A Mouse Is A Mouse -- Or Is It?

Is it mouses, or is it mice?
I've asked this question more than twice.
As I sit before my monitor,
I'm quite sure I am just not sure.

When two computers I must use,
All the appendages come in two's.
I shuffle keyboards, arrange them nice, 
But then I must hook up the ... mice?

My only other choice is "mouses."
My sensitive nature that arouses.
For an English teacher I'll always be,
And "mouses" chafes and nettles me.

Surely "mice" should be allowed,
But then I start to laugh out loud.
Confound that name! How did it start?
Bill English and Doug Engelbart!

It's all their fault; they must admit.
And foolish names are such a hit.
And dictionaries help not at all;
They make it an individual's call.

So back again to where I was,
More frustrated now because
As I struggled to name the counterfeit,
Its namesake from my sandwich bit.

~~~

Dr. Jehovah Rapha

(Exodus 15:26, Mark 5:25-34)  

Her brow was wet with fever,
And her body wracked with pain.
She did not know just what was wrong,
But the symptoms would not change.
She knew she needed healing,
But she had no way to pay.
Who to turn to; who to trust;
Who to show the way?

A friend said to her, “Sister,
I know a doctor kind.
He cleanses lepers, makes lame walk,
And gives sight to the blind.
In fact, He'll take on any case,
And cure it every time.”

“Oh, would that I could go to Him,”
She then was heard to say.
“But since I do not know His name,
How can I know the way?
And even if He'd take my case,
I simply cannot pay.”

“My dear, fear not,” her friend replied;
“There is no need to fear.
I'll take you to Him right away;
He's really very near.
His name's Jehovah Rapha; He's
'The God that healeth thee.'
And because of His Son's precious blood,
The healing – it is free!

~

© 1998 Sandra Conner

SNOWCHILD

We've had so much snow this yea --all the way through March. We even experienced the first actual "blizzard" that I can remember. And I suddenly realized this week that I had not shared my "snow" poem on this blog, so (even though I can feel a hint of spring in the air) I think I'll go ahead and post it anyway.

The photograph is of my gorgeous Blue Spruce tree in my front yard.

SNOWCHILD                                                   

When I was a child, I thought as a child,
And snow was a thing so delightful!
From school we were free; we got wet to the knees,
And our mom’s day was thrown all off schedule.

But now that I’m grown, I must do on my own
All the chores Mom and Dad used to dread:
Stock up food by the loads, drive on slippery roads,
Shovel snow, and repair that old sled.

Now I look with dismay at the skies leaden gray
As I trudge to the store for supplies.
De-icer and salt sell out fast with no halt.
I need new boots to tread on the ice.

The wind from the north is bitter and harsh,
But my temperature, still it is rising;
I am in a foul mood, for I see nothing good
That can come from a snowstorm arriving.

But then the flakes start, and I feel in my heart -
Watching white, fluffy, wonderful, wild
Filling all of my world with such beauty unfurled -
That in truth I am still just a child!

~ ~ ~

National Poetry Month - Day 10 - An 'Unlove' Poem

The challenge for Day 10 is to write "an unlove poem" or a "poem of sarcastic dislike."  So here goes: 

NARCISSUS

It's true you quicken heartbeats when you enter rooms.
And every girl around compete's for you.
The wilting sighs float down the street as you pass by,
And "brilliant" comes to mind at all you do.

Your smile - it's dazzle quickly melts fair maiden hearts,
Your voice - it has a timbre all its own.
And when you stay away, we girls all miss you so
That you return to find our love has grown.

But all our smiles and sighs have no effect on you.
And year by year you manage to stay free.
Well, I, for one, know why you never choose a love:
You're lost in love with what your mirror sees.

~

There are still 18 days to go. (I'm running behind again.) Hop over to Maureen's site and get started:
http://www.napowrimo.net/

National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 6 - Valediction to a Passing Love

Day 6 of the National Poetry Writing Month challenge involves a prompt to write a valediction -- to anyone or anything. I guess some people might think I should take this particular subject more seriously, but, for some reason, these challenges just seem to bring out the whimsy in me, so .....

Valediction to a Passing Love  

I have not loved you well,
Nor have I loved you long.
So it is with no strong regret
I sing this parting song.

Your passage through my life
Has barely touched my soul,
So mourning will not weigh me down.
In fact, I feel quite whole.

Adieu, my love, adieu.
I bid you fond goodbye.
But at your grave, for memory's sake,
A few tears I will cry.

~

Photo by Susan Buck Ms: http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=8210&picture=casket-over-plot&large=1

It's not too late to join the fun. I actually posted this on Day 12. Just too busy to keep up with every day, but I'm really enjoying trying as many as possible.  Visit this link for instructions: http://www.napowrimo.net/

National Poetry Writing Month Challene - Day 5 - A Cinquain

Another first for me. I have written prose and poetry all my life, but I don't remember ever writing a Cinquain.  That's what I love about these challenges: They keep me out of my comfort zone.

According to the definitions I've found, the American Cinquain has 5 lines with the following accent pattern:
Line one has 1-2 syllables, 1 accented
Second line has 4-5 syllables, 2 accented
Third line has up to 6 syllables, 3 accented
Fourth line has up to 8 syllables, 4 accented
Fifth line goes back to 1-2 syllables, 1 accented

Below is my Cincquain. To join the fun visit here: http://www.napowrimo.net/

INVITATION 

The sea
Beguiles me so:
Its hue, its scent, its song,
Its movements that caress my soul.
I go.

~

Day 4 of the NaPoWriMo challenge offers a very unusual prompt.  Here it is in the words right from the NaPoWriMo site, in  host Maureen Thorson's words:  "Recently, I read an article about the Scottish science fiction writer Iain M. Banks. His books often have spaceships in them. And those spaceships have extremely odd, poetic names. Like:

Prosthetic Conscience
Irregular Apocalypse
Unfortunate Conflict of Interest
Gunboat Diplomat
Very Little Gravitas Indeed
A Series of Unlikely Explanations

So your challenge for today is to write a poem with a title drawn from one of these spaceship names."

Now, the list of spaceship names on the site is much longer, but I stopped with "A Series of Unlikely Explanations" because it is the one that inspired a poem for me. Since the title is borrowed from a science fiction writer, I kept the science fiction theme as well.

You'll find the poem below, and if you want to take part in these fun challenges for National Poetry Writing Month, just visit this site:
http://www.napowrimo.net/

A SERIES OF UNLIKELY EXPLANATIONS 

"Johnny," said his teacher, "where's your homework?"
"Uh ..." the child replied, "well, it's like this."
Then calling on his great imagination,
John recited his excuses like a list.

 "I saved my book report until the last day
Because I wanted it to be so fresh;
I wanted to review again my story,
And type it so it wouldn't be a mess.

"But when I went to print it out on paper,
The printer said that it was out of ink.
So Dad said he would go to Wal-Mart for some,
And that he would be back in just two blinks.

"I waited and I waited with my printer,
And as the hours ticked by, I fell asleep,
But did not wake until the sun disturbed me,
So quickly from my chair then I did leap.

"I went in search of Dad, but found him nowhere.
My mom said he had called to say goodbye.
He'd seen a spaceship land not far from Wal-Mart,
And with those spacemen he'd agreed to fly.

"He said it was a chance for rare adventure,
And he was sure that you would understand,
And promised that when he returns with more ink,
My book report will be a story grand! 

"I know you tell us life's a great adventure;
Of opportunities to be aware,
So I was sure you'd want to wait 'til next week,
To have my book report to read and share."

~

National Poetry Writing Month Challenge - Day 3 - Sea Shanty

The prompt for Day 3:  Write a "sea chanty" or "sea shanty," depending on which historical spelling and definition you choose to favor.  Anyway, we are to write a poem with rhyme and a rhythm that can be used to keep a steady pace at physical work -- and it should be connected with the sea as well. Here's my attempt:

'THE ANCHOR'S AWAY, AND I HAVE TO GO' 

chorus

Heave! - Ho! Heave! - Ho!
Over the rim and into the stow;
The anchor's away, and we have to go.
Heave Ho, Me Mates, Heave Ho!

verse 1
I had shore leave, but now 'tis done,
And I must sale at rise of sun,
To join the fight two weeks begun;
Heave Ho, Me Mates, Heave Ho!

chorus
Heave! - Ho! Heave! - Ho!
Over the rim and into the stow.
The anchor's away, and we have to go.
Heave Ho, Me Mates, Heave Ho!

verse 2
I kissed my love and wished her well;
Said, "I must make my way to hell;
To win this war my soul I'd sell!"
Heave Ho, Me Mates, Heave Ho!

chorus
Heave! - Ho! Heave! - Ho!
Over the rim and into the stow;
The anchor's away, and we have to go.
Heave Ho, Me Mates, Heave Ho!

~

Hurry over to the NaPoWriMo site and get involved:
http://www.napowrimo.net/

National Poetry Month 30-Day Writing Challenge -- Day 2

The NaPoWriMo challenge for Day 2 is to write "a poem that tells a lie."  So here goes:

The Tale of the Pretty Kitty

Mary Lou was very pretty,
And she had a pretty kitty.
It was black with one white stripe,
And of its smell her folks did gripe. 

But Mary Lou just loved her pet,
So it was with such great regret
That she agreed to have him fixed,
And have his smell completely nixed.

But during surgery, kitty died,
And Mary Lou, she cried and cried.
But every night in spirit form
Her kitty did come back to home. 

Poor Mom and Dad could not explain,
The smell that came each night again,
But Mary was content to know
Her white-striped pet still loved her so.

~

Join the challenge to write 30 poems in 30 days. It's not too late to start.visit this link:  http://www.napowrimo.net/

photo courtesy wikipedia: http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archivo:Striped_skunk.jpg

National Poetry Month - 2013 -- 30-Day Writing Challenge -- Day 1

I'm taking part in the National Poetry Month 30-day writing challenge -- better known in the blogging community as "NaPoWriMo - 2013." For any of you who are not familiar with NaPoWriMo, it is simply a challenge to write one poem a day for the 30 days of April. Maureen Thurson, from Washington, D. C.,  is the originator of the blogsite that hosts the challenge, and you can visit that site to get all the particulars at this link: http://www.napowrimo.net/.

Each day, Maureen gives poets a particular prompt to spur them on, but the prompts are just suggestions. Poets can feel free to write any kind of poem they like, without considering the prompt at all if they prefer.

Day 1 prompted us to write a poem with the same first line as an already famous poem, so I chose "She walks in beauty like the night," by Lord Byron.  Here's my poem:

She Walks In Beauty??? 

She walks in 'beauty,' like the night,
But morning hours she feels a fright.
She cannot seem to get it right
'Til she's worked hours in mirror's light.

Each day she wakes with cheerful sun,
Then looks in mirror and feels undone.
How can she venture forth for fun
'Til make-up's on that weighs a ton?

She struggles to impress the crowd
And hold her head up high and proud,
To make sure she is not a dowd,
But 'neath the load her heart is bowed.

 Because she feels she must comply
With this world's rampant beauty lies:
"Wear this on lips and that on eyes,
And starve that waist, those hips and thighs. 

"Walk tall on heels that are quite frail,
And don't forget those fingernails.
Stuck on with glue that cannot fail,
All fear of fungus kept curtailed. 

"Now bleach those teeth until they shine –
Until your smile the sun would blind.
Don't button top; wear loose neckline,
So lots of cleavage you can find."

And on she goes at each day's light,
So stressed and strained to do it 'right' --
To find acceptance in world's sight,
For deep inside there is a fright.

She fears and doesn't have a clue,
That deep inside a beauty true
Awaits its chance to make debut,
If she'd but to herself be true.

~

A Vessel of Sterling

While browsing antique shops, I made a great find!
Unearthed a rare treasure. Never saw one in kind.

An elegant bowl, with a handle and lid;

Beneath so much tarnish, it's true beauty hid.

Though black with the ages, I hugged it to me;

I paid the man gladly and danced home with glee.

Polished and rubbed to a radiant glow,

On party buffet my prize purchase would show.

It gleamed and it glowed, holding punch the next day,

When - horror of horrors - I heard a guest say:

“Heaven help us! Is this the best silver you've got?

I'll not drink my punch from an old chamber pot!”

~ ~ ~

Tall Guy

I know a guy who's very tall,

Stands six feet, seven inches.

He finds his height a great delight,

An asset in the clinches.

He's very smart, and that's a help.

It compensates the strain

Of all the time it takes for blood

To move from heart to brain.

In public he stands proud and straight;

He literally has a ball,

When people lean waaaay back and say,

“My goodness, you are tall!”

Height has its setbacks, though. Take clothes:

They must be special bought.
And going in and out of doors,

He must take special thought.

And then there's dating; it's a trial:

He's anxious, Heaven knows,

To hold his partner cheek to cheek,

Not middle chest to nose.

But, still, he sees his height as Heaven's

Gift – a special gene.

Believes all men wish to be tall,

And with envy they are green.

So happily he struts about,

Looking for the perfect mate.

His only foe the hometown priest,

Who stands at six foot, eight.

© 2012 Sandra Conner