I Dream Of Men

in jeans and pick up trucks
with crow's feet and smiles
etched forever in their faces

I dream of men
                                who say "ma'am",
                              "thank you kindly"
                                       and "howdy"
                            as they lift their hat

I dream of men
                    with heads full of dreams
                           and eyes full of hope
                         men that slap their hat
                          against their pants leg
                   to leave some dust outside

I dream of men
                         who whisper to horses,        
                                                      dogs,
                                                 children,
                                               and ladies

I dream of men
                      who always carry a lariat,
                         a gun, a knife, lollipops,
                       and a willingness to help
                             in their pickup trucks

I dream of men
                        who know how to work,
                              laugh, love, and live
            with every ounce of themselves
  leaving no doubt you are the only one
                                       in their dreams

For Imaginary Garden with Real Toads' Open Link
and Poetry Pantry

Painting On Cardboard

I paint

with freedom

no choices

by me

colors 

mix

brushes

move

and 

I 

am 

left 

with 

the 

feeling

I have witnessed

something

outside of myself
and
I
begin
to
paint
again

For a writing/painting prompt at dVerse~Poets Pub.

Self Portrait For The Mag...

self-portrait, Francis Bacon

self-portrait, Gail

Do we reflect our goodness

To the people we meet?

Or does our badness show

As plainly as our feet

I can reflect on actions past

I can reflect the sun

But all reflections

Are things that are done

We must take this moment

Like a tiger by the tail

Reflect on consequences

Mark our decisions well

For only in a moment

Can we decide for sure

How we will reflect our light

Let it be good and pure

The Mag

Thanks, Tess.

Road Trip To Redemption

I reached for The Everyday Life Bible with notes and commentary by Joyce Meyer. I thumbed through not knowing for what I was looking. A paper fell out, not a book mark, so I opened it to see.
It was another of those lost pieces of writing I'm always finding. It was written at 3AM, Sunday October 14, 2007.
No title was listed but I felt compelled to share this. Our prompt is Redemption for Fireblossom Friday (Was removed because it was supposed to be a NEW POEM)

I thought I was staying home

but that was not to be.

A travelin' show was in our town

with a preacher I must see.

My sister came a callin'

with excitement in the air.

This man was "God's Own Servant"

then she drove me there.

He began quietly

but then the timbre rose

until he was shouting

and sweat dripped from his nose.

It was a sin-filled battle,

the preacher armed to the teeth.

A Bible gripped in one hand,

his amour was his faith.

I've never heard anything like it!

The battle raged on and on.

The devil took to runnin'

chased out, tailed by a song.

I've never sensed such power!

I've never felt so small!

Through this Bible Warrior

the Lord spoke to us all!

Then he said, "Just bow your head,

Ask the Lord, please..."

I bowed my head but did not plan

on falling to my knees.

The Lord took hold of me

right then and there.

Pulled me from my knees

and placed me in a chair.

People were singing,

praising God and clapping hands.

But I was alone in that room

when the Lord took my hand.

He pulled me aside and talked to me

Like He really cared.

He said "You have a mission.

This Word must be shared."

"You are the salt of the earth

You've a job to do

You must bring flavor to daily lives.

I ask this of you."

"You are in the perfect spot to spread Love's news.

The next time I hear

'Frankly, my dear...'

I'm not sure what I'll do."

The room for me went quiet

The Lord was still around.

I could see the people clapping

but could not hear a sound.

I wasn't sure what happened

but all the sound came back.

People were praising God

and patting me on the back.

Then the night was over

we were back in the car.

Guess the road trip to Redemption

wasn't really very far.

A re-post of an old post
for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

I Own A Gun

Crazies will find a way
Long after the disarming
To disrupt, damage and kill

I own a gun 

As I own all my tools; 

Responsibly, respectfully and rightfully.

I own a gun 

Because our freedom still stands

And our flag still waves.

God Bless America!

Forty-five words for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads  for the "unprompted" poetry challenge.

And You Thought I Forgot...

Remember the terrible hair cut, remember the contest, remember my promise of  "On Writing" by Stephen King?  Well, the deadline is here and the entries were fantastic!  It was so hard to choose, I did, honestly, love them all.  This was fun.  Thank you, everyone!

I chose my favorite, and surprise, surprise!...Sue does this for a living.  So email me your address, Sue, and I will get your book out to my place of business, The United States Postal Service, and get that baby mailed.

Sue's Entry:

My hair marches across my head.
Left face. Right face. Full speed ahead.
A hair platoon, in disarray,
With soldiers who will not obey.
Some stepping here. Some strutting there.
Some standing straight up in the air
At full attention, as they please.
I’ve had enough, Hair. Stand at ease.
Obey my orders. Call me ‘Sir.’
Dismissed. Fall out!
(Oops).
As you were.

The Limerick Game And A Prize

The limerick has been on my mind since four AM. I must stop this! I need sleep. If I slept, blogging would not be a true addiction.

Wickapedia says:
A limerick is a five-line poem with a strict form, originally popularized in English by Edward Lear. Limericks are witty or humorous, and sometimes obscene with humorous intent.
The following example of a limerick is of anonymous origin.

The limerick packs laughs anatomical
In space that is quite economical,
But the good ones I've seen
So seldom are clean,
And the clean ones so seldom are comical.

Gershon Legman, who compiled the largest and most scholarly anthology, held that the true limerick, as a folk form, is always obscene, and cites[1] similar opinions by Arnold Bennett and George Bernard Shaw, describing the clean limerick as a periodic fad and object of magazine contests, rarely rising above mediocrity. That is to say, from a folkloric point of view, the form is essentially transgressive; violation of taboo is part of its function

Now here's the game...We are writing limericks today. My favorite will get a surprise.

My favorite limerick from somewhere, just floats into my mind now and then is:
*

There was a young lady from Niger

Who smiled as she rode on a tiger

They returned from the ride

With the lady inside

And the smile on the face of the tiger!

*

My poor attempt at a limerick:

There was a lady named Gail

Who tried to write poetry and failed

She could not sleep

And could not eat

Now she has no tale(tail)!

*

Sick but fun! Care to join me? January 18th will be the dead line. The prize will be picked to fit what I think is related to the winner.