Growing Like A Weed Poem
Growing through the thorns; strong;
Calling out for help when the days seem long.
When it’s realized that lifes not a breeze,
That only where you go-is what one sees.
Then the hills don’t seem so steep,
The weak aren’t only the ones who weep.
Listen close with ears ready,
Not all have the choice to have a body steady.
Deaf, blind, mentally challenged; it’s touch,
Looking around with meak eyes; what does that word mean? Rough.
Whose to say your glass doesn’t shine,
Cleaned or dirty- it’s all going to be fine.
Some need to hear this,
Others it becomes a hit or miss,
If you have the ability,
Don’t put it up for humility,
You’re capable; learn,
Don’t leave the minutes to count down; to burn.
Who says you can’t; don’t give up,
The potions all stirred up in a cup;
Think of it as a little trip; magic.
Drink up; it’s imagination not tragic,
As the legs move forward; slow and in tone,
As the hands of your own have the ability to pick up that phone,
Calling for the help needed.
Keep the mouth unheated.
Know others have it hard everyday,
Know others don’t have a place to call home ; stray.
This human race keeps on going,
Make sure you’re helping the race with growing,
Growing like a weed,
Another conceives her child like a small seed.
This child may not be perfect; never,
But the eye of the parent it’s their lever.
Their lever at the end of work,
The one they go to when things don’t lurk,
Open up the head,
Put that pencil down-use pen not lead,
Write down the real things that show,
And the truth in the arrow of the bow,
Nothing revolves around one man,
All others just become a fan,
Glissening isn’t what the road leads to,
Maybe you haven’t made the realization; add it; and do,
The withholder of the treasure is you,
Go out and remember what matters; and who is who.
Copyright © Stacey Behal | Year Posted 2012
Growing Like A Weed Poem
Our NEW neighborhood kitten.
We have a NEW little kitten
Lives just across the street.
She has long, silky whiskers
Four soft, little, furry feet.
Her owners call her “Peanut”
Because that’s her favorite toy
Those Styrofoam packing peanuts
Bring her never ending joy.
She’s a multi-colored Tiger cat
That is growing like a weed.
When I spend much time with her
She seems always on full feed.
The first few weeks they had her,
She was a biter, that’s for sure.
If you wanted to play with her
There seemed no possible cure.
They’ve had her sharp front claws
Very carefully, Vet removed.
Now as she’s getting older
She’s more settled and in the grove.
She seldom bites or scratches
Doesn’t really play that rough.
But if from on your lap, wants down
She can get a little “tough”.
I get to spend some time with her
When her folks go out of town.
I go over about an hour each day
To watch the silly clown.
I’m not sure I’d ever own a cat
Even though they can be nice.
But when they get an ornery streak
Cats can be as cold as ice.
Their prior cat had grown “aloof”,
You’d seldom see her in the home.
They feared she might have spent
Too many long hours alone.
So I go over to keep in touch.
To scratch her chin and pet.
To play with toys and laser light,
So “strangers” she’s often met.
My granddaughter was in town
To share turkey, ham and buns.
Peanuts folks were doing the same
So I took Lucie along for the fun.
She named the kitten Rosie
She felt it matched her well.
We made little Peanuts swear
Her folks she wouldn’t tell.
It’s hard enough to teach a cat
A name we all might use.
But when we change it off & on,
It’s almost pet abuse.
Well I’ve gone on here long enough
But at my age there’s seldom news.
So if I’m going to scribble rhymes
I must share my “lawn-chair” views.
Written by oldbuck, Black Friday
Evening 2016 after all the family had
Returned to their homes and
Grandma is watching the Hawks
Beat-up on Nebraska.
Copyright © Old buck | Year Posted 2016