Poems by Tippy
PLACES FAR AWAY
There comes a time every day,
When I dream of places far away.
Of sandy beaches and sunlit rays,
And magnificent sunsets all ablaze.
Where all is peaceful and serene,
And I once again turn nineteen.
A place I can escape to with ease,
A place harboring no disease.
A place that has no sadness or pain,
And I never hear anyone complain.
A place having laughter abound,
Bringing joy to all around.
My time is limited in this magic spot
I must return to what is not.
Perhaps one day I can stay,
In places far away.
Tippy
4/24/06
There comes a time every day,
When I dream of places far away.
Of sandy beaches and sunlit rays,
And magnificent sunsets all ablaze.
Where all is peaceful and serene,
And I once again turn nineteen.
A place I can escape to with ease,
A place harboring no disease.
A place that has no sadness or pain,
And I never hear anyone complain.
A place having laughter abound,
Bringing joy to all around.
My time is limited in this magic spot
I must return to what is not.
Perhaps one day I can stay,
In places far away.
Tippy
4/24/06
A SPECIAL LADY
She sat with hands folded, head to one side,
Her silver hair, streaked with auburn, is cut high,
The old blue suit is worn with special pride,
I want to cry, but instead only sigh.
Her lovely eyes are tightly closed,
And her breathing has a peaceful sound,
I can easily tell she has once again dozed,
But I know she will soon come around.
As I watch her rest in peaceful sleep ,
My mind returns to days of long ago,
When she seemed to never sleep,
But rather always on the go.
What a marvelous woman she was then,
Full of spirit , laughter, and joy abide,
When it all began to change, I know not when,
I do know, I cried and cried.
Why was her mind taken so abruptly away,
Killing her spirit and robbing her personality,
Using her as though some new prey,
Stealing away all sense of mentality.
I miss her so and want her back
But this wicked disease will not let go,
It continues its merciless attack,
Ravaging her blow after blow.
As I place her tiny hand in mine,
She slowly opens her eyes,
And for a moment, all looks fine,
Then her face is covered with disguise.
What is she thinking beyond the mask?
Does she understand what I say?
Are there questions she wants to ask?
Does she know me today?
My heart is heavy and tears blur my sight,
My mind is spinning out of control,
Why, Oh why, was this to be her blight,
The pain reaches to the depth of my soul.
As I prepare to leave, I gently kiss her goodbye,
Pondering as I do, "how many more years?"
Is it a sin to wish this the final bye?
I wonder if she can feel my tears?
There will come a time when she will leave,
How much longer is for another to say,
Until that time I will continue to believe,
That tomorrow will be better than today.
09/12/01
OLD HOUSE
The dilapidated old house stood eerily all alone,
Surrounded by shrubbbery and bushes long overgrown.
Its windows broken, shutters tattered and worn,
I smile when I think this the place I was born.
The roof sagged and every drop of paint was gone,
And the once well-tended, immaculate lawn foregone.
A rose bush blooms amid the weeds and debris,
I remember Mother planting it on bended knee.
The porch is weathered; the railing only partially there,
A sign on the door reads "BEWARE."
There is a remnant of rope hanging from the tall oak tree,
A reminder of the tire swing that used to be.
I close my eyes and envision happy days gone by,
Of children laughing and Mamma's cherry pie.
When times were simple and life supreme,
It was the perfect dream.
The tree house in the ol mulberry tree remains intact,
A few boards are missing, but still quite compact.
It reeks of stories told and secrets shared,
By little boys who were always unprepared.
The tiny sycamore tree planted late one fall,
Has now grown to at least 70 feet tall.
Branches curved and arched, strong and proud,
Its top reaching and stretching to the highest cloud.
As I turn to leave, I hear voices calling me,
Be careful dear, don't drive too fast, you're loved you see.
My eyes fill with tears and my heart skips a beat,
Remembering those who made my life complete.
ME
I am a simple woman at heart,
My needs are few and my joys many.
I love shopping At Walmart,
And I'm the best at saving a penny.
I like soft music and candlelight,
And think Basketball is out of sight.
Blue jeans and T-shirts suite me fine,
But I like dressing up to dine.
I love fried chicken, biscuits, & gravy,
A good football game between Army & Navy.
And sinking a twenty-five putt,
Causes me to act like a nut!
Thunder and lightning of summer storm,
Give me reason to feel reborn.
I love a soft breeze blowing through my hair,
And springtime flowers blooming everywhere.
I have a passion for animals like no other,
Sometimes I think I'm their Mother.
They bring the best out in me,
Making me as happy as can be.
I love the sound of church bells on Sunday morn,
The flag flying high in a clear blue sky,
The sweet mellow sound of the French horn,
And the scrumptious taste of Apple Pie.
There is no other I would rather be
I like being just me.
by: Tippy
JUST A DOG
He shuffled slowly across the room
No longer able to quickly zoom.
His face surrounded with gray,
Just an old dog some would say.
I remember well the day I took him in
Sick with disease and Ohhh so very thin,
I cradled him in my arms with tender care,
He closed his eyes and gave a sigh of despair.
My heart went out to that little guy that day,
And I prayed his discomfort would soon go away,
With love, medication, a warm bed, & food to eat
He soon became a little dog complete.
Brown floppy ears, a long pointed nose,
Four little legs and a body like a garden hose,
He had a tail that somehow always pointed up,
It is the same today as when he was a pup.
He is always there to greet me when I come in,
Ears perked, tail waggin and displaying a big Ol grin.
I can't help but smile at his unabashed glee,
Why in the world does he make such a fuss over me?
The years have taken their toll on my canine friend,
Arthritis gives him trouble in the tail end.
He makes a few more trips outside than before,
And sometimes has an accident on the floor.
His love for me is now as it was then,
Deep, sincere and devoted from within,
Just an old dog some would say,
But I pray to God each day:
Please let this Old Dog stay.
By: tippy
2/1/05
I wrote this for my husband. He has it hanging in his office.
THE GAME
Golf is a game of great intimidation,
One that teaches the intricate art of frustration.
It induces raw agony and ecstasy so fine,
I know because the story below is mine.
There was time when I was full of anticipation,
Thinking I the new outstanding golf sensation.
Numerous lessons from the Country Club Pro,
Did not prepare me for the mind-shattering blow.
As I walked confidently to my first tee ,
I knew I would hit the ball as far as I could see.
I tried to remember the many lessons taught,
Head down, knees bent, arm straight…all for naught.
I've heard three is a charm and this must be,
For it took this many to get the ball off the tee.
It flew through the air with the greatest of ease
Landing in the nearest clump of trees!
Fifty-two shots later and approaching number five,
I realize my "ready to go" body feels barely alive.
It seemed such a short distance to the green,
How did it end up on the number sixteen?
Alas, I have made it to the dreaded number twelve,
The wicked, evil, twisting, turning hole from hell.
You MUST be joking…..in one, out in three?
No one told me about any water penalty!
On Seventeen I hit a real dream,
High and light just like whipped cream.
"In the hole!" I scream with childish delight,
I watched in horror as it curved to the right.
As I drag my ravaged body down Eighteen,
Thanking God this the last green,
I silently wonder why I punish myself so,
Just to get a little dimpled ball into a hole.
Although I'm physically and mentally down,
I believe it still the best game around.
Tomorrow will be another day,
And once again, I'll be ready to play.
11/24/02
Man doesn't live by bread alone; he needs buttering up once in awhile.
The trouble with the future is, it usually arrives before we are ready for it.
You are what you eat, said a wise old man......Lord, if that's true I'm a garbage can.
one last page - progbandmom
She sat with hands folded, head to one side,
Her silver hair, streaked with auburn, is cut high,
The old blue suit is worn with special pride,
I want to cry, but instead only sigh.
Her lovely eyes are tightly closed,
And her breathing has a peaceful sound,
I can easily tell she has once again dozed,
But I know she will soon come around.
As I watch her rest in peaceful sleep ,
My mind returns to days of long ago,
When she seemed to never sleep,
But rather always on the go.
What a marvelous woman she was then,
Full of spirit , laughter, and joy abide,
When it all began to change, I know not when,
I do know, I cried and cried.
Why was her mind taken so abruptly away,
Killing her spirit and robbing her personality,
Using her as though some new prey,
Stealing away all sense of mentality.
I miss her so and want her back
But this wicked disease will not let go,
It continues its merciless attack,
Ravaging her blow after blow.
As I place her tiny hand in mine,
She slowly opens her eyes,
And for a moment, all looks fine,
Then her face is covered with disguise.
What is she thinking beyond the mask?
Does she understand what I say?
Are there questions she wants to ask?
Does she know me today?
My heart is heavy and tears blur my sight,
My mind is spinning out of control,
Why, Oh why, was this to be her blight,
The pain reaches to the depth of my soul.
As I prepare to leave, I gently kiss her goodbye,
Pondering as I do, "how many more years?"
Is it a sin to wish this the final bye?
I wonder if she can feel my tears?
There will come a time when she will leave,
How much longer is for another to say,
Until that time I will continue to believe,
That tomorrow will be better than today.
09/12/01
OLD HOUSE
The dilapidated old house stood eerily all alone,
Surrounded by shrubbbery and bushes long overgrown.
Its windows broken, shutters tattered and worn,
I smile when I think this the place I was born.
The roof sagged and every drop of paint was gone,
And the once well-tended, immaculate lawn foregone.
A rose bush blooms amid the weeds and debris,
I remember Mother planting it on bended knee.
The porch is weathered; the railing only partially there,
A sign on the door reads "BEWARE."
There is a remnant of rope hanging from the tall oak tree,
A reminder of the tire swing that used to be.
I close my eyes and envision happy days gone by,
Of children laughing and Mamma's cherry pie.
When times were simple and life supreme,
It was the perfect dream.
The tree house in the ol mulberry tree remains intact,
A few boards are missing, but still quite compact.
It reeks of stories told and secrets shared,
By little boys who were always unprepared.
The tiny sycamore tree planted late one fall,
Has now grown to at least 70 feet tall.
Branches curved and arched, strong and proud,
Its top reaching and stretching to the highest cloud.
As I turn to leave, I hear voices calling me,
Be careful dear, don't drive too fast, you're loved you see.
My eyes fill with tears and my heart skips a beat,
Remembering those who made my life complete.
ME
I am a simple woman at heart,
My needs are few and my joys many.
I love shopping At Walmart,
And I'm the best at saving a penny.
I like soft music and candlelight,
And think Basketball is out of sight.
Blue jeans and T-shirts suite me fine,
But I like dressing up to dine.
I love fried chicken, biscuits, & gravy,
A good football game between Army & Navy.
And sinking a twenty-five putt,
Causes me to act like a nut!
Thunder and lightning of summer storm,
Give me reason to feel reborn.
I love a soft breeze blowing through my hair,
And springtime flowers blooming everywhere.
I have a passion for animals like no other,
Sometimes I think I'm their Mother.
They bring the best out in me,
Making me as happy as can be.
I love the sound of church bells on Sunday morn,
The flag flying high in a clear blue sky,
The sweet mellow sound of the French horn,
And the scrumptious taste of Apple Pie.
There is no other I would rather be
I like being just me.
by: Tippy
JUST A DOG
He shuffled slowly across the room
No longer able to quickly zoom.
His face surrounded with gray,
Just an old dog some would say.
I remember well the day I took him in
Sick with disease and Ohhh so very thin,
I cradled him in my arms with tender care,
He closed his eyes and gave a sigh of despair.
My heart went out to that little guy that day,
And I prayed his discomfort would soon go away,
With love, medication, a warm bed, & food to eat
He soon became a little dog complete.
Brown floppy ears, a long pointed nose,
Four little legs and a body like a garden hose,
He had a tail that somehow always pointed up,
It is the same today as when he was a pup.
He is always there to greet me when I come in,
Ears perked, tail waggin and displaying a big Ol grin.
I can't help but smile at his unabashed glee,
Why in the world does he make such a fuss over me?
The years have taken their toll on my canine friend,
Arthritis gives him trouble in the tail end.
He makes a few more trips outside than before,
And sometimes has an accident on the floor.
His love for me is now as it was then,
Deep, sincere and devoted from within,
Just an old dog some would say,
But I pray to God each day:
Please let this Old Dog stay.
By: tippy
2/1/05
I wrote this for my husband. He has it hanging in his office.
THE GAME
Golf is a game of great intimidation,
One that teaches the intricate art of frustration.
It induces raw agony and ecstasy so fine,
I know because the story below is mine.
There was time when I was full of anticipation,
Thinking I the new outstanding golf sensation.
Numerous lessons from the Country Club Pro,
Did not prepare me for the mind-shattering blow.
As I walked confidently to my first tee ,
I knew I would hit the ball as far as I could see.
I tried to remember the many lessons taught,
Head down, knees bent, arm straight…all for naught.
I've heard three is a charm and this must be,
For it took this many to get the ball off the tee.
It flew through the air with the greatest of ease
Landing in the nearest clump of trees!
Fifty-two shots later and approaching number five,
I realize my "ready to go" body feels barely alive.
It seemed such a short distance to the green,
How did it end up on the number sixteen?
Alas, I have made it to the dreaded number twelve,
The wicked, evil, twisting, turning hole from hell.
You MUST be joking…..in one, out in three?
No one told me about any water penalty!
On Seventeen I hit a real dream,
High and light just like whipped cream.
"In the hole!" I scream with childish delight,
I watched in horror as it curved to the right.
As I drag my ravaged body down Eighteen,
Thanking God this the last green,
I silently wonder why I punish myself so,
Just to get a little dimpled ball into a hole.
Although I'm physically and mentally down,
I believe it still the best game around.
Tomorrow will be another day,
And once again, I'll be ready to play.
11/24/02
Man doesn't live by bread alone; he needs buttering up once in awhile.
The trouble with the future is, it usually arrives before we are ready for it.
You are what you eat, said a wise old man......Lord, if that's true I'm a garbage can.
one last page - progbandmom