Just a Whimsy


© 2013 Jeanne E Webster.   All rights reserved


The forest boasts a hefty hart;

It has a robust spirited heart.

I love crusty whole wheat bread.

The kitty cats have briefly bred.

She bought a new fireplace grate;

It shines and really looks so great.

My heart always skips a beat

Whenever I eat a bright red beet.

This blog is such an amusing site;

Eyes twitch and twitter at the sight.

Do you need some willow wood?

I’d cut some for you, yes, I would.

I love traveling this scenic road;

Upon it once a horse I rode.

The slate roof has a very bad leak;

The weedy garden grew a tall leek.

Through the grimy window I peek;

The hiker scaled a mountain peak.

The train teased the outer rail;

My lung is snorting a brassy rale.

This pen is priced on one big sale;

The boat is close to setting sail.

The foul monkey has a long tail;

The devious liar has a long tale.


NaPoWriMo  Day 12


A little whimsy!





Friday Morning-Coming Down

© Jeanne E Webster


Enjoying a swing on the patio

Sitting in our little “Rose Garden”

Looking at that pale blue sky

Rain’s a no-show, I’ll pardon


Blurred with white chalky scrapes

Overhead is a see-through image

Last night’s leftover half-moon

Must ’a lost the rest in scrimmage


Hummingbirds all a’ squeak

A winged rush hour traffic jam

Zooming like mad robotic bees

Deftly loving the ambrosial jamb


Gum trees shake off their sleep

Casting shade all over the hills

Cicada males not yet awake

Dreaming of their mating shrills


Melodious call of an oriole male

Not yet sipping of my nectar

Crepe myrtle in fuchsia regalia

Rose petals, the sun rays detector


A blue jay is squaring off afar

Probably out protecting his mate

Neighborhood roosters a’ crowing

Pleased that the night did vacate


A dull thumping of railroad cars

Mulishly moving down the tracks

Loaded with sooty coal, I guess

Heading up north, a’ clickity-clack


A hummer just flew past my nose

Stopped on a dime then returned

Saw my bright red shirt, I reckon

Inching closer, drooled and yearned


Ready to propel even closer now

Till I uttered, “I don’t think so!”

Off it flew with a squeak and snip,

In a blaze of its slinky chapeau


Bathed my two Cavalier Spaniels

Got my front end as wet as they

But I can’t run around the yard

And shake off and loudly bray


Certainly I knew I had better not

What would the neighbors think?

An old lady romping with dogs

Surely needs to visit a shrink


But when those baths are done

Oh, to become a little girl again

I’d chase my tail and play dog

Bark and run after the mailmen


I’d dance the day away… maybe

But I’m afraid this tired ole body

Would give out fast and furious

Put me to bed with a hot toddy


My knees would grate and grit

My hips would start to grumble

The hard ground would beckon

And I’d surely take a tumble


But jes’ for the tiniest moment

I would be all tickled and pink

For I’d soon be soaring home

In just about forty odd winks!

Did I Do That?


©Jeanne E Webster

Have you ever perused some of your old writings and come across a few that you haven’t a clue who wrote it?!  I have and occasionally have had to drill down to the beginning of the piece to verify my authorship.  Is this a sign of aging or wool gathering syndrome?  I’ll call it WGS, for short. 

I am not a friend of acronyms.   In fact, I detest them.  A thoroughly paced and jam-packed article is forever pitched into the proverbial trash can when these eyes espy one of those “alphabet soup” items.  It’s a cop-out.  The author takes it for granted every reader knows what he’s writing about, therefore he throws in the capitalized initials and hurries on to the next line.  He’s a lazy writer and expects the reader either to know the meaning or figures he’ll educate the reader while he’s digressing throughout his wonderful discourse.

It’s one thing to throw a new-fangled word into the piece, trying out his/her expertise with its meaning.  But to type in ALL CAPS is an outright insult!  The reader has no alternative, if the acronym is foreign, but to look it up in the dictionary, which many times it is not even there!  Therefore, I do not like acronyms and another reason for my distaste of the word, ACRONYM, is that it is hard to spell correctly.  I usually get too many NYM’s in there or add another N somewhere.

Now, back to my story…I apologize for the lengthy tirade above, but needed to clarify my inclusion (horrors!) of an acronym.  I promise never to do it again.

I came across a poem this morning and thought perhaps to post it today.  However, the longer I doddled over it, the foreign’er it became.  For the life of me, I couldn’t remember writing it.  It had a familiar ring to it but nothing solid to confirm ownership. 

When I write, it is usually handwritten on pieces of scrap paper or a notepad.  I scribble the words down rather hastily and days later perhaps, I finally conclude my thought process and sit down to transpose it to the computer for in-depth editing and scoring.  As the days fly by, I naturally have discovered more important or exciting ideas to put to paper and the words of yesterday become fodder for WGS in the worst manner.  (Oops, I did it again!)  Only after the piece is ready for publication do I add the copyright symbol and my name.

Hopefully you understand my predicament this morning.  The poem is lovely and has a humorous twist, but I don’t want the joke falling on me if I am not the true owner.  It is in publishable condition, all typed and ready to go except for a copyright and name.  However,  I have set it aside for another day and written this explanation for my slacking off procedure.  (Would you call that a SOP?)!

Tomorrow is another day–(did I write that or did someone else do that…)  I need another cup of coffee!  🙂


That’s Life

Sharing one of my favorite poems…




A Prayer

By Max Ehrmann


Let me do my work each day;

And if the darkened hours of despair overcome me,

May I not forget the strength that comforted me

In the desolation of other times.

May I still remember the bright hours that found me

Walking over the silent hills of my childhood,

Or dreaming on the margin of the quiet river,

When a light glowed within me,

And I promised my early God to have courage

Amid the tempests of the changing years.

Spare me from bitterness

And from the sharp passions of unguarded moments.

May I not forget that poverty and riches are of the spirit.

Though the world know me not,

May my thoughts and actions be such

As shall keep me friendly with myself.

Lift my eyes from the earth,

And let me not forget the uses of the stars.

Forbid that I should judge others,

Lest I condemn myself.

Let me not follow the clamor of the world,

But walk calmly in my path.

Give me a few friends who will love me for what I am;

And keep ever burning before my vagrant steps

The kindly light of hope.

And though age and infirmity overtake me,

And I come not within sight of the castle of my dreams,

Teach me still to be thankful for life,

And for time’s olden memories that are good and sweet;

And may the evening’s twilight find me gentle still.





The Indian Maiden
© Jeanne E Webster.  All rights reserved

 The ship is an omen…Flee flee!
 She runs swiftly, so light and free;
 Leaves rain gaily upon her body.
 Awake…awake from your reverie!

An ekphrastic poem exercise of a painting by Annie Leibovitz titled “Pocahontas”, for the film “Dreams Run Free”

(Ekphrasis: writing that comments upon another art form, for instance a poem about a photograph or a novel about a film.)