Purely Poetry

Best Laid Plans

2009-07-29T14:22:00.000-07:00

Me, small and meek, and curiously busy
but has not time or moment to seek
more than some housework, which makes me dizzy,
the washing and folding, an occasional weed
to pull in the cracks and crevices
before the weed spreads to seed.

The days, weeks, and moments of planning
to work on a painting, the time is unjust
and what I imagine is time for the taking
is only a matter of time to adjust
my schedule to one or another of lacking
adequate time to begin the said painting.

The frustration experienced while trying to honor
the tug and the pull of different directions
the doer of chores, a wife and a mother,
the sweeping of floors, amidst imperfections,
never ending expectations to bother,
preparing a meal and tasty confections.

What will I do? Will time grant some peace?
Or a piece of time in which to begin
that blasted painting? Or will the mouse
win this battle with men
and nibble away at resolve like a louse
never a moment's piece of zen.

For what happens when hope is lost or is missing
and all of these years hope has been practiced
religiously believed and now it is dashing
like a wave on the shore relentlessly splashes
the moments add up and all of the sudden
one is broken, lost, and is perishing.

My hope is or was to work with a passion
whether cooking, cleaning, or things of that sort
to live each day in some sort of fashion
that elevates beauty, pure thoughts to transport
But life's best laid schemes require so much tension...
naive and hopeful, maybe tomorrow's for art.

Jake Smimabukuro

2009-07-26T15:04:00.000-07:00

A quick little poem to ensure
that readers have cause to endure
almost a week's break;
we drove to see Jake
and listen to uke playing pure.

His name is Jake Shimabukuro.
He can only be called virtuoso,
an ukulele he plays
and performs to amaze;
he's become an uke playing hero.

We saw him perform at the Cafe
named Cactus on campus at U T;
an intimate crowd,
spellbound and "wow"ed...
we listened and cheered and were happy.

But now to the new tasks at hand
without which life would be quite bland;
a painting to paint
and supper to bake...
'n staying cool in house air conditioned.

Thoughtless Limerick

2009-06-25T21:27:00.001-07:00

Lost for the right words, I am thinking,
but thoughts disappear, or are shrinking;
ever smaller they grow
'til, as you'll soon know
not one small synapse starts it's linking.

So therefore, my mind is a puddle
of nonsense, I am quite befuddled.
I can't seem to think,
my eyes they just blink...
but onward I go, now to muddle.

Muddle through old cardboard boxes,
searching the mess is a shocks-es.
What might I find there?
I had better beware;
there might be a box full of rocks-es.

Or socks-es without the right mate,
just please please contain all the hate,
for with boxes to rhyme
I ran out of time
and thus, sealed my fate, second-rate.

Is it clear that the boxes discussed
in the musty old attic of rust
is akin to my brain
on the border of sane
or at least full of chaos and dust?

Now back to the ole misty fog
that my brain, that ole addled nog,
is trying it's bestest
to have small successes
and write for the readers of blog.

To search all day long, it could happen,
for thinking and thoughts overlappin'
are infrequent it seems
not one thought to scream
about which I could start a rappin'.

And so, gentle reader, adieu;
not one thought from this head came unglued.
Pure nonsense it's been
from the start to the end,
forgive if you think that's just rude.

(First published June 17, 2009)

Ode To Whooping Cough

2009-06-25T21:24:00.000-07:00

It's limerick time on this blog,
which happens when life is a fog
of chores left undone
(here's a horrible pun)
and swine flu becomes a news hog.

What happens when life is a mess?
Does one feel the need to confess
that watching TV
and eating (omg!)
a bonbon is life's only quest?

It's true I've been sick for a while,
much ado for a cough that on file
is hacking and wheezy
and even quite sneezy
and something I've come to revile.

Each day is a hope to be well,
completely on track for a spell
of excellent health
(akin to great wealth)
is a story I'm anxious to tell.

Yesterday, I went for a walk
with Hilary, my daughter, we talked
about this and that,
and then you know what?
It happened. I started to cough!

"NO FUN!" I cried, "When will this end?"
I thought I was turning a bend,
a fork in the road,
but my body, it showed
that it still needs some time left to mend.

So, that's what I'm doing today
lying low...keeping sickness at bay.
The best thing by leaps
and bounds and big heaps
is playing the ukulele.

For that I can do while I'm sick,
practice and learn a new trick;
new chords and new strumming,
perpetual humming,
uke playing...my new favorite kick!

(First published May 6, 2009)

Laughing Song

2009-06-25T17:27:00.002-07:00

by James Whitcomb Riley

Sing us something full of laughter;
Tune your harp, and twang the strings
Till your glad voice, chirping after,
Mates the song the robin sings:
Loose your lips and let them flutter
Like the wings of wanton birds, --
Though they naught but laughter utter,
Laugh, and we'll not miss the words.

Sing in ringing tones that mingle
In a melody that flings
Joyous echoes in a jingle
Sweeter than the minstrel sings:
Sing of Winter, Spring, or Summer,
Clang of war, or low of herds;
Trill of cricket, roll of drummer--
Laugh, and we'll not miss the words.

Like the lisping laughter glancing
From the meadow brooks and springs,
Or the river's ripples dancing
To the tune the current sings--
Sing of Now, and the Hereafter;
Let your glad song, like the birds',
Overflow with limpid laughter--
Laugh, and we'll not miss the words.

Lil' Bit

2009-06-25T17:27:00.001-07:00

A small bit of forest
in our city park
is what I am painting
from now until dark.

It's quite overwhelming
with canvas so large;
the painting is slow,
but at least it's a start.

I better stay focused
(there's no time to diddle)
and paint till exhausted
'cause time is so little.

(First published March 6, 2009)

No More Partridges

2009-06-25T17:23:00.000-07:00

The tree branch is gone
indeed the whole tree,
for Reese chopped it down
for himself and for me.

The old tree was rotten
right down to the core;
it will soon be forgotten
though here's one story more....

A year ago December
I wrote a small story;
to help you remember
click here to read more-y.

To sum up, I said
that bird poo was plenteous;
what we wanted instead
of bird poo was just emptiness.

So a year ago, Reese
put on climbing gear,
from his wife got a kiss,
climbed the tree with a prayer.

His goal was to cut
the branch hanging over
the front porch door step
where bird poo was greater.

The job was quite huge
as tree branches fell;
a tree branch deluge
of that I can tell.

Well, Reese was worn out
the job mostly done;
just the trunk standing stout,
just the trunk all alone.

A funny thing happened
the tree seemed to thrive;
the birds kept on crappin'
and bees built a hive.

(The bee part's not real
I needed the rhyme,
the truth is the leaves
started growing in time.)

But reality found
the tree was quite sick;
and Reese took it down
last week -- what a trick.

The photo you see
is Reese working his hardest
to cut up the tree;
cut it all up to sawdust.

I'm happy to say
we are both quite delighted;
the tree's gone away
and no poo has been sighted!

(First published January 14, 2009)

Blue Sonnet

2009-06-25T17:21:00.000-07:00

by The Amazing Reese Hazel

Another night is over for the day
And all the little bits of dew are done
You come along and take the dark away
The night is over coming is the sun

You look for hidden meaning in between
The lines that lay around are everywhere
And looking here and there you might have seen
Another rainy night for us to share

Now cuddle up and let me hold your hand
And listen to the water falling free
You know you have to let me be your man
As anyone with eyes would have to see

So anything that I will have to do
I will to make you mine I will be true

(First published December 27, 2008)

VIVA JOY!

2009-06-25T17:20:00.001-07:00

When this time of the year comes around
and my mind starts beginning to hound
itself of the chores
like shopping in stores
the head 'round my mind starts to pound

I can't seem to get it all done
when it's me by myself only one
to tie all the ribbons
as presents are given
while ever the errands to run

It's not fair that I am so complainy
this season has always been drainy
as resources dwindle
it's hard to re-kindle
the JOY that should keep us all saney

It's not that sweet JOY disappeared
somewhere in my heart it is here
though that part of my heart
might need a jump start
or at least a swift kick in the rear

Down deep in my heart I'm excited
for Christmas has always ignited
fondness for brothers
and significant others
that flame just might be mostly lighted

For I'm thinking anew of my blessings
and shoving aside all the stressing
for Christmas it's clear
that I should hold dear
sweet Jesus in Whom I am resting

But in practice it's harder to do
much harder than tying one's shoe
the JOY and the hope
gets lost in the scope
and "normal" seems more like a zoo

If there is an answer I'll listen
the meantime my eyes start to glisten
so much to get done
that a lot of the fun
is gone -- it's sweet JOY that I'm missin'

(Sweet JOY is also my daughter
of whom I couldn't be prouder
she's been a delight
morn noon and night
my fondness for her is a lot-r

JOY's our fourth of a bevy of beauties
three sisters has she -- cute patooties
from childhood to now
JOY's laugh fills the house
it's almost as if it's her duty

It so happens that JOY shares my name
first Sarah last Hazel the same
some problems it's caused her
in school they all call her
Sarah, not JOY -- we're to blame

It's my hope that JOY really won't mind
I hope that some day she will find
that I'm pleased that we share
a fine name sounding fair
as she grows into young woman kind)

(First published December 4, 2008)

Ode to Ike

2009-06-25T16:23:00.000-07:00

It's a week and a day without power
but at least we have a warm shower
four friends on our block
(they really do rock)
gave us ice so our milk wouldn't sour.

We baked bread in our friend Judy's oven
so Reese and I still have been shovin'
good bread in our tummies
whole wheat sure tastes yummy
and helps our health for good lovin'.

Gabrielle loaned her washer and dryer
for towels that sopped all the water
since Hurricane Ike
has caused quite a spike
in fact it was getting quite dire.

The Snyders had us over to dinner
supplies in the freezer are thinner
to eat our way through
is not hard to do
meal sharing is always a winner.

Today we got Minh's generator
his power came sooner than later
to Scotty and Jenni
he loaned two which was plenty
and they shared to make our lives better!

So now we have limited juice
I'm sitting here eating cous cous
updating my blog
like a bump on a log
quite happy to catch up on news.

(First published September 2008)

Last Week

2009-06-25T16:19:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time between posting
but that is because I was hosting
my two daughters fair
one with curly hair
wine glasses went clinking while toasting.

One daughter came in for a wedding
brought home a young man for the fete-ing
dinners and luncheons
and all of the functions
kept them running and other jet setting.

The wind blew in daughter two, too
who came to get the tent blue
for camping she went
in that big blue grey tent
in West Texas where people are few.

Then along came two sweet Norwegians
choir members sent here on a mission
to spread some good cheer
from Galveston to here
while singing and not deep sea fishin'.

Last, there was a wonderful dinner
prepared by a chef -- what a winner
I provided the house
and appetite aroused
we feasted from six until tenner.

In a nutshell, that was last week
it was fun though I'm ready for sleep
or another glass of wine
to toast new friends fine
and ready my heart for this week.

(First published March 17, 2008)

Two Turtle Doves

2009-06-25T16:15:00.000-07:00

There are more than two
of this I am sure,
their goal is to poo
outside our front door.

Bird poo is a nuisance
of that there's no doubt;
when stepped on with shoes
it gets tracked in the house.

I sweep with a vengeance
or use the leaf blower,
but they laugh at my dance
and the poo seems to grow...er,

(I had a hard time
with that last little bit
coming up with a rhyme
about all the bird sh...)

My patience is waning
as I look in the branches;
birds keeps on raining
bird poo every chances.

I'm dreaming of sling shots,
and arrows and bow,
of B B's, and pellets,
to make the birds go.

Maybe borrow a cat,
or a big grizzly bear;
Would birds scare of that,
or still poo without care?

Some poisoned bird seed......
No, nothing so drastic,
but life bird poo free
does seem rather fantastic.

Out, out of that tree!
the birds hear me say,
Please, please leave us be.
Be gone! Go away!

(First published December 8, 2007)

It Happens

2009-06-25T15:58:00.000-07:00

While painting today
the canvas fell on my head
my hair turned orange

Sometimes it happens
I start thinking in haiku
I can't help myself

Last night I partied
at Art on the Avenue
I bid on some wine

Twenty one bottles
the highest bidder was me
all for a good cause

Dress code: warehouse chic
laughing, talking, and laughing
meeting new people

This Saturday night
you can come bid on some art
all for a good cause

If you buy my art
it will help pay for the wine
all for a good cause

Wine out the wazoo
drop in sometime for a drink
or maybe to laugh

P.S. I don't know (?)
blog comments aren't working right
trying to fix it

(First published November 9, 2007)

A Leaf Treader

2009-06-25T15:53:00.000-07:00

I have been treading on leaves all day until I am autumn tired.
God knows all the color and form of leaves I have trodden on and mired.
Perhaps I have put forth too much strength or been too fierce from fear.
I have safely trodden underfoot the leaves of another year.

All summer long they were overhead, more lifted up than I.
To come to their final place in earth they had to pass me by.
All summer long I thought I heard them whispering under their breath.
And when they came it seemed with a will to carry me with them to death.

They spoke to the fugitive in my heart as if it were leaf to leaf.
They tapped at my eyelids and touched my lips with an invitation to grief.
But it was no reason I had to go because they had to go.
Now up, my knee, to keep on top of another year of snow.

Robert Frost

(First published September 14, 2007)

A Fast Flying Cloud

2009-06-25T15:47:00.000-07:00

Here's a verse by William Knox. I've left out the middle of the poem, which can be read in it's entirety by clicking on the link.

Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave
He passeth from life to his rest in the grave.

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,
Be scattered around, and together be laid;
And the young and the old, and the low and the high,
Shall moulder to dust, and together shall lie.

'Tis the wink of an eye -- 'tis the draught of a breath--
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud:--
Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

(First published March 9, 2007)

Two Weeks Before Christmas....

2009-06-25T15:46:00.000-07:00

'Twas two weeks before Christmas
and life was sure busy
with regular chores such as
feeding our Lizzy.

The stockings aren't hung
they are in a big box
with the other decorations
in the attic, perhaps?

The daughters were asked
to write a wish list
of which I've seen one,
the other three missed.

A nap would be lovely
this time of the year
maybe restoring
that lost Christmas cheer.

I look out the window
see the delivery truck
take presents to others
And I say, Oh,....look,

They remembered to order
their presents online,
It's all coming early
for those who plan fine.

But how can I shop
when there's painting to do
three canvases full
of red, green, and blue?

And yellow, and lavender
and orange in the sky
the mountain all swirly
and foreground sublime?

As I paint and I think
of house decorating
and shopping and cooking
and endless list making....

and laundry and sweeping
and all the leaf raking
and shopping again
and more Christmas baking...

The question I struggle
with everyday,
"Will this bring God glory
in any small way?"

Or is life just too busy
to slow down a bit
and visit the neighbor
who's kid just got sick?

(First published December 7, 2006)

What About Haiku?

2009-06-25T15:40:00.000-07:00

Needing a story
for each painting in the show
What about haiku?

Finding my glasses...
Come enjoy reading about
Sarah Hazel art

Art is beauty found
in the breath and the passion
of everyday life

Bold strokes, bright colors
all while the paintings summon
a peaceful response

Paragraph or verse?
keep the attention focused
short and to the point

(First published September 20, 2006)

Fa Cryin' Out Loud

2009-06-25T14:08:00.000-07:00

In Houston there once was an artist
who really was trying her hardest
to paint with her heart
magnificent art
and tell stories that truly seemed smartest.

To paint with her heart she was trying
though some days she ended up crying
(it was more like a whine
that sniveling kind)
but when painting the brushes went flying.

She painted for five hours straight
with nary a small little break.
Then when she was through
time to make a meat stew
to nourish her family of eight.

Well, eight is a number that's false,
her husband and one little dog,
four daughters, it's true
but one's in Peru
there's also a gecko with spots.

"What's up," said her husband one morning,
"I'm writing a small little warning
of what happens when prose
gets stuck in one's toes
and the readers get lulled into groaning."

"The writing has gotten me stuck
every word that I write just sounds yuck
I'm going to bed
to clear out my head
upon waking to find better luck."

First published July 21, 2006