Thursday, July 30, 2009


Buttons, Buttons
By Dreamhaven

They come in all colors,
All materials, too.
Plastic and stone
To name just two.
They are carved out of bone
Or a shell from the sea.
Jewels, brightly shining,
Even wood from a tree.

Not just on shirts
Blouses or dresses,
They also are used
On hats and in tresses.
A decoration or
The eyes on a toy.
Teddies, especially,
For both girls and boys.

This is really for Thursday
Though Friday is here.
I'm sorry my head's
Not especially clear.
It's the best I can do.
Sweet dreams, my dear.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

In My Shoes

Think for a moment about shoes. There are work boots, dancing shoes, shoes for diving and just kicking around shoes. There are shoes for sports, shoes for running, boots for hiking. But my Favorite shoes are the ones I wear. For your enjoyment I present,

Nursing Shoes

My feet are tired, my back is sore.
Why do I keep coming back for more?
My hands get wrinkled from giving baths.
I've had it with needles, pins and clasps.

My patients don't want to do as they're told.
Before my time, I'm growing old.
So why do I come back, day after day,
To more of the same? Why do I stay?

Because I care about people

When they smile I forget my aching back,
The tears and trials, and looking back
I know it's all worth it and that's a fact.

This is their last stop, I'm their nurse and a friend.
To treat them like family from beginning to end.
To ease their going when their time is come.
To make their remaining time second to none.
I pledge with my heart and spirit free,
To be the very best I can be.
To be there for them day by day,
Is most of my joy and a large part of my pay

Faith of a Child

Faith. It's such a simple word. You can have faith in yourself, in a loved one , in a political leader.
Faith that the sun comes up each day, that the ocean will continue to send waves to the beach.
We have faith in medicine, in doctors, all things that have a concrete, visible form.
But what is faith in it's purest form?

The Faith of a Child

Anytime you want to see
The face of our Lord,
Look in the face of a child.
Anytime you want to see
The grace of our Lord,
Look in the face of a child.

The faith of a child, the faith of a child,
Jesus loves the faith of a child,
Willing to go with Him
Down that last mile.
Sweet simple faith of a child

A child doesn't question
The will of our Lord.
This is all He requires.
A child will depend on
The love of our Lord
To give him what he requires.

To walk on the waters of life
With our Lord,
You must trust like a child.
That the Lord will be there
When the skies turn black
Loving, simple faith of a child.

The faith of a child, the faith of a child,
Jesus loves the faith of a child,
Willing to go with Him
Down that last mile.
Sweet,simple faith of a child.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Hope In All Stages

No matter where I am in this great life, a little piece of each stage goes with me, scenes shifting without warning to both the good and bad. I call my life a soap opera but no one could write it on purpose. Through all the crazy twists and turns, I kept my faith that God has a use and a meaning for my life.

Each junction that I came upon, I had to make a choice.
I chose to be a nurse (although I really wanted to be a vet).
I chose to be a wife although I wanted to join the Air Force.
I wanted to be a mother, but stopped at three children (I think my sanity finally kicked in,lol)
Each of these stages both enriched my life and caused much pain.
The worse stage of my life involved getting a divorce after 28 years of marriage. The abuse of my children was the final straw in a marriage destroyed by drugs and selfish acts.

I never expected good to come from it, but I was able to finally find myself in all the things I accomplished since then. My self-esteem can still be easily bruised , but I've learned that I have value in both my eyes and those of the people who come to love and know me. I wrote this poem soon after my divorce.


Daunting images haunt my brain,
Memories sweet or filled with pain.
Who can say what lies ahead,
Changes to love, changes to dread.

A lifetime of being alone
Waiting for the ring of a phone
To bring some meaning to my life,
Now that I'm not someone's wife.

Not for me, this waiting game.
It would quickly drive me insane.
There are places to go, people to meet,
Promises made, promises to keep.

To myself, these promises made,
That I would take and fill each day
With the special joy of living.
In each day, a new begining.

Yes It can be lonely until
That special someone comes to fill
The empty spaces in your soul.
The other half to make you whole.

But in the meantime, I declare,
The choice is mine to finally share.
It is my life, I'm growing stonger.
No one's puppet any longer.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Outside Delivery

This is another poem from my youth. Enjoy.

Outside Delivery

Pacing up and down,
My best friend and me,
Wearing a hole in the rug
Outside delivery.

One coffee after another
Oh gosh, oh gee, oh me.
I am simply going insane
Outside delivery.

Each passing nurse I stop,
"Is there any news for me?"
"No?" Then I resume my pacing
Outside delivery.

The last nurse I stopped
Said "Your wife is fine, Mr Bea
And so are your fine triplets
Inside delivery."

"How many did you say?
Not one, not two, but three?"
Then I passed out on the floor
Outside delivery.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

A ghost of a chance

Marion stood by her beloved's grave. She couldn't understand why he was there, not her. If she hadn't been wrapped up in their wedding plans, she would have seen the truck that had jumped the curb. Robin raced forward and pushed her out of the way, getting hit by the truck and flung into the building. Marion would never forget that awful sound. She knelt by him, weeping, begging him to stay. He opened his eyes one last time and said "I love you, I'll always be with you."

Marion returned to their apartment and sat on the couch. Feeling restless, she turned on the tv. They were playing one of the older versions of Robin Hood. As she sat watching it, the face of Robin began to change, morphing into her Robin's face, saying "I love you, I'll always watch over you" She gave herself a shake and looked again, seeing only what was in the movie on the screen. Sighing, she turned off the set and went to bed.

Months passed. Marion went through the motions of her life, unable to find pleasure even in her photography. Nothing seemed to click, the photos excellent but without her usual flair. "When is this pain going to stop?". Marion cried, still feeling the empty void her life had become. She was sitting at her computer, working on her most recent set of photos. Suddenly she sat up and leaned forward to look more closely at the screen. There, behind her model , stood a blurred image. As she adjusted the settings, she realized it was Robin standing there. She opened another file of her photos, finding him in many of them, each time just a little more clearly.

Marion shut down her computer, shaking... yet strangely comforted. He did say he would be always watch over her. But no one else saw him. Her photos became more and more exciting and dramatic, leaping out at the viewer. She was approached by a gallery who wanted to have an exhibit of her works. Agreeing to their most generous terms, the date was set.

Marion sat at her vanity, putting on her makeup. Looking into the mirror, she saw Robin standing behind her, smiling. As she turned around, he faded away, saying "I always knew you could do it, Marion. Keep your heart and mind open for possibilites." She called out to him, but he was gone.

The exhibit was a big success, with many of her photos selling quickly. Marion wandered through the crowds , talking and smiling, still feeling very alone. She came upon one man, staring intently at one of the photos. He felt her presence and turned around.

"Did you do that on purpose?," he asked, turning back to the photo.
"Do what?" Marion asked.
"Double expose the photo?"
Marion stared at the photo, realizing it was one in which Robin appeared.
"Tell me what you see" she asked.
As he turned back to her, she felt strangely drawn to this man. His brillant green eyes seemed to say he felt it too.
"There is a man, slightly out of focus, standing in front of that ruined castle. He seems to be smiling."
"No one else has ever seen him but me" Marion said softly. "How is it that you can see him too"
"I don't know. Do you believe in love at first sight"
"I didn't, but I do now." Marion whispered. "What's your name?"
"Robert, but my friends call me Rob"
Marion stared behind him, not quite believing what was happening. There was Robin, smiling.
"Be happy," he said, as he slowly faded from view. "I know I'm leaving your heart in safe hands."

A Ghost of a Chance.

Once upon a time,
Without reason,
Without ryhme,
Life was changed.

Between one heartbeat
And the next
Life became
Much more complex.

I didn't know why.

Beloved gone,
My life so gray
That all I could do
Was kneel and pray.

Slowly healing,
Come to find
Another love.
Spirits bind


My lost love smiles,
And then I see
My new love stands
Beside me.

A ghost of a chance
Is all we need
To make life
Special and sweet



Love often explains the unexplainable. An ugly man with a beautiful woman, a handsome man who adores his "plain Jane" Their love comes from the discovery of what that person is like on the inside.
Summer love, May and December pairings, love at first sight. All different facets of a beautiful jewel.
Here is a selection from my teen-aged works. (And no, not in caveman times,lol)


Gently flowing
From the giver
To the receiver,
Is like a flower.
First a bud,
Then a hesitant growing,
Finally bursting into full bloom.

Can also be stormy,
Full of fire
And passion.
Breaking down all barriers.
This too is love.

True love,
Strong and powerful,
Be it gentle or wild,
Survives all obstacles
And lives

Monday, July 6, 2009

second strand

Many changes over the past 5 years. Relationship changes, families grow, new job. New is scary but I'm trying to embrace it rather than fear it.

A New Beginning

I have come to understand
That each part of my life
Has a begining
And an end.
The begining can be scary,
Paths and worlds uncharted,
So many choices
To add color and flavor
To a negative
Waiting to be developed.
Doors and windows
To sights and sounds,
To love and pain,
A gift of friendship
Always to be treasured.
Echoes from the past
To comfort and warn me
That I may need to
Before traveling a road
That seems
All too familar.
Because the ending
Is so painful to do.
The bad but known
Less frightening in it's way.
But I will take that first step
Towards healing
Towards life
Towards love.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

The fourth of July is such a special time to me. My dad was very involved in the VFW and the American Legion. He had a great love for our country and the service men and women who keep us safe. He was the editor of the VFW newsletter for many years, as well as moving up in the ranks to Senior Vice Commander. He would have made Commander but he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's when he was only 54. He was 60 when he died.

The newsletter was a family project, with my sister doing the typing of the originals (I can't remember what they were called) but we turned them on a drum to make copies. The rest of us stamped and adressed over a hundred envelopes, stuffed them, sealed them and sent them on their way each month. I also contributed to the chaplin's corner with my poetry.

This was one of my contributions.


White, black, yellow and brown,
These are the people
Of our city and town,
Our state and our nation,
Our continent, our world,
Wherever you find
A flag that's unfurled.

But is this our world?
This war-torn place?
Nation against nation,
Race against race,
Brother against brother,
Father against son?
When will these foolish
Wars ever be done?

Our word must be true
To both foe and friend
If we're e'er to be sure
That wars will end.

I love you Dad.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Funky Time

In looking up the word funky, I found many definitions.

In music, it is a type of jazz, having an earthy, blues-based quality or character.

As an adjective, it means overcome with great fear, terrified.
Also having an offensive smell ; evil-smelling, foul.
Characterized by originality and modishness.
Outlandishly vulgar or eccentric in a humorous on tongue-in-cheek manner.

Well, that gives me something to work with (I hope,lol)

Funky Time

Donkey Kong was a funky monkey.
Liked to throw barrels
And thought he was hunky.
Knocked Mario down,
Made him go kerplunky.
What do you think about that?

Even in music
With rhythm and rhyme,
It was possible to have
A funky time.
A song called Funkytown
Comes to mind.
What do you think about that?

Ever smelled the aroma
Of old gym sneaks?
A truly funky smell
That really reeks
There's even a contest
For the nastiest sneaks
What do you think about that?

Now to a magazine,
MAD, by name
Used very funky humor
In it's rise to fame.
Of it's covers
You could say the same.
What do you think about that?

Even cartoons can
Be funky too.
South Park, Ren and Stimpy,
Just to name a few
Who can forget Beavis and Butthead?
(Thought I'd like to)
What do you think about that?

On Funk and Wagnell's
Back porch,
Johnny used to insist,
Was a mayonaise jar
With a real funky list.
Questions to answers,
Now that was a twist.
What do you think about that?

This is the End
Of my poem about funky.
My brain is broken,
Fried up and crunchy.
Padraig, this is your fault.
You suggested funky.
What do you think about that?