Today: a poem courtesy of The Writer's Alamanc and the last of the daffodil poems.
My mother called to tell me
about an old classmate of mine who
was dying on the parish prayer chain—
or was very sick—or destitute—
or it had not worked out—the marriage—
or the kids were all on drugs—and
all the old mothers were praying intensely
for all the pain of their children
and for life—they were praying for life—
in their quiet rooms—sipping decaf coffee—
I bet they've been praying for me at times—
so I'll find my way—so I won't rob a bank—
I'll take them—the mystical prayers of old mothers—
it matters—all this patient and purposeful love.
by Tim Nolan
As you can tell from the biography, Tim Nolan is a lawyer by trade. The last, but not least, of the daffodil poems comes from another person who helps keep us on the straight and narrow.
The challenge was a bit daffy
but I hear the roar of the trumpets and this quest I must bare
Will I turn yellow and run from fear of trying to enlighten this central crown?
Only time shall tell! ……
Not a rose bud so my sleigh I can not seek
I must be quick witted and firmly plant my feet
It’s April and as you know spring is finally here
I’m not a drinking man but I could sure use a cold beer
The frost of the glass would tickle my tongue as the yellow colored malt will ease my senses
Why a Daffodil? It’s just a silly bulbous plant
Why not something more easily described? The smell of bacon cooked in the morning or the aroma of a fresh pot of coffee on a chilly morning in May
I can hear the trumpets playing softly from its pretty yellow crown
I was hoping some one else could hear it but there is no one else around
I now can see why she does this to me
Mother Nature you are a pest, but since you are here forever and I am just a guest
I will enjoy the sights and smells that you so graciously offer and thank for the rain you send and sunshine on my shoulder
The wind in my back, the sun in my face makes this Daffodil garden such a wonderful place.
by Bill Kitzerow
Remember, today is the deadline for submitting your bathroom poems. Now, I cannot remember which day is which, so if your poem comes in on Monday, who's the wiser? Not I, I assure you. So keep those cards and poems coming!