Poems, Wordsmithery

The Boy (a Petrarchan Sonnet)

***This is a sonnet in the form of ABBA ABBA CDECDE***

When King Herod called the money changer

To count all the people across the land

From Galilee Sea to Bethlehem sand

Baby boys were born in extreme danger.

Wisemen came from distant countries stranger

While sleeping lowly shepherds took a stand

When an angel came and held up his hand

To share the news of hope born in a manger.

Followed across the fields a glowing star

to a stable with animals so stark

the humble bundle lay awake that night

as shepherds and wisemen traveled so far.

To this world of despair and broken dark,

He’s brought peace, hope, and joy, ’cause He is light.


Poems, Wordsmithery


How did the butterfly get its name?
Did it land on a stick of butter? 
Or maybe on the butter churn?
Did the first one have wings of yellow?
Or did it slide down a window easily?
Did it flutter around with pollen on its feet?

How did the butterfly get its name?
Did it steal the milk and butter? 

Photo cc0 from Pixabay.

Christian, Poems, Wordsmithery


Most days I swim in the shallows of daily life,

“What’s for dinner;

Honey, help me please;

Oh, that looks good;

Where is this thing?”

Occasionally, Great White dives into the abyss

and pulls a glowing creature 

from the depths of my darkness

that illuminates a way for others,

be it a story, a poem, or a painting.

Poems, Wordsmithery

Drawing Down Winter


Drawing down winter brings in the cold…

from outside to inside, then into my bones.

Arthritis flares up and makes me feel old,

drawing down winter brings in the cold.

To rid us of snow, I need to get bold,

icy wind blows as I scrape down to stones.

Drawing down winter brings in the cold…

From outside to inside, then into my bones.

Poems, Wordsmithery

Autumn (a Poem)


Apples, red and green, spilling from the trees.

Pulling pumpkins from the garden, everything’s deceased.

Spices wafting up from pie, cobblers dripping oats,

fruity cider with cinnamon, hot drinks begin to flow.

Football games outdoors require hoods and fleece.

Watch the breath mist out, squeezing hands up long sleeves.

Smoke billows from houses as fireplaces are lit,

pulling blankets out while checking slippers’ fit.

Trees of sugar maple, birch, elm, ash and oak

reveal their fading colors – red, orange, maroon and gold.

Leaves crunch underfoot, frost glitters across the lawn.

Berries pop from hid’n branches during fall’s crisp morning dawn.

So many sounds, smells, tastes and touches of the season,

it rolls on by too quick then its winter and we’re freezin’.

Poems, Wordsmithery



The sweet leather smell, brings dreams to my mind

of treasures and islands, and love so divine.

Remembering Austen, Bronte, Dickens, Carroll and Suess

Their words were so focused, their stories, bits of truth.

Society lies. Current styles are just snippets in time.

Ugly, silly, dark stormy nights, humanity grieves and repeats the lies.

Over and over, here we go again, recycling fashions, battling wars,

someone gets dead, someone gets more, but wealth is not the all of import.

The ingredients for good story are love, money and/or lack of these.

The writer writes with flourish, as protagonist falls to their knees.

A hero arises, be it male or female, a villain’s destroyed, by an unknown skill.

Words flow onto pages, be it computer, typewriter or paper and quill.

Give me my books for I cannot deny, I’m addicted to story,

Reading, writing and applying those words to my life.


Poems, Song, Wordsmithery

“This Land is Your Land” etc.

I recently did a writing exercise in my writers’ group that called for us to add verses to the song by Woodie Guthrie. Here’s my additions to the age old song – remember to sing as it’s just a bit of fun:

Riding down river, tubing Mississippi

The golden sunlight peeked through the leaves

It shined warmly upon my face

This land was made for you and me.


Crashing to the side of the riverbank

My tube caught a hole, and I almost sank

I stood in the mud praising God for life

This land was made for you and me.


The ranger found me, all wet and muddy

His blue eyes sparkled, his muscles studly

He gave me a ride, back down the mountain

This land was made for you and me.


Now he loves me, and I am getting

(Oh that sweet ranger), a country wedding

I’ll be so pretty in my tubing swimsuit,

This land was made for you and me.