What's a divanette?

“Divanette”

It could be called a couch or a sofa:  Yes,

But “divanette” is the term I like best,

My Mam-maw L called her sofa by that name,

And she had a matching chair, made just the same,

It was long and low, with armrests, extremely wide,

And four adults could sit comfortably on it side-by-side,

It was sturdy and stiff; the cushions were firm,

And if you sat there long, you’d begin to squirm,

The fabric was prickly, not soft at all,

And if you were to fall off, you had not far to fall,

The prickly upholstering was a rose-colored red,

“Keep your shoes off the divanette”, I remember she said,

They simply don’t make sofas like that anymore,

The “divanette” was in her living room by the front door.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  April 16, 2017

A Nap to Remember

Chenille Bedspread

Always on my Mam-maw’s bed,

Each night where she lay her head,

A chenille bedspread, I remember well,

Soft, cotton, pastel colors- really swell,

A double bed was what she had,

When I napped on her bed, it made me glad,

It was pretty and I admired it so,

It had a raised pattern of flowers from head to toe,

When I awoke from my quiet nap,

And climbed up on her aproned lap,

We smiled because we both could see,

The flower pattern was imprinted on my knee,

It also was on the side of my face and on my arm,

Here in lies the bedspread’s charm,

Not a comforter, nor a blanket, or even a quilt,

Compares to how wonderful the chenille felt.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  April 13, 2017

Why?

Why I Write

I write because it makes me soar,

Writing to me is not a chore,

I write because the world tempts me to,

I write because it just suits me, wouldn’t you?

It gives me joy, abundantly,

Glee, a smiling heart, ridiculously,

How absurd that I should write,

I selfishly write for my delight,

But not just that, I do want to share,

I want to show others how to care,

Care for the things that are forgotten,

I write of them:  bugs, seasons, fields of cotton,

Simple things that others pass by,

I write to help them understand why,

These small things can bring about such joy,

It helps balance out the search and destroy,

The negative world with hurt and anger,

With risk, responsibilities, toil and danger,

I write to point out the smallest parts,

Of tiny details the earth imparts,

The miracles that happen every day,

That’s why I write, namaste!

Tammy Harvey

Written:  April 2. 2017

Want something unusual?

Flea Markets

Adventurous shopping, intriguing finds,

Vintage treasures, antiques of all kinds,

Going to the flea market is a trip of great mystery,

It’s like you are stepping back into history,

Nostalgic memories start stirring in your head,

As you see something wonderful on the right, up ahead,

You had that red wagon when you were a child,

Now it’s considered “old”, … isn’t that wild?

Rows and rows of interesting “junk”,

A glass frog, a wooden bear, a concrete skunk!

Want something unusual?  Well, this is the place,

Also, there’s food that’s delicious to taste,

Like a carnival, there’s popcorn, ice-cream and fudge, homemade,

Hotdogs, pretzels and there’s soda or lemonade,

Cosmetics, jewelry, and craftmanship galore,

Oh, believe me, it’s a variety store!

You’ll get what you came for or find something better,

Don’t pass it by, it won’t be there later.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  April 2, 2017

Poem inspired by Raleigh Flea Market at NC State Fairgrounds

Bob-Bob Bobbing Along

Robin

When the orange-breasted robin pulls a worm from the ground,

It is remarkably musical, without making a sound,

She is feeding herself or feeding her young,

Either way, we know spring has begun,

The robin hops gently around the yard,

Like a graceful ballerina in a leotard,

Searching bright green grass for a single bite,

Then spreading her wings and taking flight,

She is persistent and precise, clever and bold,

Pecking the ground, like mining for gold,

She has her purpose and knows it well,

To raise her babies, and time will tell,

If her offspring will return here someday,

To hop, hunt and peck then fly away,

Blue robin eggshells are so lovely to discover,

Knowing her babies have hatched and she is a mother,

Stop and watch a robin as she works and plays,

It will add a spark of beauty to your routine days.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  April 2, 2017

An Activity Awaits

Pick Your Own

When May approaches, an activity awaits,

Mark the calendar with your available dates,

Take a friend along with you to join in the fun,

For strawberry season has already begun,

The red delicious fruit is ripe for the picking,

Plump, juicy strawberries are finger-licking,

As you pass by the farm you see rows of black mounds,

With green bushy plants low to the ground,

And the heavy red berries are hanging there on the vines,

“Pick-your-own” in large letters posted on the signs,

The air is fresh and the sun is warm,

And there are bees buzzing nearby, in a swarm,

The attendant hands you a small plastic pail,

And sits back to watch you on his comfy hay bale,

It’s an easy task and the pail fills up fast,

Pick all you want for this season won’t last,

Some as big as golf balls, succulent and sweet,

Eat one while you’re picking, it’s a delectable treat!

Tammy Harvey

Written:  1/19/2017

Buzz, Buzz

I posted the poem about the butterfly dancing with the bee, now it's the bee's turn to get some ink!

Bee Nice       

            

“Buzz Buzz” says the bee, flying in the trees,

“Go away”, I say, “you are buggin ‘me!”,

“My, oh my, don’t be hatin’,

I am simply pollinatin’!

You must let me do my job,

And you’ll have honeycombs to rob.

I’ll make sure pretty flowers will grow,

And fruits and vegetables, don’t you know.

You’ll thank me later, you will see.

The harvest all depends on me!”

Tammy Harvey

Written:  6/11/2014 

Miraculous Cycle

Butterfly, Flutters By

Bright, colorful butterfly,

Slowly, gracefully, flutters by,

Once tightly bound in a cocoon,

Now floating gently like a balloon,

Starting out as only a tiny egg,

Becoming a caterpillar with many a leg,

Eating silkweed and growing strong,

Resilient as the day is long,

This miraculous cycle takes only four weeks,

The metamorphosis quickly reaches its peak,

The chrysalis has the pupa inside,

Until it is ready, there it resides,

Then out from the chrysalis bursts forth anew,

A tiny butterfly covered in dew,

Wet, small and wrinkly, at first it can’t fly,

But soon it will silently take to the sky,

Watching in wonder, hearts fill with glee,

As the butterfly dances around with the bee.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  July 2016

A letter to Joshua

Our youngest son is finishing college classes and moving on to pursue his dreams.  As I bid him farewell:

Graduate,

I watched you from a baby grow,

And oh, how I loved you so,

You started to walk, talk then run,

Growing up was lots of fun,

Then kindergarten, reading and writing,

Fifth, eighth and twelfth grades flashed like lightning,

Next thing I knew, you were taller than me,

But I always knew that you would be,

You were driving a car and commuting to college,

Acquiring good grades and loads of knowledge,

Now the college years are almost through,

You have brand new dreams to pursue,

I’ll miss you dearly as I watch you go,

And oh, I still love you so.

Mom

Tammy Harvey

Written:  April 12, 2017

"Peculiar" people

A silly poem about acceptance:

Strange, Yet wonderful

Strange, yet wonderful, Judy Brown,

Once she worked as a rodeo clown,

Now she’s the librarian of her town,

You’ll never see her wear a frown,

Strange, yet wonderful, Judy Brown,

Strange, yet wonderful, Mabel May,

She rides a unicycle to work each day,

Sometimes juggling as she rides away,

She does what she does, in her own special way,

Strange, yet wonderful Mabel May,

Strange, yet wonderful, Francis Clyde,

She carries a satchel by her side,

Filled with books; her joy and pride,

Her originality she does not hide,

Strange yet wonderful, Francis Clyde,

Strange, yet wonderful, Doris Prat

Walking by with a feather in her hat,

She takes a stroll with her large gray cat,

She wears thick glasses; she’s as blind as a bat,

Strange, yet wonderful, Doris Prat,

“Peculiar” people are judged all the time,

But being different is not a crime,

Accept those who aren’t just like you,

I’m sure you’ve met quite a few,

Like these ladies, everyone is unique,

If uniformity is what you seek,

Then you will miss the spice and flare,

And you may only stop to stare,

Unexpectedly, others can be delightful,

And strange, yet wonderfully insightful!

Tammy Harvey

Written:  2/11/2017

All the peas in the pod are not green.