Category Archives: poetry

T’was Two Weeks Afore Christmas

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T’was Two Weeks Afore Christmas

T’was two weeks afore Christmas and all through Eff Bee
not a creature was stirring – not a she, he, or me
We were prostrate and spent from the holiday bustle
not a twitch could be seen from the teeniest muscle.

We lay all unblinking in our respective beds
while visions of gift-wrapping swirled through our heads
And clad in our jammies and our way cool madcaps
we had the vague hopeful hope our bodies would take naps.

Holiday jangles and jingles pinged through our brains –
Presley, Crosby, and Mathis taking us down memory lanes –
and would we remember every member to be gifted?
We mentally went through our lists, hoping none were omitted.

There were homes to be decorated and cards to be sent,
parties, caroling, and cookie-making, and we hadn’t made a dent.
But with a collective sigh we remembered there and then
that it’s really about good will to all creatures, women, and men.

And so our thoughts finally settled and our bodies relaxed
as we thought of those we love and a world festooned in pax.
With our hearts wrapped in kindness and the world as our ‘hood
We’re all brethren and sistren – and verily, it’s all good!

– Karen Molenaar Terrell, from The Madcap Christian Scientist’s Christmas Book)

photo by Karen Molenaar Terrell

 

Link

Ode to Black Friday

I do not like Black Friday, sir
I do not like the brrr, grrr, whirrr
I do not like to fight over socks,
I do not like to get crammed in a box
store, you will not see me at the Mall
I do not like it, no, not at all.
The crazy, scrambling, hunter’s race
doesn’t fit my ambling, gatherer’s pace
I like to feel, I like to sniff
I like to take my time and if
I take more time than Sally and Sam
it’s the way I shop, and it works for me, ma’am.
So you will not find me camped outside the store
You will not find me standing at dawn at the door
You will not find me wedged in the mall’s lot
or crammed in traffic, with wares newly-bought.
For I do not like Black Friday, friend.
Well, except online shopping maybe – they’ll send.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell
from A Poem Lives On My Windowsill
(available from Karen Molenaar Terrell’s Amazon author page)

A_Poem_Lives_On_My_W_Cover_for_Kindle

 

 

“Literary Effort” Might Be A Little Exaggeration

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There are far, far better poets in this world – but I’m pretty sure you will find few that are schmaltzier than me… and that’s something, right? Just published a new book on Amazon. Here is my latest literary effort (okay, I might be exaggerating a little when I use the word “literary” in reference to this work):

(It is also available on Kindle – http://www.amazon.com/Poem-Lives-My-Windowsill-ebook/dp/B0185U3X5A/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)

Here is the title poem –

A Poem Lives On My Windowsill

There is a poem on my windowsill.
A treasure found, unfolding grace,
a cup full of fruition.
And love.

I see the caramel-colored agate I found
glowing on a beach in Bellingham,
and the tomatoes nurtured
and ripened on our back deck.
The rose blossoms were picked dew-laden
from our front garden this morning
and placed in the vase I bought for myself
in a rare “impractical” purchase
just because it made me happy
to imagine filling it with future buds.
And there are the ruby-red vases
trimmed in gold that my beloved Aunt Junie
gave me before she left this world
and that I will pass on with love
when that time comes.

A poem lives on my windowsill.

Windowsill (photo by Karen Molenaar Terrell)

Windowsill (photo by Karen Molenaar Terrell)

A Simple and Unremarkable Perfection

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It is a miracle of perfection.
I am warm and fed and I can hear
my loved one tapping the keys on his laptop
and clearing his throat
near me
I have chamomile tea with cream and a chunk of
sourdough bread and the wind is moving
the rain-splattered screen on the window
and making the lights behind it look like they’re dancing
I feel no pain or fear
I know I’m completely safe
and I imagine coming through some terrible danger
and finding myself in this room
and what a miracle that would seem to be
and how much I’d appreciate the simple unremarkable
perfection of it
and I am filled with gratitude

– Karen Molenaar Terrell

What’s Important

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The politician said guns don’t kill; people do.

She lay on the hospital bed, and closed her eyes –

She said guns were designed to kill.

battle-weary and drained. She felt

The politician said marriage is a sacred institution.

her father’s 97 year-old hand reach from his wheelchair

She said every citizen should have equal rights.

to stroke her forehead as she drifted between sleep

The politician said global warming is a natural occurrence.

and waking. “I love you,” Dad said.

She said if we continue to use fossil fuels we will destroy our planet..

Love is the one important thing.

-Karen Molenaar Terrell

 

The One Important Thing

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Every time I go down to visit with Moz (87) and Dad (97) I come back with one stand-out moment. Here’s today’s: I haven’t slept well the last couple nights and was feeling really drowsy. I laid down on the bed in Dad’s room and closed my eyes and… I didn’t fall asleep, exactly, but I went to that half-way place. And then I felt my dad stroking my forehead and I looked up at him, and he said, “I love you.” And that – right there – that puts everything else in perspective, doesn’t it? Love is the one important thing.

climbing boots Karen Dad

These are my dad’s boots and mine – I think this was taken on our climb of Mount Hood when I was 15.

We Were Made for Nobler Things

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We are not going to be afraid…

fear 2

I Still Believe In US

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Happiness is spiritual, born of Truth and Love. It is unselfish; therefore  it cannot exist alone, but requires all mankind to share it.
– Mary Baker Eddy

Non-violence is the greatest force at the disposal of mankind. It is mightier than the mightiest weapon of destruction devised by the ingenuity of man.
– Mahatma Gandhi

How wonderful  it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.
– Anne Frank

Minding My Own Business

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photo by Karen Molenaar Terrell

photo by Karen Molenaar Terrell

A Poem Lives on My Windowsill

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There is a poem on my windowsill.
A treasure found, unfolding grace,
a cup full of fruition.
And love.

I see the caramel-colored agate I found
glowing on a beach in Bellingham,
and the tomatoes nurtured
and ripened on our back deck.
The rose blossoms were picked dew-laden
from our front garden this morning
and placed in the vase I bought for myself
in a rare “impractical” purchase
just because it made me happy
to imagine filling it with future buds.
And there are the ruby-red vases
trimmed in gold that my beloved Aunt Junie
gave me before she left this world
and that I will pass on with love
when that time comes.

A poem lives on my windowsill.

– Karen Molenaar Terrell

photo by Karen Molenaar Terrell

A Poem on the Windowsill