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Get An Earful Poem
Sue doesn’t sit so demurely in her motorised wheelchair.
She’ll tell folks to stop gawking as it's very rude to stare!
Beneath her tenuous frame is quite a formidable young girl,
born with brittle bones but in her wheelchair she can twirl.
Sue’s parents sadly told her that her condition is immutable.
She is bereft of strong limbs, but her courage is irrefutable.
Despite a recent interlude in hospital, she's always cheerful.
Don’t treat her like she’s invisible or you may get an earful!
She loves to sketch caricatures in her artist’s drawing book
and in her specially adapted kitchen Sue is learning to cook.
Her physical disability will not prevent her from achieving
and her aphorism of life's always been, ‘Never stop believing
Sue loves to spend time wheeling around the garden paths,
watching chirping sparrows joyfully splashing in bird baths.
She paints canvases filled with butterflies and lovely flowers.
Sometimes she is quite content to sit there and read for hours.
If you are feeling sorry for Sue, don't give it another thought.
In her scarlet wheelchair, she's accepted what life has wrought.
Each day she finds something to appreciate that gives her a thrill.
In truth, she sees more beauty in life than most of us ever will.
Eight word Challenge 5 Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Required words: demurely, sketch, tenuous, brittle, formidable, interlude, bereft, immutable
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017
Get An Earful Poem
That old faucet leaks.
Done so for many a year.
I let it drip in that bowl,
birds; chipmunks; squirrel and other
critters come here for a drink.
This here tree out front?
Wife and I planted it. Yep.
Day we moved in here.
I wanted a Saguaro.
Mave wanted a good shade tree.
Inside…watch yer step,
that old board needs fixin',
I’ll show you the rooms.
This here was Mave’s favorite room.
She picked out those curtains there.
That’s my chair right there.
Come into the kitchen,
take a look around.
Mave put up many a jar
of jelly. Best in the state.
Now up these stairs,
are the bed rooms. This one’s Joe’s.
He was our oldest. Gone now.
Broke his mothers heart it did.
He died in the war. A hero.
This room was Katie’s.
Her and my Mave painted it.
Don’t care much for pink.
But Katie had her heart set.
But, I guess you could repaint.
This little room here,
Mave turned into a sewin’ room.
Her own little hide away.
Said I got the barn, so she
needed her own little space.
This was Mave’s and mine.
Now it’s just me. It’s too big.
I sleep on the couch.
Fall asleep with the TV.,
Mave hated when I did that.
Well, you’ve seen the house.
Told you what I could 'bout it.
If these walls could talk.
You’d get an earful that’s sure.
They’d likely never shut up.
Me and Mave were here
fifty two years till she died.
Then just me ten more.
Raised our two young’uns right here.
Ain’t got no grankids as yet.
Now, you two young folk,
take yer time and think ’bout it.
Don’t want to rush this.
It will still be here for ya,
when you two make up yer mind,
Got my memories.
First house is the most ‘portant.
How you get on here,
sets up the rest of your life,
to make your own memories.
This poem was inspired by one of our local, crusty,
old cowpoke, desert characters. He spoke straight
from the hip, with no nonsense or frills.
I sure wish we could have bought that old
Entered in the contest "What's Your Pleasure"
Hosted by Carol Brown
Placement : 3rd
Copyright © Paula Swanson | Year Posted 2010