Warm Milk And Toast
Warmed milk sweetened with honey
toast buttered with a thin spread of jam.
A bedtime story told by my Grandpa
times of Castles and Giants, living in some Fairy Tale land.
The warmed milk would make me sleepy
the toast would fill that nightime hunger need.
Sounds of Grandpa's soft loving voice
as he would sit on my bed and read.
My Grandpa's gone so many years ago
now I am one myself.
I warm and sweeten my Granddaughters milk
and take that same book down off her shelf.
Her eyes are wide open, as she chomps away
at the toast with butter and jam.
She tells me how much she loves me so
and just how neat of a Grandpa that I am.
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poem by Linda Winchell
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Four Witches From Nowishes
On broom sticks road four young witches
from a far off land of Nowishes.
They wore tall hats upon their heads
in their hands, were apples they'd painted red.
To tempt the children on Halloween night
of candies from neighbors they'd gleaned.
For these four were not allowed you see
in the land of Nowishes, candy was never tasted or seen.
They wanted a taste of all those sugary delights
thoughts of candy danced in their heads
while on their broomsticks flight.
Swooping down, grabbing bags of tasty treats
leaving red apples, then flying off to eat.
Beware on Halloween night to hang on to your bags
you may be visited by four young witches
with rotted teeth of old hags!
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poem by Linda Winchell
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My Yard Sale
I felt a sadness come rushing across me
as I put the tables and signs away.
After selling saved childhood memories I've stored
discounted price tagged, at my yard sale today.
I seen a man wheel away your first bike
And remembered when daddy took your training wheels off.
You were a bit wobbly at first you rode
but then caught on and took off.
A lady had your Christening gown
and the sweater your Grandmother knit.
I don't know why you didn't want to keep it?
I thought you might too, have treasured it?
Your Halloweens first costume
you were Spider Man that year.
Everything you owned till age ten
It had to be your heros, Spider Man gear.
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poem by Linda Winchell
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Michigan Roads
A blizzard has hit our Michigan roads!
Came in like a lion, throughout the night!
The weather men and woman, had predicted it!
Now our State is buried in, six inches deep, snow of white!
I guess this means, we'll have a real White Christmas?
And there will be some extra, snow days for all of our schools!
But for those procrastinating, last minute Christmas shoppers!
They had better get out their, snow removing kind of tools!
I love when the snow falls like this
deep and fluffy and of purest white!
It seems to make, all that darkness drab of winter
seem to be ok, and really out of sight!
So if you were intending, on driving into our great State
To visit the relatives or maybe ski and such!
Take some extra time to get here now!
Or maybe, just take a train, or maybe a Grey Hound bus?
poem by Linda Winchell
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A
“Christmas In February”
I know it’s not Christmas time,
But my wish is to now have it anyway.
So I can hear the laughter of my little ones,
Opening their gifts on my February Christmas Day.
Wonderful scents of Christmas ham with gravy and biscuits,
Along with my mother’s spicy peach cobbler recipe.
All this is what I wish to have this February,
I pray for all those most precious of past Christmas’s memories.
Children are now all grown up,
They’ve gone on their ways.
Don’t write or call of visit me much,
I never wanted them to exclude me in such a way.
For my heart still remembers their childhood days,
But now they’re all grown and in their own world it seems.
And left me with just my memories of Christmas past,
And stuck with only my old timer kind of wishful dreams.
poem by Linda Winchell
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Christmas In February
“Christmas In February”
I know it’s not Christmas time,
But my wish is to now have it anyway.
So I can hear the laughter of my little ones,
Opening their gifts on my February Christmas Day.
Wonderful scents of Christmas ham with gravy and biscuits,
Along with my mother’s spicy peach cobbler recipe.
All this is what I wish to have this February,
I pray for all those most precious of past Christmas’s memories.
Children are now all grown up,
They’ve gone on their ways.
Don’t write or call of visit me much,
I never wanted them to exclude me in such a way.
For my heart still remembers their childhood days,
But now they’re all grown and in their own world it seems.
And left me with just my memories of Christmas past,
And stuck with only my old timer kind of wishful dreams.
poem by Linda Winchell
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Destiny Calling
What determines our destiny to be?
What we become, futures predestined to see.
Where will roads lead untill it all ends?
Destiny calling, live's for some predestined to spend.
Why do our lives, create a passion for some?
And then for others, there seems to be none?
Struggling to be what is too far from fingers reach,
Never accomplishing, what it is that you have preached.
Dreams and hopes, they fade in the mist,
Grasping at life, from the dark depth of an abyss.
Looking back at what could, should, may have been,
Lacking that door of opportunity for your passion deep within.
Silver spoons for some placed in the mouths of their young,
Others dying to achieve selling you dreams with forked tongues.
Jokes being played an other's laughter not heard,
Destiny fullfilled at the bottom of a bottle at a curb.
poem by Linda Winchell
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Knocking On Heaven's Door
I went knocking on Heaven's door today
but no one came to the door to see.
Who was making all that knocking noise
for it was just, little old me!
I guess they might all still be sleeping?
Or maybe out shopping, at Heaven's Grocery store?
So I guess I'd better continue
just knocking, knocking on Heaven's door?
As I gazed in through leaded glass windows
of those golden Heaven's doors.
There on knees was seen an Angel crying!
who cried out, ' God doesn't live here anymore! '
'He went to earth yesterday
to fight earths war, with His Angels you see!
And left me here to man Heaven's doors
but I've seemed to have misplace their keys! '
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poem by Linda Winchell
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House Wife Affair
I been having my housewife affair for awhile
which my husband doesn't even care about!
They are all performed in the comfort of the home
And I never have to ever dress up, or go out!
These men that live in our home
are Kenmore, and then that other fella, Hover!
They're my kind of secret men!
They are shakers and, real movers!
One takes me around and around the house
as he sweeps me across, clean floors!
The other pampers my clothes in bubbles
and sometimes, even helps me, clean above the doors!
Then one can be as cold as ice!
But does take me to the kitchen to dine.
And sometimes makes me coffee
Aromas, waking me up, before the stoke of nine.
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poem by Linda Winchell
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A Missed Childhood
I missed out on having a childhood
went from a little girl to womanhood.
I think the way my parents raised their children
was only the best of what they're parents could.
I always felt like their Cinderella
always cleaning, ironing and straightening up it seemed.
Taking care of my little sisters and brother
never spending time to be just that child which I need.
I always felt that I had missed out on something
and searched for that missing link throughout my life.
Been married too many times to speak of
been a mother to two sons and a loving wife.
I always promised myself not to repeat
what and how I had been raised.
But to give my sons all of my love
with Respect and Love and Praise.
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poem by Linda Winchell
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