Soft

July 11, 2010

She gently pats her hand
on the doggy’s fur,
Daddy’s hair,
Papa’s beard.

Soft
she says
in her cute baby voice,

and I remember her
soft, sweet skin
all born new
fresh and small.

This growing makes me smile
and breaks my heart.

©2010 Erin Kilmer

Recipe for a Boy’s Summer
Erin Kilmer

take one July day.
add a bucketful of sunshine
and blend well.

mix in a splash of hose-water,
a sprinkle of grass-clippings,
and the juice of one watermelon slice
dripping down a boy’s chin.

in a separate bowl,
stir together four lightning bugs
with a tablespoon of good clean dirt,
half a dozen mosquito bites,
some fresh sweet corn,
and a nice, cool glass of ice tea.

combine and mix well.

pack into a wading pool or four-man tent,
glaze with a nice SPF 65,
and dust lightly with beach sand.

allow to bake all day long
until an internal temperature of
100 and humid is reached.

garnish with happy smiles,
and serve immediately.

(other ingredients may be substituted.
for best results,
try a different combination daily.)

********

written for L.L. Barkat’s Random Acts of Poetry prompt at High Calling Blogs. The prompt was “a tablespoon of summer“– to take a small thing about summer and write a poem. I cheated a little, because I loved the whole tablespoon idea and the recipe just kind of followed. Lots of sweet little summer moments are included, so I hope it works! 🙂

Photos by my husband; I realized after I uploaded that I used my watermark instead of his. I’m sure he’ll forgive me. Right, dear? 🙂

Of Nonsense and Butter

March 7, 2010

Of Nonsense and Butter
by Erin Kilmer

I used to swing high,
head flung back,
seeing the world upside down–
flying.

I traded my gold
for nonsense,
and I do believe
the laughter may well have been worth it.
What’s life without
a little laughter now and then?

His laughter echoes,
waiting for us–
His beloved–
from that place where tears will never fall,
that place where His face is the sun.

There is a place in my heart
knit of tears–
scarred yet strong
from the weeping.
Tears counted and bottled
will turn to laughter again.

Once wheels spun on hot pavement,
pigtails flying behind,
tears drying in streaks
on my burning face.

Once Grandma saved the tin cans,
and we carried them
to be remade–
their nickels traded for sweet candy.

I would be content
with coffee and pie;
you and me and a fluttering breeze,
churning words like butter.
I have spoken too much.

I have taken too little time to churn,
find the sweet butter,
leave the rest behind.

Take hold of Him.
Taste and see.

taken from my contributions to the #tsptry jam on Tuesday, March 2nd. See everyone’s work, all mashed up together in a delightful stew, at Tweetspeak Poetry.