Magenta Hair
By Larry R. Linville
Across the giant hall
I saw her magenta hair.
Did she want to impress
or was it just to scare?
She wasn’t a teen ager
must be something other.
Wasn’t just a childish thing
she was someone’s mother.
Must be expressing freedom
for what, I do not know.
Everyone looked at her
as she put on a show.
Did her hair match her clothes?
You really shouldn’t ask me.
It was so bright where she sat
preventing me to see.
I have magenta crocs
I’d be glad to donate
if it would help her looks
but I fear it is too late.
© Copyright 2010 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
End Of A Hard Day
End Of A Hard Day
By Larry R. Linville
To keep going when I am tired
Is harder the older I get
My energy level is low
But I just can’t give up and quit
My eyelids seem to be half open
As they struggle hard to focus in
And each time I try to stand up
The whole world moves around in a spin
My old shaky legs seem to tremble
My belt won’t buckle but my knees do
And when my brain tries to do its thing
It doesn’t seem to have any clue
Think I’ll see if I can reach the bed
Won’t take time to put pajamas on
Because at my delicate age
I’ll make many trips to the john
© Copyright 2010 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry R. Linville
To keep going when I am tired
Is harder the older I get
My energy level is low
But I just can’t give up and quit
My eyelids seem to be half open
As they struggle hard to focus in
And each time I try to stand up
The whole world moves around in a spin
My old shaky legs seem to tremble
My belt won’t buckle but my knees do
And when my brain tries to do its thing
It doesn’t seem to have any clue
Think I’ll see if I can reach the bed
Won’t take time to put pajamas on
Because at my delicate age
I’ll make many trips to the john
© Copyright 2010 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Old Winters Remembered
Old Winters Remembered
By Larry R. Linville
“It’s cold as a witch’s monkey,” he said
and took extra blankets and went to bed.
The snow is high as an elephant’s knees
and when you step out your eyeballs will freeze.
When you are feeling you just “have to” go
you must run fifty feet in the deep snow.
A much faster run gets you back inside
right up to the pot belly stove you glide.
The house had no insulation at all
the fire was from wood we cut in the fall
which didn’t give off very much heat
so we all huddled within a few feet.
We stood and listened to the radio
which forecasted there would be much more snow.
The warm spring seemed to be so far away
since we hadn’t even had Ground Hog Day.
Neighbors with shovels all gathered around
to shoveled the road all the way to town.
We had not heard of wind chill in that day
as we hurried to put out bales of hay.
With our axes we chopped holes in the pond
a task for which nobody was fond.
But the job which really raised our eyebrows
was on a cold stool while milking the cows.
Did you notice that not once did I say
anything about walking each way
two miles uphill to our old country school
or riding both ways on our horse or old mule?
An old man seems to remember these things
Which seem in their way to have taken wings
causing them to grow with each passing year
so fact and fiction are no longer clear.
© Copyright 2010 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry R. Linville
“It’s cold as a witch’s monkey,” he said
and took extra blankets and went to bed.
The snow is high as an elephant’s knees
and when you step out your eyeballs will freeze.
When you are feeling you just “have to” go
you must run fifty feet in the deep snow.
A much faster run gets you back inside
right up to the pot belly stove you glide.
The house had no insulation at all
the fire was from wood we cut in the fall
which didn’t give off very much heat
so we all huddled within a few feet.
We stood and listened to the radio
which forecasted there would be much more snow.
The warm spring seemed to be so far away
since we hadn’t even had Ground Hog Day.
Neighbors with shovels all gathered around
to shoveled the road all the way to town.
We had not heard of wind chill in that day
as we hurried to put out bales of hay.
With our axes we chopped holes in the pond
a task for which nobody was fond.
But the job which really raised our eyebrows
was on a cold stool while milking the cows.
Did you notice that not once did I say
anything about walking each way
two miles uphill to our old country school
or riding both ways on our horse or old mule?
An old man seems to remember these things
Which seem in their way to have taken wings
causing them to grow with each passing year
so fact and fiction are no longer clear.
© Copyright 2010 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
A Smelly Poem
A Smelly poem
By Larry Linville
A girl with a fabulous smeller
Followed her nose to the cellar
When she got there
The cellar was bare
And no one took the time to tell her.
So she went to the flower bed
Where she had planned to be wed
The flowers were dry
And about to die
So in disappointment she fled.
Off to the church the girl flew
To see if they were missing a pew
She busted her nose
‘cause the church door was closed
And then her frustration grew.
Her smeller was letting her down
So she walked all over her town
Her nose she check out
And left with a pout
And went home with a big frown.
The poor girl is single today
The smell just won’t go away
She waters her nose
With the old garden hose
Each morning through the whole day.
This poem is silly you see
And now you’ve shared it with me
You’ve wasted your time
Reading this dumb rhyme
But the cost was low – it was free.
© Copyright 2010 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry Linville
A girl with a fabulous smeller
Followed her nose to the cellar
When she got there
The cellar was bare
And no one took the time to tell her.
So she went to the flower bed
Where she had planned to be wed
The flowers were dry
And about to die
So in disappointment she fled.
Off to the church the girl flew
To see if they were missing a pew
She busted her nose
‘cause the church door was closed
And then her frustration grew.
Her smeller was letting her down
So she walked all over her town
Her nose she check out
And left with a pout
And went home with a big frown.
The poor girl is single today
The smell just won’t go away
She waters her nose
With the old garden hose
Each morning through the whole day.
This poem is silly you see
And now you’ve shared it with me
You’ve wasted your time
Reading this dumb rhyme
But the cost was low – it was free.
© Copyright 2010 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The Waiting Room
The Waiting Room
By Larry R Linville
We used to talk to people
on our left and on our right.
We’d talk about our family
or what we did last night.
We’d meet a perfect stranger
and soon he was a friend
then someone else would enter
and we’d do it all again.
Sometimes we talked politics
a topic that wasn’t wise
or we could pass on gossip
and other kind of lies.
Nowadays it’s not the same.
Our isolation has grown.
We sit in a waiting room
and play games on our cell phone.
I tried to be like others
and I reached for my phone
which wasn’t in my pocket
so I sat there all alone.
© Copyright 2010 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry R Linville
We used to talk to people
on our left and on our right.
We’d talk about our family
or what we did last night.
We’d meet a perfect stranger
and soon he was a friend
then someone else would enter
and we’d do it all again.
Sometimes we talked politics
a topic that wasn’t wise
or we could pass on gossip
and other kind of lies.
Nowadays it’s not the same.
Our isolation has grown.
We sit in a waiting room
and play games on our cell phone.
I tried to be like others
and I reached for my phone
which wasn’t in my pocket
so I sat there all alone.
© Copyright 2010 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Coffee Group Revisited
Coffee Group Revisited
By Larry R. Linville
My coffee group has problems
trying to talk to the guys.
Communication suffers
as we try to tell our lies.
The things we think we have said
may use a different word
than what we thought we had said
and what the others heard.
We know what we meant to say
but now we begin fearing
what the others will think
because they’re all hard of hearing.
Our talk about politics
doesn’t change by what we say.
It matters not what is said
we don’t listen any way!
© Copyright 2010 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry R. Linville
My coffee group has problems
trying to talk to the guys.
Communication suffers
as we try to tell our lies.
The things we think we have said
may use a different word
than what we thought we had said
and what the others heard.
We know what we meant to say
but now we begin fearing
what the others will think
because they’re all hard of hearing.
Our talk about politics
doesn’t change by what we say.
It matters not what is said
we don’t listen any way!
© Copyright 2010 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Friday, January 1, 2010
New Year's Poem
New Year’s Poem
By Larry R. Linville
What you do on New Year’s day
you will do the whole year.
I don’t know if that is true
but that is what I hear.
It makes perfect sense to me
something I try to do.
So I pass along this thought
a suggestion to you.
I want poetry to be
a background every day
to look for positive thoughts
as guides along the way.
I hope you’ll find some things
that will bring joy and love
and help others receive
peace from God above.
© Copyright 2010 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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