Asserting my right to the sole ownership of my words, I'm reposting here.
Matutineal
My rising sons bang on my door: Wake up
Mom, we're hungry, can we have choc'late spread?
The daughter clamors for hair and makeup
At 9, by girly fashion she is led
The youngest comes, pacifier in hand
Yawning, pajamaed, though loud, yet still sweet
With strong opinions and many demands,
Wishes, commands, one is kept on one's feet
Mad dash to the fridge, a roar through the door
Lunches in hand, sweeps the maddening horde
To school they go, in a state I deplore
With this lot around, one ís never bored.
Quell the morning chaos - make order out of dis-
Kicking/screaming/swearing -not a moment would I miss.
oops, I did it again:
Impromptu
Not a freaking English major, I count
Syllables on my fingers, for haiku
Or sonnets, trying to capture and mount
Imagery, a moment, not to lie, true
To the muse, to the rhythm, words hardcore
Tender emotions or graphic passion
I catch, always wanting to attain more
Sarcastic endeavor - always in fashion.
I paint with words like I knit, cook and draw
Colour, texture, flavour, tweaking meaning
Wanting to shock, get the 'awww', hit you raw
And then, smug, give my brushes a cleaning.
I diss you not, I give you my respect
Take a step back, and ponder the effect.
