Category: writing

Roses for love…

~ Meg ~ 33 Comments

A dozen red roses, an anniversary gift
One of them withers, eleven are left

Eleven red roses, their scent is divine
One of them withers, just ten are mine

Ten red roses, their petals soon fall
One of them withers, nine left, that is all

Nine red roses, still a lovely bouquet
One of them withers, in mold and decay

Eight red roses, the bunch getting thin
One of them withers, now the vase holds seven

Seven red roses, a sad little offering
One of them withers, suggesting my suffering

Six red roses, into a smaller vase
One one them withers, leaves five in its place

Five red roses, just a poor few
One of them withers, like my love for you

Four red roses, wilting and sad
One of them withers, I’m feeling so bad

Three red roses, none of them gay
One of them withers, I’ve nothing to say

Two red roses, pathetic and grim
One of them withers, good riddance to him

A single red rose, the petals are dry
The last one withers, as we say goodbye

Sorry Madeira, bad timing

~ Meg ~ 41 Comments

Week 27 in the Year of Drinking Adventurtously. Madeira.

I skipped this week. I only managed to scan the chapter. The long holiday weekend was jam packed with activity and I just ran out of time. One little bit of information I found interesting is that July 1st is Madeira Day — the day in 1976 when Portugal granted autonomy to the Madeira archipelago. That was the connection the author made for this time of the year. Still, the fortified wine seems like a better choice for cooler weather…

Nevertheless, my crowded social calendar this weekend did present plenty of opportunity for adventurous drinking. The exception being the baby shower I attended on Sunday afternoon.  This is the final one of the round of three I’ve attended in the the last 5 months. Must be something in the water here in Bucks County.

The childless woman at a baby shower is a lonely woman indeed. The grandmothers and mothers, the young women already thinking ahead… All the talk is about babies. I have nothing to contribute to the conversation at all.  It’s hard to muster enthusiasm for little pink dresses and onesies, tiny quilts and stuffed animals, bottles and breast pumps when that’s never been part of your life. So you sit awkwardly, smiling and pretending while the gifts are opened. Wishing you had that glass of Madeira after all…

Go see how Lula enjoyed her Madeira. I bet she fared better than I did!

 

The Great War Through the Eyes of a Poet

~ Meg ~ 29 Comments

I’ve been perusing my collection of World War One era poetry. I’m sorry to be morbid, bear with me…. I’ll snap out of it, I promise…

Suicide In the Trenches – Siegfried Sassoon

I Knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

100 years have passed since The Great War, World War One. We pay so much more attention to the Second War. Because the villains were more evil? Maybe… but this war, the one that changed the way wars were fought, was surely the work of evil come to earth.