With Apologies to Laura Numeroff**

If you give a writer a journal
She’ll probably say “thank you”
   (exclamation point)
And wonder where the nearest pen or pencil is.
If she finds said pen, she’ll take to writing
   A es a pee.
Once she starts writing there’s no telling
When she’ll stop—why
   THINGS COULD HAPPEN.
People would be neglected,
The dishes could go unwashed,
The laundry could pile up,
Spouses might go hungry.
And if people go hungry
they might make their own dinner.
  Or order out.
From the barbecue place downtown.
The one across the street from the gift shop
Where the writer might wander in while she
Waits for the coleslaw, beans and spicy chicken.

And the kind, inquisitive clerk inquires, ‘does she journal?’
  (exclamation point)

Discovering it’s the writer’s birthday and kindly
offering to gift her with a journal.
And you know what that means…..
~~~~~~~~~~~
Linking with the lovely tribe at Soli Deo Gloria–click on over!
***Author of “If you give a Mouse a Cookie” and at least 5 other variations thereof.
I wrote this in August, after a visit downtown for my birthday.
Photo of chalk drawing at school last year–the months in a vertical column–see it?

Similar Posts

  • Lighthouse-a Poem/Prayer

    I wish I could collectthe light, landing its shadowson this page as it creepsever brighter through the gray. Pour it out to wash my heart,salve the wound of thispresent heaviness, the sighsthat never end. Hold it lightly aloft, prayingno sharp wind orquiet, steady breezesnuff it out, for weneed it so Father, carry us,ferry us through…

  • Whether System {a #poem}

    Texas Sky April 2011   Thunderclouds are roiling on the horizon, stacking up East-wise, threatening to move in– move in and dump. But they’re whiter than white can be and only so much vapor. I imagine their rumbling high over distant mountains, molecules leaving mess and mayhem, headed this way. But there’s no running for cover….

  • Cross Words {a poem}

            W      CROSS      R      D      S Lamb. Perfect. Hung. Alone. Naked. For me. Abandoned. Blamed. Spit on. Mocked. Forsaken. For me. Loving. Spotless. Alone. For love. Blood poured out. For me. Broken. Crying. Praying. Dying. A garden beginning, A garden His ending. On a hill he hung for me.

  • Eden DNA

    We were made for Edendwellers with Godin his greengloryand goodnessamong the viningwonder and fragrant trees.We came from dirtcreation,witness to his fillingof this face of the earthwith his endlessimaginationnamed“witch hazel”“flowering quince”“red currant”“sweetbox.”He charged us ascaretakers of His Garden,resident keepers inhabiting the Heaven here on Earth (truly)made for eternity (Ecclesiastes 3)but shorting out our livesby seeking solace elsewhere.We sit…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *