Alabaster. Nancy Pietsch
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dare, call the sun yellow
Without causing an uproar and controversy
Look at the earth that is walked on
How would you describe the dirt
You wouldn’t dare, call the dirt black
Without worry of causing some hurt
Well, look at the beautiful rainbow
How would you describe the colors within
It’s a mixture of hues that are blended
Describing it in colors is just not a sin
So the people of the world are different
Our skin is an example of such
Our hues and colors are blended
We are the rainbow because of God’s touch
The Wildwood
Out in the wildwood, it was rumored
Was a woman who would come and would go
Folklore had it, she was there in the spring
But gone at winter’s first snow
There was a tale, passed down through the ages
Of this woman who lived on her own
In a shack that stood in a clearing
Belladonna was how she was known
The few who had seen her never approached
They had been warned, they didn’t dare
They described her beauty likened to a flower
With long shining black hair
A boy who was lost had ventured to close
Was overcome by her beauty and powers
She bade him bring, the shining black berries
From the reddish, bell-shaped flowers
He was starving, he picked them with care
She thus proceeded to bake him a pie
After he ate it, he gave her a smile
He closed his eyes then breathed a sigh
The townspeople found him under fresh fallen snow
His mouth stained berry black, then they prayed
Because the only thing found in the clearing was
The frozen plant known as the deadly nightshade
Remission
It started very simply
The lure of things from long ago
A memory of childhood’s gone
Something to be proud of, something to show
We called them collections back then
We hunted all the sales
Bringing our prizes home
Putting up shelves with all our nails
If we had time and money
We’d make a day of our bargain search
Racing from location to location
Some of our best finds were at the church
Many of the vases were of value
Worth more, but we paid less
On the ride home, some were broken
We glued them together, I must confess
The problems started early on
When one of a kind was not enough
We had to have everyone
Then the addiction became real tough
I collected ceramic pots
My sister collected dolls
We hit all the garage sales
We avoided the shopping malls
After years and years of shelving
There wasn’t enough room to house
All the things we gathered
Not even the pewter mouse
So boxes became a necessity
To hold our new found treasure
We had to pack them up
For later viewing pleasure
The boxes grew and grew
We arranged them in piles
We kept on adding more
They soon became walking aisles
We were so pleased because the boxes
Were loaded with our collections
People said, “Get rid of that junk!”
We were offended by these suggestions
They also made rude comments
Like, “Your house smells very musty!”
I told them the advantage of boxes
Saves time on housework, nothing’s dusty
Now it is the present day
We have no place to sit or eat
We can’t have people over
Because we can’t offer them a seat
I’m sure it will all work out
They’ve come out with self-help books
For all of us collectors
Who no longer have empty nooks
The flea market is here, but I’ve cleaned up
I think I’m in remission
Maybe if I sell some stuff
I’d have enough for a ticket of admission
They tell us we are hoarders
I think we’ll still get looks
My sister is up to seven
Now she’s hoarding, hoarding books!
Save My Soul
I’m naked as a jaybird
I don’t need to be clothed, it’s understood
There’s no reason to dress for the ending
It doesn’t matter if I look good
Time has passed, this life is over.
The normal aging has taken its toll
Now it’s easier to bare my body
Then, it will be to bare my soul
Who will meet me when I arrive
Will someone come to take my hand
Am I important enough for God himself
To walk me into the promised land
At the end, we learn the answer why
We’ve been given so much strife
We find dying is not the mystery
The mystery is the life
If no one comes to greet me
If no one offers me a hand
I’ll