Poem: Too Late, Mommy’s Gone

This photo is from the Weekly Writing Challenge. What does this photo say to you?

Too Late, Mommy’s Gone

Mommy’s gone, not coming home.

Off to church, us three alone.

Mommy said, need to be brave.

Care for papa, and behave.

Mommy’s in a better place.

Angels will, her pain, erase.

Daddy says at church must pray.

Too late now, she’s gone away.

June Nash

I subscribe to the Weekly Writing Challenge.  I don’t always participate. Today, the challenge was quite easy.  I just let my imagination flow.  The challenge was to write a story about the picture that they showed you.  

Weekly Writing Challenge: A Picture Is Worth 1,000 Word

Poem: Daylight Savings Crime

Self Portrait
Digital Self Portrait, using SketchBookExpress

Daylight Savings Crime

Twice per year we change the time.

This law we have seems a crime.

Internal clocks remain same.

Crazy time practice is blame,

Accidents, at work and home.

As muddle brained people roam.

Foggy brain clouds need to clear.

Lets keep same time the whole year .

June Nash

Poem: Compromise or Compromised

Self Portrait
Digital Self Portrait, using SketchBookExpress

Compromise or Compromised

To compromise, meet on common ground.

Committed to change, both parties bound .

That is how I thought it would be.

I thought that, it was silly of me.

You cannot change, your way critical.

I must change, that would be practical.

For you yes, but I suffer dearly.

I lose self, must protest clearly.

If, in this, cannot meet me half way,

On this side of fence I’d rather stay.

June Nash

Poem: Is Halloween Dead?

Is Halloween Dead?

Trick or treat, the night is dead.

Not one kid here to be fed.

It’s not ghosts nor spooks that scare.

Must be crime makes them beware.

I, when young, through streets would run.

Could not wait, for setting of sun.

Trick or treat, the sport has changed.

In control, parties arranged.

May be good, kids kept off street,

But miss ghouls, to my door beat.

June Nash

 

Halloween has come and gone.  I had only 3 groups of children come to my door, trick or treating.  Every year we get less kids coming around.  It started me wondering if the old style of celebrating this holiday is over.  Are the children going to parties instead?

Did you pass out candy this year?  Did your kids go door to door?  Do you forego the door to door begging in favor of parties?  

Poem: I’m A Weed

Self Portrait
Digital Self Portrait, using SketchBookExpress

I’m A Weed

 –

I’m a weed, hearty and strong.

Went to school, didn’t belong.

Teachers want us pruned and tamed.

Tried to heed.  To sit still aimed.

 –

I’m a weed.  My roots grew strong.

Teachers said ‘Doing it wrong!’.

Pushing through, inquisitive.

Weeds, it seems, quite intrusive.

 –

I’m a weed, once a flower.

Over beds, my leaves tower.

In today’s garden, don’t fit in.

Is being different such a sin?

June Nash

We seem to live in an era where everyone is expected to fit into a mold.  Children who do not fit easily into these molds are often wonderful kids.  They are like weeds.  Wild flowers, they grow strong, even if a bit out of control.  These kids are our future.  We cannot pluck them out of our schools and toss them in the compost pile.  Or worse yet, spray them with poison to keep them under control.