Nourished by Her Offering

She wrote of caged birds learning to sing
And we came along,
Wanting a piece of the wisdom
She served like an apple pie
Fresh from the oven,
So sweet that every bite stayed on our tongues
Long after the evening meal was done,

She rolled love, compassion and grace into
A golden crust and we tasted them
As if for the very first time,
Nourished with the grains of truth
That flavored and spiced her offering,

When nighttime came for her,
And we knew the pie would never be served again,
We wept knowing the nourishment
Was essential to our being,
And craved just one more piece
Prepared by her loving,
hopeful, forgiving hands.

Written in memory of Maya Angelou (April 4, 1928 – May 28, 2014)

A PARTY FOR FIVE AT FOUR

The first guest arrives at a quarter past two;
He wears a green suit, but only one shoe,

The second stops by at a minute past three;
She wears a large hat that is bigger than me,

The third is on time as the clock turns to four;
She ties up her horse then wanders next door,

The fourth guest arrives at a quarter ‘til five;
He tells a big tale about bees and a hive,

The fifth is quite late at twenty past six,
He stopped on the way to do magic tricks,

They’re all a bit strange, but then so are we;
We built our fine house in a giant oak tree,

The only way in is the only way out,
By pulling a rope and then giving a shout,

The bucket comes down to give you a ride,
Then quick as a lick you’re sitting inside,

Stop by for a chat if you’re ever in town;
No matter the time we’ll show you around.

Please turn on the sound and enjoy it while reading the poem.

RAINY DAY

The rain settled in,
Becoming the soundtrack to
My afternoon,

Everything slowed down
To accommodate its tempo,

I worked the crossword,
Barely lifting my pen
Before moving to the next clue,

My brain lulled into
A placid trance,
I barely glanced at the time,
Not inclined to worry or care,

The clock ticked, the cat yawned and stretched,
I fetched a cup of tea
While the rain kept up a steady beat,

My daydreams turned to distant shores
And hidden doors
I explored
While nestled
In a comfy chair,

And still the rain came down.

THERE WAS A YOUNG MOTHER WHO LIVED IN A SHOE

There was a young mother, who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children she didn’t know what to do,

They hung from the rafters; they swung from the trees,
They jumped on their beds; they skinned up their knees,

They slid down the stairs; they played hide and seek,
They caught lots of critters while down at the creek,

They pulled the dog’s tail and chased after bees,
She asked them to stop; she even said please,

She cried and she ranted; she prayed and she pleaded,
She told them their silence was all that she needed,

They found lots of dirt and made some mud soup,
Then tried to get kitty to gobble the goop,

They locked all the doors, then hid all the keys,
They found lots of rope and made a trapeze,

And just when poor mother was ready to drop,
The children’s mad antics came to a stop,

They jumped in the tub one after another,
Then skipped off to bed, each kissing their mother,

She sang them a song about sunshine and grace,
Then walked through the room kissing each tender face,

She brewed a hot cup of peppermint tea,
Then sat in a chair where she found a lost key,

She sighed and she laughed at the odd life she led;
With love in her heart she headed for bed.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

Thank you, Mother Goose, for providing the inspiration!!

Poetry by Rita Bourland © 2014