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Too Much Turkey by Jack Prelutsky

I ate too much turkey,
I ate too much corn,
I ate too much pudding and pie,
I’m stuffed up with muffins
and much too much stuffin’,
I’m probably going to die.

I piled up my plate
and I ate and I ate,
but I wish I had known when to stop,
for I’m so crammed with yams,
sauces, gravies, and jams
that my buttons are starting to pop.

I’m full of tomatoes
and French fried potatoes,
my stomach is swollen and sore,
but there’s still some dessert,
so I guess it won’t hurt
if I eat just a little bit more.

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Pouring himself a second cup
Sits there without a second thought
Continues to read, to see what’s up
The newspaper politics, the column that’s hot

I hold his shirt that I have pressed
He takes no notice that I’m distressed
Does he know I’m in the room?
Oblivious! Geez..! The big baboon!

Our anniversary has come, it’s here today
The clod has forgotten our special day!!
How could he forget?… I think inside,..
The day we became a groom and bride?!!

I had fixed my hair and made my face
I thought we’d go out to some nice place
To celebrate. But what a crock!
The old guy has just gone to pot!

I look around for the rolling pin
To whack him where his hair is thin
He puts the morning paper down
His grin becomes a puzzled frown

“What the he___ is the matter with you??”
“And what the h___ did you plan to do?”
I have these tickets, a trip for two!!
To show you how I still Love You!!”

In an instant, he’s become so handsome
Anniversary trip? well…..HERE I COME!!
It seems this man is still worth keeping
My cup overflows….IN FACT IT’S HEAPING!!

At the Breakfast Table was written by poet Carrie Richards

Daily Poem – Power Outage

November 4, 2014

It took a power outage for me to see the light
Of what it is I am really like
To hear the words that you said without the noise
I could listen close, without distraction of toys
I saw the darkness of how I felt surround me
The candle that you lit, so profound within me
Safety, security, as well as desire
Lit so lovingly by that fire

It took a power outage for me to release pent up fear
To see that you are so very near
Never so far away as I sometimes believe
You are here, here with me
You hold my darkness, always at bay
To keep me happy, chase the blues away
I never saw this until the lights went out
When I made the darkness become my doubt

That same darkness that you made light


Deanna Repose- Reposted from: blog.deannarepose.com

by Ray Rasmussen

 

windfall –
a basket full
of memories

Midnight, the windows of the homes unlit. Elm branches sway in a warm breeze. Leaves rustle.

I enter a back alley, glance around, scramble over a wooden fence, intent on stealing apples.

Once this was my yard. On a visit, my father noticed the lack of trees and bought the one whose bounty I plan to plunder. Side by side, we planted it, me helping him with the shovel, both of us on our knees tamping down the earth around its roots. Year after year, my daughters and I picked apples, made apple pie, enjoyed the bounty.

I pick one, bite in. Its sweetness takes me back to my father’s backyard – to the times I would climb the tree, pick tart Gravenstein’s.
He died ten years ago. A year later I sold the house, and while I have fruit trees in my new backyard, it’s these apples that are my father’s.

apple tree

THE wind is without there and howls in the trees,
And the rain-flurries drum on the glass:
Alone by the fireside with elbows on knees
I can number the hours as they pass.
Yet now, when to cheer me the crickets begin,
And my pipe is just happily lit,
Believe me, my friend, tho’ the evening draws in,
That not all uncontested I sit.

Alone, did I say? O no, nowise alone
With the Past sitting warm on my knee,
To gossip of days that are over and gone,
But still charming to her and to me.
With much to be glad of and much to deplore,
Yet, as these days with those we compare,
Believe me, my friend, tho’ the sorrows seem more
They are somehow more easy to bear.

And thou, faded Future, uncertain and frail,
As I cherish thy light in each draught,
His lamp is not more to the miner – their sail
Is not more to the crew on the raft.
For Hope can make feeble ones earnest and brave,
And, as forth thro’ the years I look on,
Believe me, my friend, between this and the grave,
I see wonderful things to be done.

To do or to try; and, believe me, my friend,
If the call should come early for me,
I can leave these foundations uprooted, and tend
For some new city over the sea.
To do or to try; and if failure be mine,
And if Fortune go cross to my plan,
Believe me, my friend, tho’ I mourn the design
I shall never lament for the man.

-THE END-
Robert Louis Stevenson’s poem: The wind is without there and howls in the trees

Daily Haiku – November

November 1, 2014

A Storm Haiku for November

Ground covered by leaves

blended by storm winds and rain

now softly dripping