The Grove Cracks

A poem about my hometown

If streets could hold memories, specifically “Grove”
When they cracked, would the scenes all replay in droves?

Showing all of us searching, on Thanksgiving day

When Orion, just 3, tried running away

Or my parents. And all of their counseling walks

With the newly wed couples, who just needed to talk

Our clever new shortcut to Ormandale school
Hopping on rocks over creek water cool.

Or the post dinner stroll, with the frisbee golf discs

Dad did get some stitches, so play at your own risk.

Then one night my brother ran naked, with shoes
Cause he couldn’t find a near porto to use.

Or the awkward midnight—DTR with a guy

“It’s just not gonna work,” we said with a sigh

My sister Marie loops round Georgia lane
To perfect her skilled care with the low vision cane

Those kids we look after as they ride on their bikes

And the elderly neighbors drink roast from the pikes.

Lined with flowers in spring, and leaves in the fall
Grove. That street, has secrets for all.

Retrograde Rhyme

 

a paragraph format of this post is available here.

When the clock flashed midnight—at the stroke of it
I dreamt in nostalgia so acute I woke of it.
Like a longing, much described as an ache
The rose colored glasses, see real and see fake.

It’s an elegant house, but with no one inside
Or a person, with whom you no longer confide.
It’s an echo, of, the sound of the gong
A shell of a feeling- the hint of a song.

Nostalgia’s a blessing, but also a curse
It says past was better, and tomorrow brings worse.
Like an empty promise, that does not give
Slipping like water, lost through a sieve

Our future is easy. or hard. we don’t know
Yet not to step forward is a choice not grow
Old memories are sweet, but beware not to cling
Or else tomorrow’s a melody we never can sing

I embrace the belief, held only by some
The Hope, that the best, is yet to come.

 

“Lily Wiggles”

A first birthday poem

My niece Lily, she wiggles, a lot

And her face lights up when she giggles–that tot. 

She’s learning to walk, in step not in crawl

Motivated to reach her soft baby doll

Or cuddle, with her pink blanket “lovie”

May the spirit dwell in her, much like a dovie

Bubbly and active, she’s down for the park

In part, I suspect, to hear the dogs bark

Or perhaps to ride on a swing through the trees

And eat a choice picnic of straight frozen peas

So let’s raise a toast, and with juice quench our thirst

Because today is Lily’s birthday…her first!

She’s growing quite fast, in stature and smile

And I’m auntie Chrissa, I love her a mile.

 

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