Here is one last entry to close out National Poetry Month. Back to prose takes next week!
Avocado toast
The breakfast that I love the most
Is simply avocado toast.
For weeks on end, I’d blithely coast
Through meals of avocado toast.
And though I do not want to boast
Of my own avocado toast,
I wish that I could send by post
A plate of avocado toast.
For Eileen
(as she turns 18)
She writes with beauty, as she might,
A poet’s voice within her shines;
And her blue eyes are full of light,
As she recites her heartfelt lines,
Yet loving her means loving rats,
Chinchillas, too—not porcupines.
As sisters go, she’s really cool,
And she’s a splendid niece, as well.
She’s fun at beaches or the pool,
Or out for shopping for a spell,
We hear she’s dynamite at school,
Though of her A’s she’ll never tell.
At senior year she is a star,
Excelling in and out of class.
Though she has yet to drive a car,
She’s good at everything, this lass,
And we know she’s sure to go far,
And even calculus she’ll pass.
Eye Exam
“What do you see?” says the doctor and you
Say, “X-P-F-C-and…um…maybe U?”
As things shrink and then blur
You soon have to concur
That time passing sure changes your view.
St. Joseph (on the Feast of St. Joseph the Worker)
We rarely hear his voice; his faith is clear,
When watching how he led his life,
He walked beside his wife so dear,
Though by her side encountered strife.
An older husband, he’d not planned
To marry one so young and pure,
Yet, nonetheless he saw God’s hand,
And gave his heart to her for sure.
Accepting plans that weren’t his own,
He helped raise Jesus, Son of God,
Though paths ahead might be unknown,
With purpose, faith, and trust, he trod.
As carpenter, he built with wood and care;
Now he supports our earthly prayer.
Rats
Roll your eyes, if you will.
Anyone who’s seen their slender paws and friendly eyes knows the truth.
They’re sweet and clever and cute.
Save a little extra love for a ratly friend.
Unknown Flower
What is this flower?
If only I knew its name.
But it is lovely.
Fishing Day
Fishing was not something I would do.
I do not want to touch a worm. Do you?
I sunburn fast and don’t want to get wet.
I like my fish as pets—or better yet
As dinner, seasoned on my plate,
But my son thinks that fishing’s great.
So, pack a couple rods, and let’s head out,
And see if we catch perch or maybe trout,
Or maybe trout don’t swim here—I don’t know.
I’ve little knowledge, though you know I’ll go.
For even though I’m not the fishing type,
And I don’t add to all this fishing hype,
Once by the water, I look at our boy,
And see how fishing fills him up with joy.
Find more quick takes on Kelly’s blog, This Ain’t the Lyceum, and enjoy this beautiful weekend!
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