Nativity Scene(s)

The babe's in the manger,
Asleep on the "hay;"

(Just a little excelsior, really.)

Shepherds and wise men
Their respects come to pay.

(Oh, and the wise men bring gifts, probably to make up for the fact that they're late due to taking the long way around.)

It's awkward at first,
All crammed in together,

(See how the camel is hiding behind the wise men? He's embarrassed because he's from a different nativity set, which was clearly made to a smaller scale.)

Magi and shepherds
Discussing the weather.

(They haven't yet discovered the true meaning of Christmas. They're just trying not to stare at the ox and the ass, who are missing an ear apiece.)

Then comes the magic
We all know occurred...

(Like in that song, O Holy Night...)

At the birth of that baby,
All hearts were stirred.

(And that's why we try to be extra nice at Christmas. It has nothing to do with Santa, really.)

And then there's the version where Joseph and Mary arrive at the inn, Mary carrying Baby Jesus in he arms, because apparently she had already had him, and the manger wasn't ready yet or something. There was an ox and an ass, but no one could ride them because of their confining outfits, so they all just "hoofed" it. But it was still Christmas.

Out of the Box: Haiku for the Christmas Season

A tree in a box,
Carried up a flight of stairs.
Open; assemble.

Hard to envision
A thing of beauty, aglow
With lights and baubles.

It just needs "fluffing."
A little here, some more there.
It's showing promise...

Wait--not finished yet.
This is not what I pictured.
Something must be done!

Voila! Masterpiece,
Save for lights and ornaments--
The best part of all.


Except for the people, of course. If not for My Awesome Husband Greg and My Imaginary Granddaughter Jordyn, it would all still be a tangle of branches in cardboard box in the basement. Thank you to my two favorite tree elves!

From Mourning to Morning

In darkness, I went to my bed.
"We'll know by morning," I said.
Sleep came slowly.

In shadows, I slid to the floor.
Softly, I opened the door.
Surely she'd won...

Groggily, I turned on TV.
"Trump Wins." The words bludgeoned me.
We had it wrong!

In mourning for what we had lost,
I glumly considered the cost.
What had we done?

And then...

With the morning, came a faint light,
Even though I still felt the night.
There must be hope.

A phrase started then in my head.
We're stronger together it said.
Words she gave us!

And here's the part that doesn't rhyme...

I tried to convince myself that this would somehow be all right. In the past, I've been an advocate of If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change the way you think about it. It usually works. But not this time. What we can't change are the all of the ugly, venomous words that have spewed out of our president elect's mouth. The hatred in his soul has entered my soul, making my stomach roil and my head hurt. Could I possibly change the way I thought--felt--about those words?

The answer is No!

I honestly tried. I told myself he deserved a chance, a new start. Maybe he could change...

His prospective cabinet choices indicate that he will not change.

He will be our next president, barring the miracle I'm still praying for. We will owe him our support, I suppose. When we can give it. However, we can never support policies that discriminate against any members of our society. Too many have fought and died to make this country great. We have a debt to them, and to those who are now frightened--rightfully--of his bullying tactics. We must stand with and protect our nation and its people--all of its people--in any ways that we can.

We can move on, but we cannot "get over it." We don't want to!

Limerick This, Haiku That

This post is a collaborative effort. The photos were taken by Jordyn Paige Gottlieb, poetry by Yours Truly...

'Twas obvious the path was less taken;
In fact, it looked downright forsaken.
I was afraid to begin...
Did I dare just step in?
A mistake I feared I was makin'.

I made it in time to the station,
Where the train was patiently waitin'.
But my enormous relief
Turned to stark disbelief...
I had booked the express line to Satan!

Blue plastic cartons
Spilled from the open trailer.
It hardly made sense.

A man by himself in tall weeds
My intense curiosity feeds.
Though I know him quite well,
I really can't tell
The thinking that led to his deeds.

Dry leaves in water
Do not become moisturized.
Skin is like that, too.

The sight resisted describing,
Though she had spent the last hour imbibing.
Still words escaped her,
Eschewing the paper
On which she was furiously scribing.

Woebegone: An Acrostic Poem For Our Time

Wracked with anxiety,

Only seeing the negative aspects of the world in which she lives,

Everything has the power to steal her serenity.

Because she gets her news from right-slanting media outlets--Fox News--

Eventually, she comes to believe all signs are pointing to The End.

Going into hiding to escape her terrifying "reality,"

Overcome with hopelessness, she turns to The Hallmark Channel, saying it helps.

Not really, though.

Evidence is in the way her hand trembles as she pours the wine.

Anniversary

We were married! We'd dated, gotten engaged and survived planning our wedding. We'd enjoyed our reception so much that we were practically the last ones to leave. Now we were flying free...

This photo of the old biplane that pulled My Awesome Husband Greg and me up over the Pocono Mountains in a glider--professionally piloted, of course--then cut us free is from our DIY wedding album. It's the kind of album where the photos are permanently affixed by sticky strips of glue that turn yellow after a few years. The cellophane page covers that become brittle with time make the pages dangerous to touch, rendering the entire album unappealing, no matter how precious the memories.

It was 1973. We didn't do selfies back then, but we did take pictures of ourselves on road trips. I took this one as we started out for our "romantic" (that's what all the ads in Bride Magazine promised) Penn Hills honeymoon...

Possibly even more dangerous than texting while driving--taking photos of your spouse while driving...

Tucked among those brittle, sticky, yellowed old pages, I found a poem I had written for Awesome Greg on our 26th anniversary. Apparently I thought it was worth saving, which makes it worth repeating here, perhaps. Elizabeth Barrett Browning had nothing on me, as you can see...

How do I love thee...
How shall I explain?
I love thee like a new umbrella
Loves a gentle rain.

I love thee like a faithful dog
Loves the creaking door
That signals that his master
Has returned to him once more.

I love thee like the empty gut
Loves the morning meal,
And I love thee like a chilly morn
Craves the sunshine's feel.

I love thee like the poet,
With obsessive need to rhyme,
Loves the rare occasion
When there's ample "quiet time."

But mine will soon be over,
So this ballad must end here--
Just know somehow I love you
A little more each year.

Happy Anniversary to My Awesome Husband Greg!

Afterwords--A Blog Written in Haiku

Granddaughter with wine
Set it down a little hard.
"So sorry, it spilled."

Cat shut in bedroom
Pooped on bed and peed on floor.
She couldn't help it.

Sixteen dinner guests;
Great time, but lots of dishes.
We'll clean up later.

Tablecloth is clean
After soaking and washing.
We'll use it again.

Hosed down the bedspread,
Hot water wash, two rinses.
Rewashed it today.

The morning after.
Mountains of plates ev'rywhere.
Husband washed them all.

I'll keep my husband
For as long as possible.
He's worth ev'rything.

A Story About A Story

This was told to me by a friend. He had read my blog yesterday about James Thurber and his backward limericks, and it made him remember a poem he had read in high school. He was not a big fan of poetry, but this one had made a mark on him. It was about two gold prospectors in the Yukon, one of whom was dying. He asked his companion to cremate him so he could feel warm again. My friend couldn't remember the name of the poem--it was "The Cremation of...," and he wondered if I remembered it, or would know how to find it.

He went on to say that when he was stationed in Korea in 1978, he pulled duty on a frigid night with an old Master Sergeant from West Virgina. Staring into the fire and buzzed on coffee, my friend told the Sergeant what he remembered about the poem. The old southerner, in his country voice, recited the poem from start to finish.

I did not remember reading the poem, but then I was not much for poetry in high school, either. Now, though, I was intrigued. The Internet let me type "The Cremation of" before the screen filled with options for "The Cremation of Sam McGee," by Robert W. Service.

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was the night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Fifteen stanzas in all, its haunting verse literally made me shiver.

Things have a way of working themselves into stories, and I'm glad I heard this one today. Thank you, my friend, for asking me to help you find your poem.

Coming Up Empty

Having once found a bud that was rose,
I created a gay that was nose.
This work that was art
Tugged my strings that were heart,
So I danced in my shoes that were toes.

That is a "backwards limerick." As far as I know, James Thurber invented the art form.

I love Thurber. The first time I went out with My Awesome Husband Greg, we used his mother's car, which had no radio. After Greg had sung me every song he knew, he began reciting Thurber's "The Night the Bed Fell on Father," which he had memorized for drama class. The story was dear to me, because I remembered my dad reading it to us as kids. At the time, that was all the Thurber I knew.

Years later, I learned a lot more. I read every book by or about Thurber that I could carry home from the library.

When I woke up this morning, I knew what I was going to write about. It wasn't Thurber, and it wasn't limericks--backward or otherwise. It was going to be about the poems I wrote for my daughter when she was in college. I was going to share one with you that I liked so much, I kept a copy. It didn't have a name when I wrote it, but in my blog, I was going to call it "Should." I even knew what photo I would put with it.

Alas, the poem wasn't where I thought I had seen it. It wasn't where I thought I mht have put it. It wasn't anywhere I could think of that made sense. I finally gave up looking for
But my time spent searching wasn't wasted, because I found the limerick that opened this post. There were brilliant reverse limericks in one of Thurber's books. I wrote others. I know there are copies of his and mine somewhere in this house. They may never be found, but I hope they will. Along with "Should."

Because this wasn't the post I thought I was going to write today, I feel like I came up empty. If I have a nightmare about a lost poem, I hope it reveals its hiding place before I wake up.

Semantics--A Blog That Rhymes

I prefer slightly mad to bat-shit crazy;
I prefer reading a book to being lazy.
I prefer collecting treasure to hoarding junk
And I like nourishing my soul more than getting drunk.

I like cheese and crackers more than cookies and cream;
I like going with the flow more than swimming upstream;
I like gentle snow more than driving rains
And I prefer childlike notions to growing pains.

Give me mincemeat cookies, not kidney pie;
Give me dreams I can nurture, not pie in the sky;
Give me children's laughter, not perfect pitch
And I'm a strong-willed woman, not a stubborn bitch.

I wear rose-colored glasses, I'm not naive;
I embellish the truth, but I don't deceive;
I buy my happiness, not waste my money
And I prefer subtle humor to slapstick funny.

I'd rather be dysfunctional than just a nut;
I'd rather be an escort than just a slut.
I'd rather be acquaintances than fair weather friends
And I like gentle closures more than bitter ends...

This poem has now come to a gentle closure, i.e.,

The End.

My After-Christmas Poetry Blog

Our House on Christmas Night -- Before the lights went out! (Kate's LRDC, 12/25/10)



It started slowly, did Christmas this year;

Early we woke, to nobody here.

Lights we turned on, coffee we poured,

Showers we took; the gifts, we ignored.



(Waiting 'til later, were they.)



First come was Dj, our favorite son;

Breakfast was started, Christmas begun.

Eyes still averted from under the tree;

When arrived the right time, surprised we must be!




(Waiting 'til later, were we.)



"Walking, let's go," said I to my son.

Agreed, then did he, though expecting no fun.

Chill was the air; the sky was pure gray.

"Snow now it should, this fine Christmas day."




(Waiting 'til later, was it.)



Back home, we headed; before we were there,

Falling was snow, right out of the air!

Fluffy and white, those flakes, came they thickly!

Hurried we home. now walking quite quickly.



(Waiting 'til later, not we!)



Posed we for pictures, out there in the snow.

(Rare, a White Christmas in these parts, you know!)

Arrived then, soon after, Meagan and Joe,

And Charlie; this Christmas, the first one she'd know.



(Waiting for them, had we been.)



Time, 'twas at last to return to the tree;

Presents to open, delightment to see.

Hungry we were then, but patient were we.

Guests yet were coming; still needed we, three.



(Waiting for them, were we.)



Present, at last, all parties expected;

Opened were presents; not one rejected.

Dinner aplenty; the table was laid.

Grateful we were; thanksgiving we made.



(Waiting for this, had we been.)



Stored in our memories, this Christmas just past,

Lasting as long as mem'ries can last.

Special, the Christmas snow fell on that day,

But people it was, who made it that way!



(Waiting no longer are we.)

Hydrangea: A Photo Blog...

...A day-by-day look at the life of one beautiful blue hydrangea. I may be off by a year or two, but I believe it was 2001 when my sister, Karen (whose name is practically synonymous with "Beautiful Flowers"), gifted me with this plant...



"Blue Hydrangea," June 2009 (Kate's LRDC)

First, my "Hydrangea Haiku:"

Gorgeous clouds of blue
Delight the soul of my eyes.
Beauty just because.



June 3 & 4...Just enough color to capture my attention as I returned from the mailbox.




June 5 & 6...Color beginning to diffuse!




June 7 & 8...Definitely more than "a Whiter shade of Pale." (Procol Harem and Willie Nelson)




June 9 & 10...Getting ripe for the pickin'...



June 11...Sorry, Hydrangea. (But thank you!)

A Bee in Your Bonnet? That's Nothin'!

"Greg in a Straw Hat," MerleFest 2009 (Kate's LRDC)

Now surely you've seen a gentleman's head

With a straw hat perched upon it;

And you've most likely heard of the woman, as well,

Who had a bee within her bonnet.

But have you seen a wasp who built its nest

In a fedora made of straw?

"Settin' Up the Kids' Room," 5/11/09 (Kate's LRDC)

Well, before he plopped it on his head,

I guess Greg's glad he saw!

"Fedora Wasp's Nest," 5/11/09 (Kate's LRDC)

The End

(for now, anyway)

A Blog of Gratitude

Meagan and Joe Kopp, 5/1/09, by Greg (taken with Kate's Little Red Digital Camera)

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This is My Dazzling Daughter Meagan and her Brilliant Husband Joe. Aren't they cute? They're also very smart and very nice -- especially when they stop by our house on a Friday night after they've just eaten dinner at a nearby restaurant, and they take the time to help me set up my computer so I can download photos that I have taken with the darling Little Red Digital Camera (hereinafter referred to simply as my LRDC), which they, along with my Sparkling Son Dominic, gave me for Christmas!

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So here's a little limerick I've spontaneously composed (well,actually, I'm composing it right now...haven't really started yet, but I'll be getting to it directly...) to show them my appreciation:

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My daughter and her old man

Stop by whenever they can.

When they are here,

I let them drink beer

And sit in front of the fan.

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Oh dangboozle (I think I just made up a word, but feel free to use it amongst yourselves if you like) -- That's not at all how I was picturing it! Here, let me try a haiku:

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As nightfall sets in

And eyelids become heavy,

Just guess who shows up!

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Well, that's not quite it either...It's probably a little too late in the evening for me to be trying to wax poetic. Here...I'll just come out and say it:

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Thanks, Meagan and Joe! I'm glad you're both so cute and smart and nice. You make a really good couple. I'm also glad that you don't have to read manuals and directions and such to figure out how to do stuff -- it's so much quicker when you just have that instinct! Anyway, thanks to you guys, I'm in business now! You are both welcome here any time, you know. You don't even have to ring the doorbell and wait for us to let you in -- Feel free to just walk on in and sit down as if you own the place. In fact, if we're down in the office or something, it's perfectly all right to sneak down and scare the crap out of us. We love you that much! Really -- Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Bluefinger Blues...A Rather Simple Tune

"Blues Guitar" by Kate, 3/28/09 (MSN Paint)

Bwra-da-da-da-dant (sp.?)...

I got the blue-finger blues

Bwra-da-da-da-dant...

From my head to my shoes.

Bwra-da-da-da-dant...

But there's sorta good news --

Bwra-da-da-da-dant...

I got nothin' to lose.

Bwra-da-da-da-dant...

I don't wanna snooze --

Bwra-da-da-da-dant...

Gotta find a new muse.

Bwra-da-da-da-dant...

If I had some clues,

Bwra-da-da-da-dant...

I'd know which one to choose.

Bwra-da-da-da-dant...

I know a few truths;

Bwra-da-da-da-dant...

Now I'm payin' my dues.

Bwra-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-da-dah!

Simply Red (A Poetry Blog)

(Alternate title: Dread Locks)

Kate "I-Meant-to-Do-This" Fischer, Summer 2005

(by Greg "I-Can't-Believe-You-Did-That" Fischer)

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Frivolous woman with crimson hair,

Trying to act like you don't care,

Had you no thought within that head

The day you were so far mis-lead?

*

Of course I had a thought in there...

I thought, I want some bright red hair!

(I also thought some other stuff,

But for now I think I've said enough.)

*

Well, if I may be so bold to ask,

Once you'd begun the fateful task --

Extremely Mak(ing) O'er your head --

Did you not harbor one small dread?

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Well, of course right then, there was no dread --

I meant to do it, as I said...

I did, however, have some doubt

The first time that I ventured out!

Doggerel for an Especially Nice Day

"Riding in my Car in a Short-Sleeved Shirt" by Kate, 3/7/09 (MSN Paint)

Ridin' in my car in my short-sleeved shirt

Feels so good, why it almost hurts!

Well, not exactly, but you know what I mean...

I give a royal wave, 'cause I'm the Queen!

*

The window's down, my arm's stickin' out;

Every so often I just wave and shout.

It might could snow in a few more days,

But that window's stayin' open anyways!

Snow Day Photo Blog

Here you are, Bloggees -- Once I got my Awesome Husband Greg's photos downloaded, I got impatient again. Besides, I could see no reason to make you wait any longer...

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Greg's version of "Snow-covered Tree," 3/2/09.

(I won't ask which version you like better.)

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Snow-covered branches

Against cerulean sky;

Rarely seen Down South.

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"From the Bedroom Window" 3/2/09

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Waking up today,

I nearly forgot to breathe,

Beholding Wonder.

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"House Behind Trees," 3/2/09

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The house hid behind the white trees,

Thinking, Aha -- Now nobody sees

That my siding is dirty

And my color is nerdy.

(My only response is, "Puhlease!")

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Enjoy, Bloggees. (The haikus and the limerick are on me.)

Ash Wednesday Blog

Have you ever gone to church on Ash Wednesday to have a cross traced on your forehead with ashes?

(Do other religions even do that, or is it just Catholics?)

I went yesterday. I didn't go for the entire Mass -- I had slept in too late for that. I went at noon for just the Ashes and Communion Service.

I don't go every year, but when I do, I always try to visualize how I'm going to look with a little black cross on my forehead. I even put on extra mascara so the cross won't completely overpower my total Look.

The picture above shows the type of cross I always imagine gracing my forehead.

Alas, below we have the reality...

Now I don't think even false eyelashes would help this look!

Anyway, even though my cross turned out to be a messy blob, I did garner some inspiration from the experience...

A ffecting

S olemn

H umility,

W e

E mphatically

D eny

E very

S weet

D elight,

A nd

Y earn.

Happy Lent, Bloggees.

Broken Bones and Little Boys -- A Poetry Blog

Alex Richardson, who broke his arm while building forts on his bunk bed.

(Photo by Greg, Summer 2008)

Boys will be boys...

That's what they say.

Children are children --

Just let them play!

*

Let them have fun --

Beds make great forts

(Especially the stacked ones

From trusted reports)!

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There's no need to worry --

No cause for alarm...

You're not a real boy

'Til you've broken an arm!

Hope it heals fast, Alex!

We love you!