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Friday, March 13, 2015

Proper use of modern grammar

This phone keeps me connected to the world that I enjoy
I can touch the screen and learn anything
about the world and everything that's in it.
I can play games and Facebook whomever I please
Taking calls? Sure it does that, but I don't really use it
Just for texting things like 'wut u doin' and 'lol'
To all those that I am close to.
I had to stop using real words to fit in with the cooler crowd
so I went back and deleted all the punctuation and
rearranged wurds like- that came from my mouth.
I even took a college class to learn more and become profishent
'tho I don't know y. I don't need to no wut they say
But I paid for wut college tot. Isn't this so much better?
Now I'm dope and super cool because I write like I say
and who needs those lame wurds anyways?

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Great Grandmother's Quilt



Great Grandmother’s Quilt

Great Grandmother stitched with care
A quilt made from her husband’s old shirts;
The patterned old westerns he had left behind.
Her smooth wrinkled hands were normally cold
But with every stitch they warmed with the memories told-
Of her life with him and the children they made
Of the farm and the valley-of the sheep and the hay.
Picking blackberries in the creek and holding baby lambs
Of horses pulling hay wagons and separating out rams.
She remembered meeting her husband and falling in love
Riding through the hills and watching the doves.
All these she stitched with a smile on her face
Pulling all the good memories with rhythm, color and grace.

Grandmother inherited her mother’s incomplete work; she was taken before her time.
When she opened the box, a tear formed in her eye.  
She was reminded of her mother stringing thread in the morning sun
Before she got the cancer and her last thread was spun.
Grandmother still remembered that loving smile which seemed to warm the coldest days.
And the farm and the valley- of the sheep and the hay.
She remembered picking blackberries and her mother handing her lambs.
Of horses pulling hay wagons and separating out rams.
She remembered following her daddy and falling in love
Riding through the hills and watching the doves.  
Grandmother nostalgically picked up a torn piece of shirt in that old dusty box
And her hand trembled at all of the warmth that it brought.
With a tear in her eye that she couldn’t face, she pushed her sadness back inside
along with the memories she could never replace.

Years later, Mother stumbled upon the box; hidden in mothballs and cloaked with neglect
Her fingers spanned the fine needlework and the old western designs;
The bonds were all still intact- surviving three generations in time.
Sheep, horses and trees all connected with thread
Decorated the work of the family she had only known in her head.
Like the colors on the quilt, the memories were faded away
It was the only thing she had ever seen from Great Grandmother’s day.

‘What a wonder’ she thought as she knew what she must do
Mother opened her sewing machine and set about finishing the family heirloom.
Diligently she went about mimicking Great Grandmother’s work-
With her machine setting the pace; pulling thread with rhythm, color and grace.
And when she finished, Mother breathed a happy sigh of relief.
Three generations of work were now at her feet.


 Carefully, she threw the finished quilt over my bed
And for a while we just sat staring at all the colors of thread.
I yawned and crawled in to sleep while mother smiled and tucked me in with her hands
And instantly I nodded off to sleep- transported to another land-
Of the farm and the valley-of the sheep and the hay.
Picking blackberries in the creek and holding baby lambs
Of horses pulling hay wagons and separating out rams.
I saw my Great Grandfather on his horse- riding through the hills
And Great Grandmother was stringing thread in the morning sun
She looked up at me and put a warm hand on my face

Then she went back to work-Pulling thread with rhythm, color and grace.