Archives For poetry

The Mirror

Mary Liz Ingram —  June 19, 2013 — 1 Comment

It hangs above an old dresser, painted white and made like new.

A backdrop of light lilac, softens and surrounds its frame.

The mirror has seen life come, on the wall when life was new:

A third-time mother waited, and filled the dresser drawers,

day-dreaming in the mirror, wistful eyes on her stomach.

A new infant lay below, tucked into tiny diapers,

little hands by the mirror, ready to grow and become.

A baby sat up laughing, and kissing her reflection,

while the mother took photos, of the mirror full of smiles.

Now the baby toddles in, holding onto mother’s hand,

bedtime on another night, the mirror bathed in evening.

Time goes by in the mirror, and the mother soaks it in.

The Mirror, pastel sketch on card

The Mirror, pastel sketch on card

 

Mr. Bean

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 31, 2013 — 1 Comment

toasted donuts, original photographySo I’ve had quite a few days on my own with the kids. I congratulate myself for successfully ending each day with everyone happy and whole by treating myself to a dessert or (oftentimes and) a glass of white wine. After a day of many doings, the house is always very quiet. All my little peeps are asleep, and it’s just me and the cat (my Dad might say, correcting my grammar, “The cat’s not mean.” But I think “me and the cat” sounds more fun than “the cat and I,” and on here I can write how I want. So there.).

It’s quiet. And a little boring.

So here’s a jaunty little poem to describe and illustrate the odd things that may or may not occur on such an evening:

Twas the night with just mommy, the toys put away, successfully living to the end of this day

The children were snuggled up tight in their beds, as visions of Scooby Doo danced in their heads

I on the couch in my pjs at 8:00, settled in with a blanket and dessert on a plate

I’d puttered about like a little old granny, and hummed and muttered and sat on my fanny

I had been in the kitchen preparing my snack, and was struck by a thought as sharp as a smack 

I was making odd noises in a sort of narration, excited by donuts, a cause for elation

When it hit me that in this sad humorous scene, I sounded a lot like the man Mr. Bean

Well the noises stopped there, and I went to the couch, I tried to sit up instead of assuming the slouch

“I’m a 31 year old woman,” I said in my head, and though I may not want to go paint the town red

I can hang onto my dignity and hold my head high, then I ate my three donuts without even a sigh.

Toasted Donuts, ink sketch

Toasted Donuts, ink sketch

The Birds

Mary Liz Ingram —  February 12, 2013 — 2 Comments
Busy Birds, 7X12 soft pastel on card

Busy Birds, 7X12 soft pastel on card

I step outside into the fresh morning air;

a swirl of eager chatter encircles me.

I lift my eyes to the busy scene:

birds playing a game of musical chairs

amongst the bare branches of the tall trees.

All weight is lifted into the cool gray sky,

agendas fade and I pause upon the stair.

I breathe in life.

I feel a small and glorious part

of the nature of things.

neighborhood chatter

neighborhood chatter