A ballad I wrote a few years ago.
Sunday morning, yawning aloud
Flipping through magazines
Staring down aisle number two
Rattling coins in jeans
Wearing her nametag upside down
Hair in a sloppy bun
She pointed at the camera
Trying to have some fun
Addie was nearly seventeen
Pretty but immature
Doodling on an old receipt
When Jack came through the door
Green eyes brushed passed her round dark brown
He strutted far away
Leaning over cash register
She wondered what to say Read More
I received everything below in an email, and did not write any of it, but felt the need to share this touching poem.
When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North
Platte, Nebraska, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they
found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that
copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One
nurse took her copy to Missouri.
The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the
Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for
Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his
simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now
the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet.
Crabby Old Man
What do you see nurses? . . . .. .. What do you see?
What are you thinking . .. . . . When you’re looking at me?
A crabby old man . . . . . Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit . .. . . . With faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food . . . . . And makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . . . . . ‘I do wish you’d try!’
Who seems not to notice .. . .. . . The things that you do.
And forever is losing . . .. . .. A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . . . Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . . . The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking? . .. . . . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . . . . . You’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am. . . . . . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . … . . .. As I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of Ten . . .. . . With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .. .. . . . Who love one another.
A young boy of Sixteen . . . . With wings on his feet.
Dreaming that soon now . . . . . A lover he’ll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . .. . . . My heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows .. . . . . That I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . .. . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . . . And a secure happy home..
A man of Thirty . . . .. . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . .. . … With ties that should last. Read More
The cotton candy sky above the highway wasn’t as pretty
as your hand on my wrist, when you told me I was flawless
You’d be at the door in one of your gray shirts
Damp hair and clean shaven
I thought you only smiled at me that way
The flowers bursted and the warm air pat me on the back
when I had enough, when I was finally brave Read More
A limerick I wrote last summer for the creative writing class I was a teacher’s assistant for.
There once was a tiny fish
Who only wanted one wish
He wanted to fly
Up to the sky
Now he is on a dish
A blackout poem I created from a few pages of Louisa May Alcott’s novel, Little Women.
*
People, you know, envy girls fond of luxury
Man of the Sea learned to carry her without complaining
So light
Good spirits
Blue neck-ribbon, dressing her hair
looking nice, pretty or not
Bits of fun now and then Read More
I wrote this poem in 2008 when I worked at a dog boarding kennel. It’s about remembering the dog I grew up with.
It smells like her, that collar
Once tangled in fur,
now a decoration to my room
and a memory for my heart
Foggy, but I can remember
the first time I saw her
Like a frightened bear cub
hiding under kitchen table
An old poem of mine that I recently rediscovered while cleaning my room.
Maybe they’re hard to tame because
they’re invisible
I feel them living in me
On me like a bad itch
in a difficult place
I want to pick them off
like fingernails
But my brain is an
addict
and my heart thinks they’re
important
A sickness I wish I was immune to Read More
Reflect over lake, highlight treetops, cast shadows
in dark grass.
Magical spell, crickets sing
Hypnotize–makes one with hazy summer nights.
Power
to make beasts of forest howl; worship. Read More
Performers
Spreading sunset, shadow towering sea
Designing distorted pathways to lighthouse
Cetaceans spreading moist wings, flying free
Leaping, wrinkled blue when performers douse
Nicole DiGiose 