Although they rarely comment (and never so anyone could tell besides me), my family sneaks and reads my blog. My #1 lurkers (my only lurkers?) are related to me. Sometimes they like what they read, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they agree, others, they disagree. Often, they simply mock the blog, to which I remind them, "Anything you say or do can and might be blogged against you."
But today marks a first: they wrote something TO be blogged, sonnets for Pensieve’s Poetic License. It leaves me feelin’ all warm and fuzzy on an otherwise blustery, rainy Sunday afternoon.
There’s also MORE icing on the poetic license cake: my friend, "Peculiar", has just begun blogging (peculiar name for her since I don’t think she’s peculiar at all….). If you have time, will you stop by her blogging spot and welcome her to the B-sphere? She also emailed a sonnet submission to me, so I’m including it in this post, too. Hers is much heavier fare, you can feel the depth and range of emotion as she writes.
(by my favorite sister and not just because she’s my only sister 🙂 )
With a simple “click” my fire is ablaze
Warmth intoxicating, enveloping.
My mind no longer asleep in a haze.
A glorious morning developing.
Who would have guessed my beloved appliance?
No longer do I mind the dark night’s end.
I meet the day with bold defiance.
Come back, dreams. Come back, peaceful dreams!
Greeting the day is much work, sometimes dread.
Is reality all that it seems?
Just kidding! No dread, I’ll work and I’ll play,
Grateful for blessings, now go seize the day!
(by my favorite brother-in-law who told me I was FAT and TRITE, at least TO MY FACE which I suppose is better than behind my back)
Chicken, rice, broccoli peas
Another round goes down.
I ask for more, if you please
My wife pulls on a frown.
The scale will never wait.
I rub and salve my ancient joints.
I can’t get through the gate!
But, no, aha! I worry
not.
This life is much too short.
I shall not worry about my “pot”
I’m much too old to court.
So eat, I will, this long life through
It’s such a celebration
Skinny folks, there are so few—
By-product of a “growing” nation.
Where Are You My Boy?!
by Peculiar
“I am desperately looking for you, my sweet boy!
Where has my little boy gone?
Come out of hiding son, don’t be coy,”
Mummy’s been praying since dawn.
“What were you running from? Where did you go?”,
I asked once my sweet boy returned.
“He called me Mummy. He beckons me so,
That I ran where my foolish heart yearned.”
“Just ignore him sweet boy. Stay near to mum.
We will keep you safe; all the more we’ll pray.”
“But if I don’t go mum, here he will come,
And then he will want to stay.”
“Then we’ll take our scrip sweet boy of mine, and we’ll look to Him.
He’ll make small of him, in your sweet rest, once the lights grow dim.”
