I will smile with hope. 
Tomorrow is a new year. 
Today is the past.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Blustery Holiday

A windy day.

You didn't quite shut the door.

Two dogs got out and ran away.

A call that you're in jail

while at the in-laws Christmas Eve.

Tomorrow we will come with bail.

Those boys keep calling dad.

Why are you in jail, not them?

Both, for you, are very bad.

It has been some holiday.

The pound opens this morning.

The dogs are there, I hope and pray.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

I do because I care

I feel like I'm stuck on pause.

My husband is gone to work his 12 hour shift.

I don't want to think about the mess my daughter's in.

So I'm in bed playing a game on my phone I can't win.

I had cookie momentum going the other night,

but my awesome helper youngest daughter squashed it.

“Mom, we don't have to make them all tonight.”

She was right,

but now I've stopped and can't get going.

Christmas is going to be wrong this year.

The baby will be at her daddy's, not here.

The tree still needs to be set up.

Gift shopping will be last minute again.

Only half the cookies are baked.

I don't even have a Christmas day menu plan.

We are going to his mom's for Christmas Eve soup,

and to see my missionary/nurse (better than me)

sister-in-law, and her family.

I need to un-pause, suck it up, and start doing.

Everyone else is expecting. I will not disappoint.

Today will be a good day. It's all about what I make it.

I am a grown up, and I can control that.

I will put on a smile, and some Christmas music,

start the laundry, empty the dishwasher, and bake.

Christmas is coming, and even though we don't show it,

my family cares, and I love them,

and I think they all know it.

by:  Paula D. Nevison 

Frustrating

I did not create this mess.

Had my original advice been followed,

there would not be this trial and test.

Yet I am picked to deliver the bad news,

pick up the pieces, pay the bill, and fix the fallout.

Like with the puppy and promises years ago,

I am the one who has to clean up the shit.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

A Better Cook Than Me

My husband cooks on the weekends,

sometimes during the week.

He's a better cook than I am.

He doesn't worry about calories.

He uses salt and butter,

just like Paula Deen,

and even though that is my name,

I can't bring myself to do the same.

I like food the way it is.

It needs no extra flavoring.

Simple, fresh, and raw,

on this I am unwavering.

So when my children ask,

and I tell them what I'm going to cook,

their faces change from inquisitive.

They give me that disgusted look.

But when they see their dad

sharpening knives at the table,

they know that he's about to cook

(and meat and cheese are his staple).

But seriously,

I CAN follow a recipe.

Yet he can improvise, and make a delicious surprise.

He is a better cook than I.

by:  Paula D. Nevison 

Ultrasound

A little boy,

bundle of joy,

being shy,

almost a surprise.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

For Ava, I am Strong

Money spent on drugs, not bills,

Cheeto vomit in the drive,

purple face, ambulance keeps him alive.

Swollen feet, heart is weak.

“Please don't leave. I'll quit, believe.”

Bruises, broken promises.

Little eyes witness it.

Sheriffs, warrants, pending court.

I don't want to give up.

He wants to make it work.

Happily-ever-after mirage turned nightmare

with man who only cares

when he's high on drugs.

But he loves drugs more,

just like before.

I cannot stay and fix this mess.

Two others tried, without success.

It's not about giving up on him.

It's about my daughter, and the child within.

I will do what's best for them.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

One

One baby,

only one.

She knows the names

she wants for a son.

Next visit

we will know

if boy or girls names

are the way to go.

Blue and yellow,

or a pink.

I'm knitting both.

What do you think?

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Happy Halloween

Forever Young

Beginning and End

One more week until

we find out if it's twins or not,

the beginning.

One more week until

my daughter gets her braces off,

the end.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

The Never Ending Edge

The never ending edge,

or so it seems,

1,216 stitches.

Knit two together, slip it back.

Knit two together, slip it back.

Again, and again.

The last row was two days of patient work.

Until finally

I'm finished,

but not yet.

Weave in the beginnings

and the ends of yarn,

or all that work could fall apart.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

The first of three baby blankets from "Another Excuse to Knit"

We Wait, and I Knit

Found out she's pregnant.

Twins run in his family.

Ultra sound scheduled.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Pictures from His Truck

A Utah mountain sunset,

North Carolina landscape,

Minnesota corn field, and

field of California grapes.

Painting pictures of places I've never been

texted to me by my daughter's new husband.

Traveling, driving his great big semi-truck,

in the sun, and in the rain, and through the muck,

texting us pictures of the places he's been

until his travels bring him back home again.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

The Park Today

After telling me that I could sit and watch her play,

that she would run around where I could see,

convincing me to take her to the park today,

she wanted me to help her swing. “Oma, push me.”

Even though I was standing in the sun,

even though the cool morning air turned hot,

even though she did not play around and run,

at the park this morning, we both had fun, a whole lot.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

The Beach to Me

Waves slosh silently over the sand.

Soaring seagulls spy meals down on the land.

Seashells are swaying with the waves.

A gentle wind today behaves

wafting the smell of sweet salt spray.

Worshiping the sun, people lay

with slathered skin to soak the rays.

Children sit in sand and play.

Sharks, and jelly fish swim beneath the waves

waiting with anxious jaws, and sharp teeth

for an unsuspecting swimmer to eat.

Personally, I am not an ardent admirer

of prostrating my body on the burning beach.

My epidermis is adequate the way it is,

without ultraviolet radiation carcinogens

metastasizing mutant melanoma

to create a darker pigmented protective organ.

I want not to propel myself through salty liquid

with man eating animals waiting to sting, or bite me.

Becoming part of the food chain is not my fantasy.

Blistering sunbeam alchemy brings only agony.

I am not a beach bunny.

I like to swim,

but a pool is fine

in the evening

when the sun is kind.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Blackout poem

The ocean,
turning,
carried a cloud.
The sunlight,
plunging,
continued down.
Time
grinned
until morning. 

by:  Paula D. Nevison 

Random words I chose from those on pages 100-101 of Secret Sea by Rob White.

 

The Argumentative Crow

Opa is out the door first.

He tells Ava, “Listen, the bird is arguing with me.

The crow squawks, “Uh-uh,” as if he's saying no.

Opa says, “Uh-ha,” meaning yes.

Crow, “Uh-uh.”

Opa, “Uh-ha.”

Ava joins the argument, “Yah-ha.”

Crow, “Uh-uh.”

Ava, “Yah-ha.”

Crow, “Uh-uh.”

Ava yells back indignantly, enunciating carefully

(like only a four-year-old can do), “Stop arguing with me!”

Crow, “Uh-uh.”

Ava growls in frustration as she walks toward me.

I help her into the car, and buckle her,

and she unhappily informs, “That bird is arguing with me.”

I reply, “Sounds like it.”

She exclaims, “That's not nice!”

I smile at her and say, “You are such a cutie pie.”

A big grin appears from her ear to ear.

I kiss her head, shut her door, and walk around to mine.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Smiles replaced her fears. 
Empowering to watch her 
conquering the world.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

No More Boundaries

She is confident,

can do any, and all, things.

She has no more bound's.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Canine Conundrum

When I sit on my bed with my computer propped on an empty flat box, my dogs lay down on the floor all around me, quiet, peaceful, still. When I sit at my desk in the den, typing away with better posture, my dogs roam around, wrestle with each other, or stand by barking, rubbing their wet noses on my elbows or my knees annoyingly. My location is the only thing I changed. Why do the dogs behave so differently?

A Texted Picture

Big smile, sparkly eyes,

the happiest her I've seen

in too many years.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Living Now

Playing chase.

Running circles around the yard.

Peeing on the lawn mower, or the grill,

in addition to the trees.

Looking up to the sky

and barking

at the squirrel

they cannot reach.

My dogs live in the now.

They don't worry about tomorrow.

They don't dwell on what is past.

They live fully in the moment,

exuberant, playful, sometimes patient

(expecting, trusting, believing – not really)

They are here,

ready,

now.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

A Quit Walk in the Garden

Orange fish swim silently

in the smooth waveless water.

This is an ugly place, and yet serene,

Japanese Garden.

What's a garden about a brown pond?

Where are the flowers?

Unless the fish are the flowers,

and their swimming

is the swaying in the breeze.

There is no breeze.

Just hot, humid, boring,

searing sun.

I'm going home.

I can see prettier scenes

on the Internet,

enjoy the beautiful outdoors

in my air conditioning, and

interact with strangers

all alone.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

right before the rain,

feel a puddle in the air

– high humidity

Moving

What to take, and

what to leave for him?

What's important?

What's garbage?

Pack it careful.

Hope it fits.

She picked the hottest time of day

to carry all her stuff away.

It's when the old boyfriend's at work,

which is good 'cause he's a jerk.

Too many things, she needs to keep.

It won't all fit in new man's jeep.

She wants me, and my empty car.

To the new house, we must drive far.

I hate that it's such a distance,

but I'm glad to lend assistance.

Less than a week, those two have dated.

To be together, they were fated.

I hope this is no disaster,

but a happily ever after.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

When Do I Write?

When do I write?

All day and night,

in little bits and pieces.

I live an interrupted life

as mom, Oma, and wife,

and must use moments in between

carpooling kids and washing jeans.

When I do have time to sit,

I pick up needles and I knit.

I have notebooks by my bed,

pens and pencils in the drawer by my head,

a grocery list notebook in my purse,

that has been used to scribble verse,

and a kid's school notebook in my car.

I'm a red light writing star.

Two computers on my desk

I use to compile these random lines of text.

Rearrange and edit for a minute

while supper overcooks.

My name may be Paula Dean

(Nevison), but I am not a cooking queen,

just a stay-at-home mom who always works.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Once in a Blue Moon

Blue moon shining bright

the night before my class starts.

– Omen in the sky.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Dishwasher Duty Discernment

She can't reach to put away the glasses or the plates,

and I don't really want to risk the potential breaks.

But having her help me unload the dishwasher

is an easy to way to promote in her

a healthy self-perception

if I make this a positive interaction.

I need to set her up to succeed.

“Will you put the silverware away for me?”

One by one she takes a fork or spoon

and matches them with those already in the drawer

putting them where they belong.

Hopefully, this will take long enough

that I can put away all the fragile stuff

before she starts handing them to me,

which she has done successfully,

over the tile floor.

It's worth the trepidation

and the extra time it takes

to include my eager four year old

in tasks even this mundane.

The benefits to her are great

(she never does complain),

and totally outweigh

any extra speed I'd gain.

She's learning she has value,

that she is capable and good,

that her input is worthwhile,

and that I believed she could.

Eventually when older,

she'll do it by herself

exactly as I taught her.

Then I'll do something else.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Strong Storming Gracious Girls

(Granddaughter and her Mom)

She is a hurricane,

if a hurricane was a good thing,

90 miles per hour

until the calm of her short nap,

then 90 again

until her day ends.

Joy embodied,

imaginative and creative,

a blustery boisterous bountiful energy

exploding everywhere she bounds.

Her mother, a pleasant breeze (busy living,

working, playing, doing, never still),

until unfairness interrupts.

Then she is a tornado,

a supercell's whirlwind of

focused fierce avenging fury,

until the solution is found.

Get out of her way,

or be knocked down.

As abruptly as she started,

abates the gale.

The clouds are parted,

pleasant breeze prevails.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Another Excuse to Knit

My friends are having babies.

More blankets I will knit.

One is pregnant with a girl,

the other is a secret.

Two girl blankets, and one boy,

are waiting in my basket to be knit

(for knitting is my spare-time joy).

I have a favorite pattern that's befit.

Two babies and three blankets,

the math is no mistake.

Two I'll give away,

the other one, donate.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Teaching Toddlers Fundamental Lessons with Laundry

A load of black laundry.

Let's play a game.

Match the socks.

They are all black,

and they are all socks, but

Opa's, and Uncle Joey's, and Aunt Lily's

are not the same,

a complicated game.

A four year old can do it,

can help, and be included,

enjoy a sense of accomplishment,

be proud of her productivity.

A menial task to me

is fun for a little one.

While I quickly fold the big clothes,

she is heartily matching socks

(sorting and classifying objects),

noticing how items are alike and different,

creating an awareness

vital for her future learning.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Forever yours. Forever young.

Hold me close.

Kiss my mouth.

Trigger endorphins.

Level my hormones.

Fill me with your fountain of youth.

Every morning

and every night,

keep me young.

You are my drug of choice

to keep me sane,

trigger endorphins,

and level my hormones.

Fill me with your fountain of youth.

Be my old man.

I'll be your woman.

Keep me young. 

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Am I There Yet?

When will I get old?

When will I go from looking younger than I am

to looking my age?

How will I know?

Will I look in the mirror one morning and see

the extra wrinkle that screams old lady?

Menopause, is that the key?

Is there a number that I'm waiting for?

Is it knocking on my door?

Have I passed it and ignored?

How will I know when I am old?

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Bananas for bananas

My granddaughter loves bananas. I buy them,

but they keep getting black before we eat them.

Then I throw them away and have no bananas

when my granddaughter comes over.

I have found

that if I slice the bananas

and freeze them spread out on waxed paper on a plate

that they taste like little bites of ice cream.

Then I have bananas available for when my granddaughter wants them.

New Free Knitted Cabled Hat Pattern

Those of us who knit hats, do it because we love to knit, and because we love the person we are knitting for. Hand knitting takes time, time that could be spent doing many other things. Sometimes the yarn costs more than buying an already knit hat from the store. So hand knitting a hat or garment is not necessarily cheaper than buying one. It is an act of love.

XOXO x 4 Hat

Children are Always Learning

“Left foot, left shoe.

Right foot, right shoe.”

Getting ready for a walk with my granddaughter.

Celebrating Independence Day

Six skittish, big, brave,

barking dogs display disdain

for fireworks popping.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Mother, wife, friend; teach, love, knit.

Driving,

laundry,

cleaning toilets.

Lunch date with husband and granddaughter.

Teaching/tracing ABCs,

reading stories, and

the fork goes on the left.

Knitting a Christmas stocking and a hat.

I went for a walk,

and it started raining.

I came home soaking wet.

I changed my clothes

and the first thing my dog did

was adorn me with a muddy footprint.

I had nowhere to go

and nothing to do

so it didn't really matter.

I picked up my knitting

and dropped a stitch.

It fell, twelve rows to ladder.

I set it aside

to fix it later.

Will do some laundry instead.

I stubbed my toe

going in the garage

and on the low hanging shelf, bumped my head.

I'll load the dishwasher

while I wait for the clothes.

A wet dish slips out of my hand.

It frisbees across the room

and knocks my tea cup down as it crash lands.

The last of my breakfast tea

is now on the floor with shards of pottery.

I cut my finger while cleaning it up,

and this, my last band-aid, won't stick.

The lesson I've learned from all of this

is don't get up early to walk.

It causes muddy footprints,

stubbed toes, and bumped heads.

If I had stayed in bed

I could be sipping tea instead

of holding my throbbing finger above my head.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

fyi:  how to fix (ladderup) a dropped stitch in knitting

Today, I smiled,
not on purpose.
My husband saw.
It made him happy.

Green Velvet White Chocolate Chip Cookies

http://www.cookingclassy.com/2012/08/red-velvet-white-chocolate-chip-cookies/

Untamable Heart

Who can tame a woman's heart?

Not even she who owns it.

The Fates may see that love will be,

but nobody controls it.

Pegasus to Hercules,

her emotions to her heart,

will fly or walk where her heart please,

direction abstract art.

Heart memories are feelings,

not facts, or dates, or details.

Bad builds stiff, thick wall linings,

but with good her hope prevails.

Tucked away, held close inside,

a woman's heart is wild,

guarded, open, ardent, sure,

and still it does beguile.

by:  Paula D. Nevison