Riddle me this?

Wit- Pass it On

I’m not taking you anywhere,

And I’m not buying you anything when we get there!

My Dad would say,

As we slowly backed down our driveway,

I was confounded, really confused,

Did I hear him correctly? Now he was amused,

My Dad made lots of riddles and brain teasers,

He also was entertaining, a real crowd-pleaser,

He would ask me to get up and change the channel on the tv,

After all, he would say, you are younger than me,

Of course, I am younger, no argument there,

As he sits comfortably in his reclining leather chair,

Yet again, confusion, he got me to think,

He says, oh, by the way can you get your old Dad a drink?

I know, I know, I am younger than you,

But what’s an obeying daughter to do?

Then he asked: Have you ever noticed how rain always begins,

Right after a long drought ends?

What?! Not again, he has so many puzzling questions,

So many conundrums, enigmas, baffling suggestions!

He could go on, and on, and on, with a repertoire of silly songs,

My Dad has a wit that is stronger than strong,

It is funny now that I am older, with children of my own,

I pass along the same sayings and make my boys groan,

They, in turn, will pass it down without hesitation,

To confuse and baffle the next generation.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  2/19/2018

This One's for you Sister

God Gave me a Sister

It’s true, I never had a brother,

But I was a tomboy, said my father and mother,

My only sister was not at all like me,

She didn’t play sports or try to climb up a tree,

She had beautiful long, blonde hair and her nails were pristine,

She was a girly girl, if you know what I mean,

She found a job and began working while still in high school,

And is still working today, but she’s nobody’s fool,

She is nearing retirement and a much-needed rest,

Her patience has really been put to the test,

She is graceful and witty, and a real blessing, you see,

I am fortunate that God gave my sister to me,

And, oh, nobody can beat her incredible accessorizing,

She has a wardrobe so coordinated it’s mesmerizing,

She’s a mother of one and a Mimi of two,

And a wife, a daughter, an awesome aunt through and through,

But mostly she is my sister, who lives far away,

I really miss her and want her to know I love her today.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  2/20/2018

A Gift with a ShinyBow

Snow Days

Icicles hung from the gutters like clear dagger blades,

As I peered out through the cold glass without any shades,

The sun reflecting off the snow-covered ground was so bright,

Snow had fallen so softly and heavily all night,

It was beautifully blanketing every surface and tree,

It was like it was saying “good morning” to me,

I never expected to wake up to a landscape of snow,

It glistened like a gift topped with a shiny bow,

It is not too often we receive a winter storm here,

And no one goes anywhere until the roads are all clear,

So, I sit back and relax for there is no place to be,

I am comfortably warm and feeling carefree,

Then suddenly from upstairs the floor starts to pound,

The 3 sons of ours have spotted snow on the ground,

It is a race to see who can get bundled up first,

A snow-day, no school; my serenity bubble just burst,

The sledding begins and goes on most of the day,

Our driveway is where most of the children will play,

Snowball fights, a snowman, tracking in and out the front door,

Running the dryer, making hot chocolate, and so much more,

At the time, I was irritated, not much fun for me,

But now they are adults, I look back and see,

These are the days I would never trade,

Snow days are the days great memories were made.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  1/20/2018

200th POEM

**************      200       **************

To my faithful readers,

The poem "Roy and Annalee" which posted yesterday was my 200th poem published on this Blog!

Thanks so much for reading all of them.

I don't know how prolific I will be in the coming months, and I have almost published everything I've written to date. My hope is to continue to post at least once a week. If I must drop down to one day then I will post on Tuesdays. 

Don't stop reading....I'm not done yet!

Tammy Harvey

2/16/2018

 

Roy and Annalee

Appropriate for Valentine's Day:  Here is a fictional story about young love.

A Love Story

He wore a nice crisp, freshly -pressed plaid dress shirt,

He took his old pick up to the carwash and got off most the dirt,

He had a clean-cut haircut from the local barbershop,

His farmer’s tan was evident from tending to his crop,

He was a small town, yes ma’am, kind but strong country boy,

He was a gentleman, kind of shy, hard-working; His name was Roy,

She wore a sundress, cowboy boots and her hair up in a bun,

She waited patiently for him, on her porch, sitting in the sun,

She was a sweet girl, confident, and beautiful inside and out,

They were a match made in heaven; there really was no doubt,

She had a warm smile, a loving heart; Her name was Annalee,

Not long ago, she’ll never forget, when he got down on one knee,

She saw his truck top the hill and her sparkling eyes lit up,

She ran down the long driveway saying bye to her family pup,

He jumped right out and came around to open up her door,

His southern charm and courtesy made her love him even more,

The ride they took was not too far as they pulled up in the lot,

 Of an old white church where they both grew up; it is where they would tie the knot,

The All- American girl and the man of her dreams had faith in God above,

They had abundant hope for a future and a life filled with love.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  1/17/2018

Stoke the Fire

The Woodstove

The further from the wood-burning stove I got,

The less heat I felt; it became cold not hot,

Especially at night crawling into bed,

The sheets were like ice, and I covered my head,

I breathed into the shelter that I had made,

I was shivering cold and a little afraid,

In wintertime, it was always cold in my Mamaw’s bedroom,

Not to mention the toilet seat in the nearby bathroom,

In the morning when the fire had slowly died down,

I lay pressed to the bed in my flannel nightgown,

The layers of quilts made it too heavy to turn,

So, I lay in one spot, for electric heat I did yearn,

My Papaw would get up first and stoke the fire,

Adding wood and making a warmth I’d desire,

At last, my bare feet would touch the wood floor,

Then I’d run to the woodstove to get warm once more,

I’d change into my clothes right there by the heat,

Putting socks and shoes on my icy cold feet,

Soon the chill would lift and become a comfortable day,

And the memory of the nighttime would fade slowly away.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  1/15/2018

Don't get Agitated

For Certain

Death and taxes, two things that are certain, take my word,

But I’ve always thought there should be a third,

Death, taxes and laundry, I would say,

The dirty clothes pile grows every day,

Just when you think you’ve gotten it done,

It’s back again and that’s no fun,

Wash and dry, sort and fold,

You’ll do that when you’re young and old,

For certain, laundry is around to stay,

I can’t think of another way,

To describe it, except perpetual, or everlasting,

Don’t you agree?  I’m just asking,

You may catch up for a day or two,

But then the hamper is full anew,

Wash, rinse, drain, and spin,

Then do it all over again and again,

The washing machine was a great invention,

It really should get more positive attention,

At least the process is automated,

So, let’s not get too “agitated”,

Pun intended, in case you are guessing,

It’s not my favorite chore, I’m confessing,

It is a life lesson in persistence,

Which is the bane of our existence.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  11/28/2017

A labor of Love

That last hand-patted biscuit was always my favorite one!

Biscuits

In her weathered hand is a wooden rolling pin,

She, in her apron, with a hint of flour on her chin,

Early morning, not quite daylight, she’s already begun,

Baking biscuits from scratch, that rise with the sun,

There’s a drawer in her kitchen with a sifter and flour,

She can bake up a batch in about a half hour,

She kneads the dough firmly with the fist of her hand,

Until it is smooth and the consistency she planned,

She sprinkles a scoop of flour on the kitchen table top,

And spreads it around, drops the dough with a plop,

And begins to roll out the dough with her old rolling pin,

To the perfect thickness, and then with a grin,

She cuts out the biscuits with a tall drinking glass,

Her technique is most definitely considered first class,

On the baking sheet, she places the biscuits in rows,

I’m eager to see- I stand on the tips of my toes,

Each time she balls the dough and rolls it anew,

I so admire all the things my Mamaw can do,

When the dough is so small, she pats out the last one,

It’s a labor of love that is almost done,

She puts the sheet into the oven, carefully,

Shortly she will have fresh biscuits for me!!

Tammy Harvey

Written:  1/9/2018

A Sweet Memory

Winter Cheer

The cedar trees and pines are green, all the hardwoods are bare,
Leaves beneath my feet send a crunching sound, into the frosty air,
The forest seems abandoned by creatures, big and small,
They are hidden well, for winter is here, yet I hear a distant call,
Above my head I spy a flock of Canadian geese in flight,
The V formation is remarkable, and I admire this lovely sight,
My nostrils feel the coolness of a sunny winter’s day,
Although the first snow has fallen, it melted right away,
The warmth of sun when the weather is crisp is soothing to the bones,
I gaze upon the light reflecting on a stream, filled with smooth, round stones,
The rippling sound of moving water is another source of calm,
I pick a stone from the frigid water and hold it in my palm,
I clasp my hand around the stone and place it in the pocket of my coat,
I need a part of it to go with me, it is so incredibly remote,
When the cold is gone and the coats are stored, I might forget about this place,
After all, I must eventually return again to the civilized human race,
But next year, when I need it, my coat will be hanging there,
And when I put it on, I will not be in despair,
For my hand will find within the pocket, the stone from yesteryear,
And a sweet memory will flood my mind and bring me winter cheer.

Tammy Harvey
Written: 12/10/2017