© 2014 Laura Freeman All Rights Reserved
The gods of pestilence,
Have cast their grievous blow,
Showing great indifference,
To the fateful few below.
A plague, in torrential rain,
Falls down upon their heads,
With despair, inflicting pain,
The infestation spreads.
The weak, downtrodden masses fall,
Succumbing to the plight,
Struck down, the young and small,
In seeming endless night.
Ever slow, the illness wanes,
It lifts then falls again in place,
The elusive end to the torrential rains,
Comes at an agonizing pace.
The weary few, in chorus sing,
Hope comes tentatively,
knowing in their hearts, something,
Will happen eventually.
Laura Freeman
- April 1, 2014 -
The Hurricane
She leaves destruction in her joyous wake,
Spins past them, tossing aside their treasure,
Showing no mercy, nor reprieve, nor break.
Debris cast away with random pleasure,
Chaos reigns in the quaking domicile,
At her will, the damage goes unmeasured.
Once again, they begin a task, futile,
Of cleaning up the gleeful destruction,
Wreaked by a toddler full of cheerful guile,
They've lovingly dubbed, “Hurricane Brooklynn!”
-Laura Freeman-
April 2, 2014
Gravity
Grasping furniture, she climbs with drive,
Relentless in her quest to reach new heights.
At the summit, she waits 'til I arrive,
Very often, to my heart-stopping fright.
I, helpless, do not get there quite on time,
To rescue her from the possibility.
Yes, my baby learned what happens when she climbs...
The awful truth about the law of gravity.
-Laura Freeman-
April 3, 2014
Rain splatters pavement
Iceways form as I slumber
Spring is imminent
Sunshine hides behind
Dark and dreary cloud cover
Spring is imminent
Mud puddles pooling
Along roads and on sidewalks
Spring is imminent
Blue sky northerly
The clouds slowly blowing south
Spring is imminent
Brilliant clear overtakes
The clouds dissipate to wisps
Spring is imminent
Coat in morning
Shirt by the midday outing
Spring is imminent
Winter blues lifting
I feel happy and hopeful
Spring is imminent!
-Laura Freeman-
April 4, 2014
More Paperwork
Behind a desk I sit, ceasing never
I tackle the to-do list without an ending
I dully fill in the waiting blanks
A chore that, at times, feels meaningless
Staring at the daunting empty lines
I know its purpose and
I dutifully fill the boxes
Ever planning and ever seeking
To find the efficiencies with which to
Reduce what seems to be
Just time, waiting to be filled.
-Laura Freeman-
April 5, 2014
As the weekend comes to a end,
My to-do list remains incomplete,
Two days is not enough time to spend,
There are deadlines that I want to meet.
My to-do list remains incomplete,
They say good intentions “gang aft agley”
There are deadlines that I want to meet,
weekend chores done inefficiently.
They say good intentions “gang aft agley”
Starting the week right is the best way,
Weekend chores done inefficiently,
Leave us scrambling come early Monday.
Starting the week right is the best way,
Lunches have to be prepped the night 'fore,
We're always scrambling come early Monday.
To find backpacks and boots by the door,
Lunches have to be prepped the night 'fore,
Laundry done, floors washed, menu penned,
Backpacks and boots ready by the door,
As the weekend comes to an end.
-Laura Freeman-
April 6, 2014
You fill my heart with your sultry kiss,
And warm me to my very core,
I gaze at you and feel naught but bliss,
I've missed you so; I've missed you more,
Absence makes the heart grow fonder,
And mine has ached so long for you,
Each time you leave and cruelly wander,
You leave me to doubt our love is true.
Now you wrap me in your warm embrace,
After our chilling time apart,
You plant sweet kisses on my face.
And I forgive you with all my heart.
And we go back to the way we were,
A year ago before you went away,
And I fall for you with all that's sure,
You temptress, you are a warm spring day!
-Laura Freeman-
April 7, 2014
Not tonight, I have better things to do,
Then to sit and watch the blank screen taunt me,
I will not have a poem to amuse you.
My mind is blank, I can not follow through,
With clever written creativity,
Not tonight, I have better things to do.
Perhaps, instead, I'll craft with pens and glue,
Or maybe I'd just rather watch tv,
I will not have a poem to amuse you.
After children sleep, my free time is due,
Time for household responsibility,
Not tonight, I have better things to do,
Wash floors, pay bills, or income tax is due,
Or I'll tackle the mountain of laundry,
I will not have a poem to amuse you.
After seven poems, am I really through?
I just don't feel like writing poetry,
Not tonight, I have better things to do,
I will not have a poem to amuse you.
-Laura Freeman-
April 8, 2014
My house, My Home
This house is a house full of light,
It's chaotic and noisy and bright,
We've made it our own, we call it our home,
And I'll groan, it's an untidy sight.
-Laura Freeman-
April 9, 2014
Why I Have Perma-Bags Under My Eyes
I was sound asleep when I heard her cry,
I picked her up, cuddled her to my chest,
Beside me in bed, I was too tired to try,
To put her back in the crib to finish her rest.
We both fell asleep, we both love bed-sharing,
Then, “Mama” he screamed! I ran to the fright,
“It’s too dark, ” he said, tousled and glaring,
I grumbled and flooded the hallway with light.
My son who is scared of the dark is awake,
Now I have to sleep under floodlights, sigh!
I close my door,give my tired head a shake,
I have to block out the hallway light to get by.
Less than three hours ‘til dawn the clock taunts,
Exhaling slowly I slipped back to dreamland,
Then a familiar sound, my slumber it haunts,
A scritching and scratching relentlessly panned.
Effing cat can’t handle the door not ajar,
She has to get in to sleep on my head,
I threw a book at the door, really quite far,
It thumped and she scattered, yowling with dread.
Finally, I sighed and closed off my brain,
It didn't last long, she wanted my bed,
Just seconds later, she was scratching again,
In my sleep addled state, I swore, “That cat is dead!”
But, I’m a sucker, what can I say?
Little feet in my ribs and a cat on my chest,
Finally I doze fitfull 'til light of day,
The clock reminds me, two hours to rest.
My door opens a crack; in comes another,
“What?” I snarl, as I sit up slowly and glare,
He warily eyes his impatient mother,
A sight with her eye bags and tangle of hair.
“I had to get up now,” the little boy said,
He exhales slowly, “Mama, I wet the bed.”
-Laura Freeman-
April 10, 2014
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