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A fronte praecipitium a tergo lupi. (In front of you, a precipice. Behind you, wolves.)

Sunday, April 10, 2022

National Poetry Month--Day 10--"ING" poems--Tardigrade, Doggy--Free Verse--My Mom

 

Tardigrade

Existing

Toodling

Drinking

Swimming

Breeding

Monstering


©2022 by H. Linn Murphy

Today we're doing "ing" poems (plus I did a free verse one). If you want to know what that is, go here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DOGGY

Fetching

Sniffing

Barking

Protecting

 Herding

Sleeping

Gnawing 

Racing

Flying

Catching

Peeing

Burying  

Grinning  

 



My Mom

From when I was tiny

You were my mirror And my lantern,

Holding aloft an example

Of what it means to become

A woman of God.

You are the woman on her knees,

Twice the missionary

You are the most patient,

The kindest, the busiest,

The most creative,

Curious about nature,

And about the world around us.

Mom the trouble shield

Though supportive wife

The go-getter-est, most intrepid

Person I know.

More than that,

You were always SERVICE.

You were there when

You wished to be anywhere else,

Making it work for the rest of us.

Because it was what you do.

You build 'HOME'.

You build the future out of

Snips and smidges

And things others left behind.

You believed in a clumsy ballerina

And a squeaky violinist

And a writer of books

You, the ebullient,

Player of Scrabble

With a twinkle in your eye,

Who hopes to win,

But gladly acclaims others' wins.

The creator of art and life,

The cork who rises to the top,

The water off a duck's back,

The 'This-too-will-pass' person.

You taught in spite of not knowing

The language where you lived.

You the globe-spanning teacher,

Cleanser of hospitals, bedrooms,

Mistakes and hearts,

You bloom where planted.

You, a fearsome warrior

For the righteous.

You who take meals to the sick,

Bake bread for the hungry,

Make dolls for the world,

You, the erstwhile debutante

Give clothing to children

IN Africa, You who work in hospitals

And orphanages,

Who walk though lame,

Who digs up the past,

You who hunt relatives

Like a coursing hawk.

You who care fiercely

For her young,

Who taught us hard work didn't hurt,

My mother who remembers

The little things,

And gives them back

As big things.

You the sentinel of the broken,

Who dragged me around the world

When I was too young to appreciate

All you sacrificed for me

And for our family and

Everyone you know

You, Mom, are my HEROINE. 

You are my world.

©2022 by H. Linn Murphy

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