Thursday, June 30, 2011

Money Back

I really tried to make the thing work
I spent all the money I ever had was to no avail and I grew so damn mad

I wanted to exchange it for a better trade
I wanted to go take it right back
...but it was too twisted to repack

I wanted to demand a full refund of monies
I thought about going right back in
...but it was another battle I wouldn't win

The manufacturer didn't intend a defective device
I had hoped for, but knew there would be no recall
...I finally just threw my head against the wall

...and that's the story of my buying you, all in all

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Writing Abode

I set out for a traipse
Through woodland of the green
To take a breath of purest air
To renew my senses keen

Enjoying was I my little stroll
When the thicket I came upon
Gave way to scarcely a path
Beckoning me to continue on

I followed minutely a trail
Which lead me to this place
Where a quaint little cottage
Had grown flowers as her face

She stood rather small
And wore a hat of mossy thatch
Lined with ribbon about the brim
That lead to a pond of rainwater catch

Morning glory enshrouded glass eyes
In dark I know must glow
Had I not looked for them
I fear that they would never show

Her mouth was of the deepest red
Where the antique rose now grows
And above it there, entwined by ivy
A wreath grew gaily as her nose

I stepped back and looked once more
Into those eyes of glory growing blue
Their temptation proved far too much
So I fulfilled my desire to peer on through

I could see small lamps were lit
Casting warmth of fragile glow
I grew lost, encumbered by thought
Penetrate did this my soul

I then caught wind of aromatic proportion
That comes only from the rose
I believed it a polite gesture
I thought it an invitation to impose

Resisting not I stepped inside
And lunged down upon a chair
Then looked back out the window
To see the view from there

I saw such a beautiful rainbow
Lending end for even more to see
There, a plethora of flowers had grown,
I dreamed...were they there for me?

I noticed beyond all color
Encroaching was there the deepest thicket
But wiser was my cottage host
Who guarded herself with a line of white picket

Up above, I could see the sky
Of blue sheets and white pillows
And straight ahead, near the path
She had lined herself with willows

I never wanted to forget this-
This place I before never knew
I wanted to stay here forever
Though I longed to share it all with you

I thought that I might leave
To go back home and fetch you
And bring you to this mesmerizing place
So you could feel its charisma too

But afraid that I may not again find
This cottage with her lovely face
I thought that I should write it down
As never to forget this charming place

So I settled myself quite comfortably in
With pen and paper and mode
And began to relay the story of how
I found my writing abode

Nancy Roberts ©2001

Visit How Sweet the Sound for Pink Saturday 
A Southern Daydreamer for Outdoor Wednesday 
 Blue Monday at Smiling Sally
Weekly Words to Live By at A Cottage Industry
Show Off Your Cottage Monday at House in the Roses
Making Your Home Sing Monday, hosted by Mom’s the Word
Gathering at the Well, hosted by At the Well
Happy Homemaker Monday, hosted by Diary of a Stay at Home Mom

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Words That Don't Come Out Right

It is sometimes difficult to say exactly what I think-
Though the thought is just on the tip of my minds brink,
My tongue often delivers a message that doesn't quite make the link.

Joining  504 Main,  HodgePodge FridayFiner Things Friday , HOH,  Creation Corner

Thursday, June 16, 2011

To A Romanian Boy

Corrugated walls
Shelter of no strength
Hurled inside
Positioned to fetal sleep
Monsters lurk all hours
In and out of me they creep
Callousness belongs to me -
Yet still I weep
I know not from where I come
The street reaps its toll
I wither amongst the many
Who never learned to cajole
I inhale this noxious fume
For it eases the pain
My utter voracity
Temporarily subsides with bane
Posion abated, hunger again beckons
-For no real meal ever came
An orphan of Romania,
To you, is my name
Nothing else do I know...
Ah, but I did once dream-
I rode my bicycle
Away from these things.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Color of Death

Never did I know that nature
held more of this hue
I thought only birds, bright eyes and
the sky to be of blue-
But then I saw your face, in eternal sleep,
had been given this color to
How again can I ever find solace
in the color I once thought I knew?

Nancy Roberts
May 2001

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Poetry, I Believe Meant To Be

A verbal composition characterized by the use of condensed language chosen for its sound and suggestive power.
American Heritage Dictionary

Poetry, I believe meant to be
through language, an inner stirring
A means to conjure memories;
A step back to their occurring

Poetry, I believe meant to be
with what time it takes to write
a means by which I slip away-
an invitation to minds flight

Poetry, I believe meant to be
through usage of my words
a way for me to speak to you,
thus never really being heard

Poetry, I believe meant to be
with pen and paper on hand
a means to share through writing-
just who it is I really am

Poetry, I believe meant to be
through its readers eyes
a chance to understand and see
its author without disguise

Poetry, I believe meant to be
when given, it is of myself
a way to find a part of me
placed upon my minds back shelf

Poetry, I believe meant to be
through imaginative allusion
the means to take me to a place-
where I am drawn to this conclusion:

Poetry, I believe meant to be.

~Nancy Roberts~

Joining Laurie for Favorite Things Saturday

Monday, May 30, 2011

The Want of Write

The Want of Write

If only I had sparsely enough time
To study mere words
and then to write-
to understand some articulation
to let a thought flow forth right-
I believe it quite probable 
that I should soar in ever-flight.
Instead, here am I,
trapped in the dead of night.

©2002 Nancy Roberts

Joining:  504 Main

Thursday, February 24, 2011



Close your eyes...
Breathe deeply...
You are in control

Step out...
Take a walk...
You can always go

Listen closely...
Pretend a thought...
Feel your soul

Take heart...
Move your spirit...
What you can flow

Allow now...
Let it come...
What it will show

Take flight...
Soar beyond limits...
What it is you hold

©2001  Nancy M Roberts

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Dreams and Time

Is there ever enough time in life?  Do we have enough time to do all we want to do, all we need to do, all we should do, all we have to do...and most importantly all we were meant to do?

At times I am overwhelmed merely by time, the lack of time.

Dreams and Time

As the procession of life moves on with all of its sound,
I seek only to stop, and for just a moment turn around-
For behind me lie fractions of dreams that once were mine,
Broken pieces gone astray that I'd somehow like to find.

If only for sparse moments time would cease to exist
I'd sever the losses, but laudable dreams I'd re-enlist.
I'd use those moments to pick up and tenderly repair
Fragments of dreams bearing dissipation because I'm no longer there.

I'd know a surging of my spirit in my dreams new revival
Being thankful for the time given me for their survival,
And then having regrouped to carry on with the procession
I'd take heed to my salvaged dreams but offer up this confession:

Seeking to fulfill your dreams and see them on to fruition
Is worth the planning and perseverance but time is the tuition.
And time, though it seems to pass quickly, is perpetually here-
I would caution; use it wisely friend, for it is we who disappear.

Nancy M Roberts ©2001

I'm linking up with A Southern Daydreamer for Outdoor Wednesday
The Tablescaper for Seasonal Sundays
Smiling Sally for Blue Monday

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Dream Awake

Dream Awake (by me)

I wish to sit a moment and take in the quiet still of the day
For too soon it will take its slumber and slowly drift away

Whilst still here I will reach for the day soon gone by
And as the light does begin to drift, so to shall I

Dream awake about a place of tranquil respite found
An abode within my mind I have created in abound

I close my eyes for moments and often want for more
To ponder myself upon the things I question of my lore

Somewhere there is harmony between life and ones dreams
One must pause to remember though time not ample it seems

So my mind still drifting as descending is the time
Wonder now, is time not itself to be considered as sublime?

© 2001 Nancy M Roberts

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