My Mom

My Mom


I love my mother, oh so much.
Her gentle touch,
Did take me high,
To brush the sky.

Her thoughtful articles, there were,
So much a blur,
Too many stacks,
Written by quacks.

Her many large and tasty meals
Her heart appeals,
To friendly word,
Her laughter heard.


Ken Goree


This poem is written for my mother. It is written in the “Minute Poetry” form. You can find the explanation of the minute poem at the following link:
http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/minute.html

I wish it were better, she deserves better. I’m sure I will write more poems to her, and about her through the next year.

The whole thing seems to lack depth in describing my mother. I apologize. The form, though not easy seemed to keep steering me toward cliché phrases. The first stanza could be something almost anyone wrote about their mom.

The second stanza refers to a very sweet habit that my mom has. Whenever she sees an article in the paper that deals with nutrition, or medical maladies, she cuts it out and saves it for someone to whom she thinks it will apply. It feels nice to know that she is so often thinking of others.

The third stanza refers to the homey friendly atmosphere that surrounds her. She is an incredible cook. Like any good "Southern Lady," she will keep you at her table with her siren song and gentle laughter, sweetly urging more delectables upon you until you cannot hope to move away with any degree of abdominal comfort. Well, that Japanese guy that keeps winning all of those hot dog eating contests might be able to.

Shoreline Girl

Shoreline Girl

There once was a girl from Shoreline
Who on weekends didn’t rise before nine
Her beauty to keep
She says she needs sleep
Or is it related to wine?

Ken Goree


This poem is about a woman I know. You may have noticed I used the word girl instead of woman. I believe that deep in every woman's heart, no matter the year she was born, she is and always will be a young, bright-eyed, optimistic young girl. Pain, sadness, stress and responsibilities build such a forbidding wall that sometimes we can't see her. That doesn't mean she is gone, however. Give her a safe place, where she can trust, and you may be blessed, in that she shows herself, if only for a moment.

Well, that said, on one particular day I think the wine was the cause of sleeping in, rather than the need for beauty sleep ... which she doesn't need :-)

Morning Poem

Morning poem

Slate grey morning sky
Soft, yielding before Sun's flame
Warming soul and heart

Ken Goree

Is there much else to say. I love being able to welcome another, one more day.

Unique

Unique


When you touch me I shiver
And it is good.
When you brush my skin so lightly I smile
And it is good.
You look like none other
And it is good.
Joy explodes in my childlike heart when I see you
And it is good.
Your visits are precious, for they are few
And it is good.
You float down from heaven to melt on my eyelids
And it is good.


Ken Goree

It’s about snowflakes :-)