Lost or Misplaced

When things are lost or just misplaced,

It’s more than just annoying,

For time spent looking’s such a waste

While good moods face destroying.

 

Since even in a smallish space

There’s lots of room for hiding,

So when you’ve searched most every place,

Frustration’s not subsiding.

 

If giving up is not a choice,

You’re stuck without direction

And even if your inner voice

Is battling dejection

 

There has to be a point at which

The chances shrink to slender

Of finding what you lost, so switch

Your goal and just surrender.

Puzzles

They say puzzles are good for your brain,

So to bolster those cells that remain

I do crosswords each day 

And on weekends, I may

Do acrostics or more in that vein.

All my challenges center, you’ll note,

Not on numbers, which might get my goat,

But on clues filled with words

Which, like grandkids and birds,

Are among those on whom I do dote.

It makes sense, since I really delight

In the words that I read and I write,

So if I can involve,

In each puzzle I solve,

All my brain cells, dementia won’t bite.

The Start and Finish

A mama turkey and her brood

Were pecking by the road,

Not far from where I passed a squashed

And bloody mid-leap toad.

It isn’t often that you see

The circle Nature’s made -

The start and finish points of life

So vividly displayed.

Yet hopefully we humans have

More time for in-between,

Though sometimes, like that toad,

We exit early from the scene.

Handy Randy

It’s nice to know a handyman 

To help when things go wrong,

Who fixes things around the house

And you don’t wait too long.

A pipe that drips, a door that sticks,

A light to be replaced

And any of a hundred other

Problems you have faced.

When someone with both time and tools

Can luckily be found,

Be grateful for his expertise

And hope he sticks around.

Nesting

There’s a faded blue tarp

On an old pile of wood 

For a fireplace no longer used. 

Though my hearing’s not sharp, 

I thought maybe I could 

Hear a strange sound that got me confused.

So I opened the door,

Seeing if I could find

If a creature was making that scritch 

And before I looked more,

There to pay me no mind,

Was a squirrel, his jaws all a’twitch.

He was ripping at holes 

In the tarp that he’d made

And from out of his mouth dangled blue.

Seemed that one of his goals,

If attention was paid,

Was a nest of that very same hue.

Now I’m searching the trees,

Gazing up through the leaves,

Trying hard to discover that nest.

So if anyone sees

Something that he perceives

As bizarre, he can let his mind rest.

Wiring

Inside us all, we look the same,

Or similar, at least,

With blood and bones and organs

Working ‘til we are deceased.

Yet there are subtle differences

In how we each are wired 

And that explains the varied ways

Our quirks have been acquired.

Though how we’re raised helps shape us,

Personalities remain 

Subject to the messages they get

From deep within the brain.

So if we’re calm or quick to snap

Or anxious, loud or shy

Or paranoid or always up

Or down, the reason why

Is wiring that’s been with us

From when we were conceived,

Controlling how we get through life

And how we are perceived.

Worm on the Berm

There’s a worm on the berm

But I cannot confirm,

Without seeing it squirm,

If it’s dead.

Or perhaps it’s infirm

From a rare type of germ

Which affects it long-term

And will spread.

Either way, it’s absurd

To think twice, for a bird,

With its appetite spurred,

Will be led

To the place this occurred

And to which I referred

Where that bird, undeterred,

Will be fed.

I won’t mention the slug 

Or the slow-moving bug

That I saw, ‘cause you’ll shrug -

‘Nuff’s been said!