to test this vanity
Hey, Dons -does anything else ryhme with anity?

Every week I go look and check to see
But because I have a mediocre vocabulary
A Man In Waiting is all that I could be!

But tears of Joy! I had myself a soaker!
No more chamberpots for this joker.
Cause one thing I'm sure of is that "I'm  mediocre"!

© 2010 All Rights Reserved

Because I'm Feeling Bored.....

But not very ambitious. Or maybe it's ambitious but not very creative...
Here is a little something I wrote for my daughters one day awhile back when they were all being particularly lovely and that I just re-found stuck in the back of my little blue book.

Whiner Whiner
Tongues on fire
Hanging from your hearts desire
Can't find where
Your peace all went
Scorched with words
Of discontent
The smoke of want
Blinds you to
The haves that are
In front of you

They didn't like it.


© 2010 All Rights Reserved

Doing My Civic Duty

If I'm not around
I wish I could be
I'll be back to visit
As soon as I'm free
To see what you're up to
Or just play the fool
But I've been summonsed
For the jury pool
So all I have
Is little poem
Unless they decide
To send me home!


© 2010 All Rights Reserved

So I Missed My Calling

As a Greeting Card Writer,  Just Humor Me.

May your turkey be tender
Your stuffing just right.
Your corn mellow yellow
And your cranberries ripe.

May your blessings be numbered
That when you behold
How many you've Thanked for
Your food has gone cold.

 Mom of the Perpetually Grounded
Inflicting bad poetry on others since around 1979
( when she was usually grounded )

Have A Happy Thanksgiving!


© 2009 All Rights Reserved

The Blogosphere ( Or I'm such a dork)

My polish is chipped
My roots are growing
And though I ignore it
My waist is showing
Signs of all the cookies I ate
While staying up & reading late.
The laundries not done
The whole house is messed
It's quarter till noon
And I'm still not dressed
My car's out of gas
And it needs a dusting
The yard work tools
are busily rusting
I don't have no friends
Can't find any followers
Among all the other
Blogging wallowers
Maybe someday, interest will spark
I won't be alone
In the internet dark
For now I keep typing
And thinking up stuff
To blab on my family
Without being too rough
I think they are calling
 But don't really hear
I'm lost somewhere
In the blogoshere.



© 2009 All Rights Reserved