The Monkey Barrel

Archive for April, 2006

It is quiet here
At my kitchen desk
All are gone
Or sleeping upstairs
Memories are sailing
On the wind today
Right through the window
Onto this screen
8 years old
Creeping dowstairs
For butt crack of dawn
Cartoons
Dad comes down
Round 7:30
Flicks on This Old House
In the kitchen
Bacon starts cracklin
In the cast iron
In the stainless
Drippings poppin for eggs
Scrambled for mom
Fried over for me
Buttery grits on the side
Pepper abounds
Sometimes if I’m sneaky
I fake sleep
So dad will wake me
And tell me there’s waffles
But every Saturday
There was This Old House
Dad in the kitchen
And all was right with the world

Yesterday John went to work with daddy. He spent a great deal of time with a group of ladies that Fred works with. He told them he could hear his voice in his mind. So Fred recanting the story to John today after he heard asked John what he was hearing the voices say. John cocked his head to the side for minute and said, “It says, I like motorcycles.” We howled. He’s so silly.

John keeps a journal at school that he must write a sentence or two in daily and illustrate with a picture. At the end of the week he is graded on the work. Here are some of the funniest excerpts as written by him. Capitals and punctuation also appear as written.

the mocki is swig. (The monkey is swinging)
the snacke has a green teg. (The snake has a green tongue.)
the elefint is hod a log. (The elephant is holding a log.)
the thgr has brown hes. (The tiger has brown eyes.)
thgrs hafs black stereps. (Tigers have black stripes.)

he mutht get hith innability too thpell frum his fadder. hahahaha

A slight blurb in the news
Ran the other day
A day for remembering
The holocaust
How can it be
The greatest atrocity
Of our time
Merely a bi-line
No Jewish history month
No school projects
No survivors honored
Our children unaware
God’s people
Tortured and murdred
By thousands
Upon thousands
Hear their voices crying
Remember them

Strange in the rainy gray
As the morning began
How the green shimmered
Lawns lush and full
Spring leaves in gossamer
Mother duck wandered
Into our heaven
Five ducklings
Tripping, tumbling, and peeping
One so small
Trying to keep up
And stay warm
Left behind, shivering
Cheaping for help
Gathered in my hands
Tiny, fuzzy, fluffy
Itty beak tucked in my palm
My good deed today
On stonegate pond

30 years ago
This Sunday past
Green eyes
Hair spun in gold
My best friend to be
15 years ago I and she
Found ourselves
In the souls of each other
Miles have stretched us
Two husbands, 3 munchkins
And soon another
Strange miles
More like magnets
Phone lines tangling our hearts
Wiring us together
She is greatness
In her presence I
Am humbled
God blessed me
In her birth
Before ever I knew
30 years
My wise little owl
God is gracious
Shannon Jean

Little boy blue
Is screamin loud
Decided sleeping
Is not in his vocabulary

Frazzled mommy
At my wits end
My heart breaks
In every cry

Give in to dreamland
Sleep my boy
This sunny day
Is waiting for you

He is strong
Holding your tiny fingers
His grin flashes
You giggle
Flyin you high in the air
You squeel
A kiss for your forehead
You snuggle back
His footsteps are big
You’ll follow them
His stride is long
You’ll catch up

Houdini escaped
From his playground today
Went to make a bottle
Turned around
And Poof!
Wasn’t even wearing
My showgirl costume
Afraid now
What will magically appear
in his diaper?

Little girl
Staring out the car window
Buttercup field flying by
Dreams of picnics, dancing
And flower chain crowns
Field bulldozed
Now a five story complex
Where her o.b. will be
Ironic
Flash forward
Two sons
Brand new red wagon
A walk to the park
Round the corner
A meadow full
Of buttercups
A ripple
In the fabric of time
Dreams do come true
It could happen to you….