Sister Sox

A pair of sister sox 

For no apparent reason 

To carry on your journey when 

The two of you are breezin-

Through the lush green of Hawaii 

Or Alaska glaciers tall 

The sister sox are ready for

Adventure when you call! 

Although the sister sox will not 

Always sit side by side 

They sit and wait upon the shelf 

For Toads next wild ride. 

I hope this will become something

You plan and plot each year

And when you're old the sister sox 

Will whisper in your ear,

remember your adventures with 

The other sister sock? 

They hold you two together

 Your sister hearts to lock.

Metal Grates

When you walk in a big city,
what is it that you fear?
Is it the dreaded hoodlums?
I’ll confess my fear right here.
As I walk, through our own streets
I spot a metal grate,
I sidestep quite un-gracefully,
don’t want to tempt my fate.
Not the roundish ones that guard
the roots of sidewalk trees.
If you fell in one of these
you’d stop right at your knees.
The ones I fear are treacherous
guarding the big black deep.
We walk above, oblivious to,
the secrets that they keep.
Especially the one that fronts
Brews Brothers coffee shop.
It is so bent and twisted up
my heart jumps and I stop.
I have to go around this one,
I’m chicken it is true
But someday, unexpectedly,
Some lady will fall through.
Her heart will leap, and with a gasp
computer bag go flying,
torn fingernails grasp for the grate
there’s really no use trying.
And with a thud she finds herself
in a dark and goopy place,
with twisted knee and broken heel,
something smudged across her face.
She’ll try to sit, with aching knee
and torn up business pants.
But what is that, that awkward smell...
I can not take that chance.
So there you have it, I confess,
my fear is on the table.
I’ll keep side skirting the grates
as much as I am able.

Time Suckers

Time Suckers

So what-my friend is sucking your day?

Taking from you the way you should play,

stealing away what your life wants to say?

Time suckers.. time suckers

The clicker in hand, flipping around

twenty-four channels just to hear sound.

There’s nothing worthwhile tonight to be found.

Time suckers.. time suckers

Or is it my friend that sucking facebook?

I’ll be just a minute, must take a quick look

that turns into an hour, my precious timesucking crook.

Time suckers.. time suckers

Is your day sucked up in bits and in snips?

Stolen eack time the cellphone it blips.

Grab it and soon your fingers they fly

send a new text in the blink of an eye.

Time suckers..  time suckers

I did not mention e-bay or craigslist

or the queen of all suckers they call Pintrest
There’s so many suckers my brain needs a rest!

Time suckers.. time suckers

So what would I do, and who would I tell
the things that I think, the thoughts that I sell?
And how would I know if the world went to hell?

Time suckers.. time suckers

I’d paint, and I’d sew, and I’d get things done.
I might even break out in a run.
But there is one thing I know is true,
I’d surely have more time to play with you!

A Pot of Boiling Quiet

A Pot of Boiling Quiet

You may think that peace and quiet

walk always hand in hand,

but that’s not what my life declares

through hourglass of sand.

On the bench at Marmatton

in the midst of Claude Monet,

or wandering your favorite path,

quiet hour in your day.

This is when our peace and quiet

shine through so bright and true,

but something odd can jump right in

and do it’s thing to you.

A pot of boiling quiet-

there is no peace involved.

It is so hot and bubbles up

get ready for the scald.

Now the quiet’s not so peaceful,

full of angry bitter strife.

And the tension is so thick,

you can cut it with a knife.

So I try to paint the picture

to give you a small view,

of a miss-matched quiet

hopefully not true for you.

So if your peace and peaceful

and you’re quiet real,

bask in that moment in your life.

Thank God for how you feel.

New Blacks

New Blacks

Do you shop Goodwill

and get depressed?

In the fitting room

you get undressed.

It happened every

single time,

so much, I say

It needs a rhyme.

I’ve had enough,

this misery,

the things I like

too small for me.

It’s time to change

the shape I’m in.

I am not big,

no where near thin.

It’s diet time!

I dump the sweets,

grab ham and cheese

when I need treats.

I did this for

a month until,

my starburst raving,

became still.

The diet’s done,

my skin it sags.

My black pants look

like black trash bags.

My work shirt comes,

untucked a lot.

My bellys in

a different spot.

I head to the

goodwill to find,

new blacks to fit

my new behind.

I need work pants,

I’ll pull size eight.

Oh glory be!

they fit just great!

My eyes? they play

a trick on me?

Could this be an eight,

this blur I see?

So I go back

squint at the rack.

a pile of pants,

I will attack.

Oh, it is true,

oh me oh my!

e-ven a random

six I try.

Oh I can’t wait

to wear some blacks,

that aren’t old lady

high waisted slacks.

All my young kids,

will look at me

and say" hey dude,

what do we see?"

"Is that high waisted

Jilly Bean?

In the coolest blacks

we’ve ever seen?"

I still can’t see

or think too fast,

but old lady pants

are a thing of the past.

　

　

Crooked Wooden Bench

I can't believe I forgot to post Crooked Wooden Bench. 
Today is a great day for it!
Here it is poetry lovers!

When you're resting at the beach

on a crooked wooden bench,

your hair is rather tusseled,

and you're looking like a wench-

reading a good novel,

squishing sand between your toes,

and you're thinking of your friends,

in the cold land where it snows-

and you're feeling rather guilty,

bout the sun, the surf, the sand,

and their huddled in their coats,

in their cloudy snowy land.

Venture out into the water,

DRAT, here comes a jelly fish!

And you feel that dreaded sting-

for their cloudy home you wish.

So if you're here, or if you're there,

in their clouds, or in your sand,

don't take your day for granted.

Either place- it can be grand. 

By Jill and Gale

The Silverware Song

The Silverware Song

We sing as we're polishing the forks.

That's why they say that we're the dorks.

We fold, we wipe, we roll them all,

from the very large to the very small.

We smile, we greet people we meet.

The jungle girls just can't be beat.

We bring such cheer from far to near

that it's my pleasure's all you hear.

Yes, we are silly, we are fun,

but at least we get the job done.

And some don't like to sing this song,

so I'll just sing it all day long.

They think that if they swipe the words

off of the wall, it soon shall fall.

But they don't know the song thats planted

in their heart brings joy to all!

Under Monets Tree

Under Monet's Tree

Sitting with the ducks under

Monet's weeping willow tree,

over to the left a batch

of seniors try tai chi.

Then a flock of nine strong geese

floating to the right,

my resting spot at Manito

today brings such delight.

The ducks seem to accept my chair,

they wander back near me.

We sit and watch the breeze weave through,

Monet's lacy willow tree.

A grown man comes running up

to scare the geese to flight,

my ducks and I just take a peek

and snicker at the sight.

We settle back into the breeze,

the quiet of the day,

the overwhelming peacefulness

makes it natural to pray.

So when you have a hectic life,

with stress swirling about,

a spot like this will clear your head,

of that I have no doubt.

Stay home and sneeze!

Guess I never posted my work poem. Wow, two in one day!


Stay Home and Sneeze

If you’re stuffy and sick
With a terrible disease
I am here to help
Stay home and sneeze.

If you need a day off
Just give me a call
Grab your keys and a friend
And go shop at the mall.

If your car won’t start
Or you run out of gas
I can work for you
This too shall pass.

If your friends call and say
“It’s a beautiful day”
I can come in to work
You go out and play.

So I wrote this little poem-
A goofy way to say
I will work for you
If the managers say “OK”

Silver Quarter

Have you found a silver quarter

among the quarters in your stash?

When you grab it very quickly

and just think it's small change cash.

Did you dump it on the table

hear a clink among the clank?

I found two within a week

I have only God to thank.

Now it's nothing very special.

It's just a little treat.

but It's like a little treasure

that you find beneath your feet.

Now James my friend, he looked it up

and found they're somewhat rare

especially when their is a "D"

I can't see it, but it's there.

So now I'm a collector,

 of the clink among the clank.

I will have a special jar

that will be my clinky bank.

When I Grow up

I have been graciously invited to a dinner put on by the Big Table people tomorrow night. While I was sitting on the little deck this morning having my coffee, out popped a poem for them.  here goes...

When I grow up
I will be a guest,
fun shoes and a hat,
creatively dressed.

I won't wear an apron,
or non-skid black shoes,
but will pick a silk dress,
in my fa-vo-rite blues.

Won't carry four dinners,
up over my head,
feel that everyday ache,
when I hit the bed.

I'll walk in and say
"Yes, a table for four,
over there by the window,
not near the front door"

"May I have a lemon
for my water please?
And an appie of rosemary
crackers with cheese?"

"Oh yes, take my plate
and refill my glass."
Oh here she comes now,
with my lemon sea bass.

And when it's all done,
and the evening is through,
I'll tell you what this
gray old lady will do.

They'll wheel me and lift me,
back onto the bus,
to the brick nursing home.
I won't make a fuss.

To my spot in the hall
with a smile on my face,
I'll be so very glad,
to be done with this race.

So that's how I see it,
some day when I'm old.
But that's not today,
I have napkins to fold.

Two Me's

Have you ever been a waitress? Well that is what I do, at a fantastic, fantastic place. This little poem is what happened to me yesterday. I was serving a baby shower on one side of a wall with very happy people celebrating the new little life. On the other side of the wall, I was serving very sad people from a funeral that should not have happened.  Here's what came out...

Serving two sides
of a wall made of brick
being two Me's
will be quite a trick.

One side of pink
of giggles and glee,
wondering what this
new life will be.

One side of gray,
of black, and of brown.
Of faces too sad,
too sad for a frown.

How do I approach,
both sides of the wall?
Cheerful and bubbles,
invisible and small.

I'll offer dessert,
It is worth a shot.
Don't know about them
It helps me a lot.

Not one bite of a treat,
they're too sad to taste,
Oh, if I could help,
not a minute I'd waste.

What will pop through?

What's up? What's new?
What will pop through?
The ground will show
me life to view.

Will it be red,
white, pink, or blue,
or just a leaf,
with pale green hue?

The spring is what,
 the yard is for.
Winter will soon knock
back on the door.

So enjoy each sprout,
that pops it's head.
Last week the ground,
was all but dead.

Get out, enjoy,
this is your chance,
you have three weeks,
 a short spring dance!

(funny what pops in my mind while I am washing my hair)  :-)

One Legged Seagull

So I was on a little picnic at my Manito pond, and this little one legged seagull just stood close by me and just waited for me to write her a poem.  Here it is..

My dear one legged seagull,
just standing next to me,
get up and flap your wings,
and fly-you will be free.

Oh I know you have but one good leg,
you have convinced me it is true
but if you flap those silly wings,
your joy, it will be new.

You'll fly over my Manito,
and see amazing things.
Stop looking at your one lone foot,
and flap your big white wings.

Over the old men on the bench,
chatting up about the day.
Over the boys, run-ning along,
with fishing net they play.

You'll fly over all the houses,
with people in the yard.
Enjoy your flight, one legged friend,
though flapping might be hard.

Oh yes you'll see gulls trot about,
on nice webbed feet of two,
but fly my friend, enjoy the day,
Your wings were made for you!

The Back of Mona Lisa

The Back of Mona Lisa

I unscrew the glass, when the tourists had past.

and the guard was asleep in the hall.

Then lift it off gingerly, making no sound,

off that wonderful world famous wall.

Just a moment I seek, to take a quick peek,

to see if the rumors are true,

that Da Vinci was just a regular guy

just exactly like me and like you!

So I pull off the backing, not making a sound,

so anxiously waiting my treat-

when I heard the drea sound, just like an old hound

of the thump of the wakened guards feet.

Quicken my pace to reveal, so quickly to peel,

the backing off that famous face.

Must be gentle I say, or I'll have to pay,

in jail for this curious race.

Just a glance at the back, of Lisa's great face.

told me it was worth it all,

for there I did see, a bugar so old,

hidden right there on that famous wall.

He wiped it in haste, while working one day,

on the right hand of Mona Lisa.

His model was hungry, and so they did stop

for a sip, and a bite of cheese pizza.

So because of the hunger of look alike Lisa,

we get just a bit of a view,

of Leonardo the great, painter of late,

who's so much like me and like you.

by Jill Skeie

Manito

Manito Park

I'm up, I'm off, I'm on my way.
I'm in my tennis shoes,
I'm heading straight to Manito
to chase away the blues.

The back packs full of this and that
to make it an event,
I think I thought of everything,
just left out the tent.

Jalapeno quesadillas
wrapped up in a paper towel,
roasted peanuts and fig newtons
I can hear my stomach growl.

Big thermos of alpine cider,
use two packets, make it strong.
picnic blanket, book and glasses,
lifting spirits with a song.

Loaded with my pack and lawn chair,
I'm headed out for fun,
if it weren't so cumbersome
I could break out in a run.

My pond it is so beautiful,
with ducks swimming about.
Manito is mine today,
a whisper is a shout.

Open my chair and settle in,
with cider in my mug,
sitting here on such a day,
is like a big God hug.

An ever-young comes walking up
with helper at her side.
She loves the ducks and makes them fly,
her joy she can not hide.

This is not the Grand Canal
or the Pantheon in Rome,
but it's just as beautiful
and just think-we call it home!

Pail of Sand

If I could only be an ostrich,

with a little pail of sand,

I'd hide out for a while,

from the problems in my hand.

I don't think their small answer,

such a bad one now and then,

it helps just for a moment,

but not the answer in the end.

I snuggle under cover,

in my little ostrich bed,

kind of like the white beach sand,

for my little ostrich head.

I will meet my list of problems,

in an hour, maybe two,

but sometimes, not the funtimes,

the sand's all I can do.

Jill Skeie