Our Masterpiece 

Baby?

Will you paint me a picture?

Give me red first. Like lust. Then love, and sometimes anger, but always finish with love again. Orange for pumpkins during our favorite season, Detroit Tigers, and the street cone I tossed out of our nineteenth-floor window. Show me yellow like the sun at Coney Island and the hair of the first little girl I wanted to have. Green like the lawn I prayed we would one day own, and I suppose your favorite football team, too. Blues like the ocean in St. Thomas and tears I’ve cried, both good and bad. Purple for the flowers you bought me that one year.

Remember those?

Shadow and shade the death and sadness, because our lives have had that, too.

And please don’t forget gold for the ring that sparkles on my finger, and white for the dress the day I said, “I do”.

Baby? Paint our picture of forever.

Photo courtesy of Morgan Sessions/Unsplash.

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Nature’s Dance

Photo courtesy of Ryan Moreno

Nature dances its ballet.

Rolling mountains touch the sky,

In this place, my getaway.

 

Blades of green grass gently sway.

Pollen twirls from low to high.

Nature dances its ballet.

 

In the creek, the water plays.

Crickets sing a lullaby

In this place, my getaway.

 

Lightning bugs are on Broadway,

As the moon begins to fly.

Nature dances its ballet.

 

Deer gallop, then grand jeté,

As the sun begins to rise,

In this place, my getaway.

 

The dance, at dawn, breaks away,

And it’s time to say goodbye.

Nature dances its ballet.

In this place, my getaway.

Baby Steps

Arms outstretched; fists white-knuck-ling.

Small feet are stum-bling.

She wants to take steps today.

 

Hair disheveled; voice mum-bling.

Girl starts a’ tum-bling.

Falling down won’t ruin her day.

 

Getting up; she’s still stru-ggling,

Short legs are fum-bling.

Fixed to take first steps today.

 

Crackers out; tummy’s grum-bling.

Wood floor starts rum-bling.

Steps are coming straight this way.

 

She’s close; crackers crum-bling.

And Mom starts bum-bling.

Baby took first steps today!

 

Photo courtesy of Liane Metzler on Stocksnap.io

Fun at the Germ-Infested Playground!

Such fun, at the indoor playground!

Falling rain has us weather-bound.

So to the mall, we go instead.

Where gross germs are easily spread.

Full of children, so tightly wound.

 

Little heathens run wild around;

Screams and shouts are the only sound.

I swear, half must be interbred,

At the indoor playground.

 

On their phones, parents are spellbound.

Kids left unwatched, to beat and pound

On other children’s little heads.

A war of germs, dirt, and bloodshed.

Oh how I hate this battleground.

At the indoor playground.

Baseball Season

12901507_10153565454738753_5633057455976832025_oPopcorn making;

Bats Breaking.

It must be that time of year.

 

Hot dog eating;

Bleacher seating.

Ten dollars for the smallest beer.

 

Players striking;

Coach disliking.

The team may lose, is what he fears.

 

Ball cap wearing;

Sun is glaring.

The day is beautiful and clear.

 

Third base stealing;

Such a feeling,

When the crowd begins to cheer.

 

Outfield sunning;

Home base running.

Baseball season is finally here!

 

A Poem for my Oldest

I’ll start with her hair,

Golden like the sun.

With a bit of a wave,

All tousled and fun.

Her nose is lightly kissed

With freckles, so sweet.

And her smile can surely

Melt your heart in a beat.

Her laugh is just like

A little bell ringing.

And I’m taken away

Each time that she’s singing.

Her clothes are full of glitter,

And match, they never do.

She has her own sense

Of fashion, it’s true.

She loves to dance

And write me love letters.

And she believes that sparkles

make everything better.

She is smart and sassy

And pretty and kind.

I feel pretty lucky

to call this kid mine.

 

 

 

 

 

Mommy loves you, Reagan!

 

I am Detroit.

I am passionate;
Full of adventure,
And maybe a little gritty.
I am Detroit.

I am artistic,
With a love for music
And maybe a little strange.
I am Detroit.

I can be tragic,
And although I’m beautiful,
I have imperfections.
I am Detroit.

I am unique.
I think out of the box.
I have a big voice.
I am Detroit.

I am strong.
And though I may stumble,
I will persevere.
I am Detroit.

A little poem for my friends – you Detroiters will appreciate it most, I think.