What’s in a Name

What’s in a name? It’s just a name,
A few small letters in a row.
Though countless others use the same,
To me it’s special, for I know
That when I speak his name, his ears
Are open to my voice. His smile
Can melt my sorrows, calm my fears.
And though we’re distant for a while,
The miles melt, my hopes enwreathe
Whenever I his name but breathe.

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Ladies’ Night Out

Friday had come—pay day,
Ladies’ night out for the three musketeers,
Or so they’re been nick-named by their husbands.
A car with two boisterous women inside pulled up the driveway.
The horn honked raucously.
A younger woman came out of the house and climbed in
While waving goodbye to Mr. Goodbar, the nosy neighbor,
And the three musketeers were off.

Turning onto Fifth Avenue,
They arrived at their favorite shopping mall and piled out.
Wandering store to store, the women relived their teen years once again.
Doris found herself a new dress.
Kit-Kat (Katherine) got lost in mounds of classic movies.
And the youngest of the trio, Baby Ruth,
Was selected to receive a free mani-pedi!
To celebrate, her girlfriends took her to the jewelry store for something special.

Hours later, Mr. Goodbar could hear snickers, giggles, and chuckles
As the car returned to the driveway.
Baby Ruth got out and said good night to her friends,
Then entered the house and called out,
“Oh, Henry! You won’t believe what I found tonight!
Isn’t it lovely!”

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The Art of Poetry

Brush of the artist, pen of the scribe—
Tools that she handles with equal finesse.
Able the eye and the ear to impress—
What she has tasted, gives us to imbibe.
Painting a picture using her words—
Paper, the canvas; life is the scene.
And on the easel, color ungirds,
Telling a story with writing unseen.
Poetry springs not from technique;
The artist makes the art unique.

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First Day in Braces

For years I’ve longed to have a perfect smile;
At last the long-awaited day has come.
I didn’t know they’d be so worrisome—
Will my mouth be this tender all the while?
They say there is no profit without pain;
I only hope it will not be in vain.
My daughter never did so carry on;
She chuckles now to see her mom complain.
From further loud laments I shall refrain,
Envisioning my smile when these are gone.

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Little Treasures

I read the book you gave to me;
It made me feel so close to you.
The words on every page I see,
You read them first, when you went through.
When turning to page ninety-three,
Some special tokens came in view.
For pressed between the pages there
Were petals from a once-red rose
And a ribbon ‘round a lock of hair—
Their meaning no one but us knows….

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What’s in a Name

amaryllis budEach day the view is different, yet the same
The flowers take their turns at turning out
I still don’t know the species all by name.
A new one lately has begun to sprout;
Unknown, I still enjoy it just the same.
An amaryllis, I have little doubt,
If leaf and stalk, and color can define.
A few more days, the blossom will be full,
As daily it receives both rain and shine.
Though nameless, it shall still be beautiful.

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Irons in the Fire

The day was long and wearisome,
So many irons in the fire.
My spirit, tired, was overcome;
The hammock answered my desire,
And soon I thought I would succumb—
Unfinished chores ignited ire.

You wear yourself too thin, you know.
You’ve done the same thing time again.
Pull out some irons; let them go,
Then plan your work and work your plan.

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