A Woman On The Verge

thoughts and musings of my mind



Worker Bee

I am a little worker bee,

Nose to the grindstone;

punching out the work

I am a little worker bee.

Worker bee on Pa's Sunflowers, Backgarden, Sep...



Random Poems by Me

Tonights Sydney Thunderstorm

I was looking through some old notes I had written and I found these random poems.  Most of them have a theme of Summer/Spring so I thought they would be fitting for Easter.

Echo Song

Fireflies blinking blinking
flying about in the warm summer night.

A jar clinking clinking
in the hands of a fascinated child.

Hands clapping clapping
to catch the bright little creature of the night.

The lid tapping tapping
as the little light bearer begs to get out.

Fireflies winking winking
in a glass jar on the shelf.

A little life sinking sinking
to nothing in that glass jar on the shelf.

April 7, 2001

A Southern Lullaby

 A soft strumming lullaby of the warm southern night
begins in the meadow.

I gaze beyond the glass as the cricket and frog raise their voices
in their nightly duet of spring.

A silken breeze plays upon the air with its
warm strumming fingers.

Lightning begins to quietly conduct the song
in softly brilliant flashes.

The drumming of thunder rumbles low across
the hot southern sky.

A curtain of mist rises slowly from the over damped earth
to meet the hidden moon.

The stage is set as the rain begins to dance softly
upon its rich fertile stage.

An audience of trees rustle and sway to
this soft meadow song.

While I sit at my darkened window gazing entranced
by the performance of spring.

April 7, 2001


Life is an image
created by a self of one.
What people view and
what others perceive
Is never the same twice.

It is strictly an image,
what people see.
I can always chose to project
a part of myself or the whole.
No one ,but you, has viewed
my true self.

I only let others see
the good;
But you have seen it all.
You were part of my beginning and
you will be a part of my end.

Black as night

The little panther slinks through the grass

Stalking his unsuspecting prey

Crouching in the tall grass he waits

His long silken tail twitching silently like a metronome

Biding his time until he pounces

On the bug flying too low to the ground

another random thought

I drove over the river this evening and it looked like chocolate milk.

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