Two poems - Whose House is This - and The Lavender Lady, a figurine

When I awoke this morning, I said to myself, as I often do, Friends, where are they, I have no friends.

Exaggeration? Not at all. Nothing like picking up the phone and saying, "What's new?"

Mailman Dante just arrived. Nothing but junk mail. Put it in a box as tonight is - you guessed it - Garbage Night.

Dante, who's relatively young, delivered mail to the Kiernans and then slid down their snowy hill like a child.

I read Lavender Lady to Judy L who loved it.

And Carole H loved my "House Poem."

After this, I'll go upstairs and continue the Beaver book.

WHOSE HOUSE IS THIS?

Ever been here?
Swinging with color
Everywhere you look
there's something to see
Something that I like
Maybe you will too
but I do it for me

A place to be happy
content and serene
an Ecuadorean tapestry
hides signatures of
dead folks I loved

Will set a place at the table
Will bring up the champagne
chilling downstairs
And you'll be the celebrity
for there's only one of you
on this green revolving planet
the mother of us all.


THE LAVENDER LADY
A figurine

It's impossible to know
how she's lasted so long
Her bearing, composed
this 19th century woman
her face turned demurely
to avoid the looks of
gentlemen on the English
promenade.

Feathers flowing from
her wide-brimmed hat
purple parasol at her side

I have named her
Miss Victoria, after
the former Queen

Tell no one, please,
than in difficult times
I will kneel down
before her and beg she
bring me peace.

* * *




Go ahead, proud Beaver, smile at your nine readers!