My Paintings

He’s Got My Back

I have a little partner that always hangs around                                                                                                      He helps me keep my two feet solid on the ground                                                                                                   His eyes are wide open, he watches here and there                                                                                              People that approach me, please do so with care

His secret is well hidden in his soft little paws                                                                                                                   If you mess with me, out will come his claws                                                                                                                  I'm not trying to scare you but here's the deal                                                                                                                Just giving you some caution, to you I do appeal                                                                                                                               

Some person took a swing at me, being angry and mean                                                                                                    Kitty gave him a swipe back, leaving a bloody stream                                                                                                               It's better you all know this from the very start                                                                                                                         This little guy has secured me in his smart little heart

Author  Eileen Clark

Artist Self portrait done by Caleb Atha

My Poems

My Ink Is Drying Up

My ink is drying up and my pen no longer writes smooth                                                This just can't happen now, to many thoughts I will loose                                      Fading away this old body, still more to write, to be heard                                         My memories and precious images are becoming a bit blurred

My hand shakes, the paper gets wrinkled as I write so fast                                                But I must write quickly while the thoughts in there still last                                       Some verses, as I write I laugh, often things were very funny                                        Then the sad things, my tears make the ink blurred and runny

So pass my writings down to every family child that arrives           Never just store them away in some back room archives                                            May the pages look well read, the corners torn and tattered                                                It will be a way of telling me, to you my poems mattered


Author Eileen Clark

Image ~ tattered pages on a old book of poems – Google Search

google.com

My Poems

My Calico Cat

I Have a calico cat very quiet and shy                                                                                He disappears when my friends stop by
They tease and ask, does he meow or cry
Are we ever going to see this little guy

His toys are scattered around on the floor
I have padding on every corner and door                                                                When you are here in his invisible presence                                                               Things to know to make your visit pleasant

Sit still and be calm so he can get to know
His instincts will tell if you're friend or foe
He'll grab at your foot from under the couch
Then grab the other before you can say ouch

Time has passed and my cat’s doing well
He now wears a collar with a little bell
So when he hides he’s not so hard to find
Such a blessing cause he hides all the time

I don't let him out to play in the warm sun
It’s hard for I know he would have such fun
He bumps into chairs and walks into the wall
He doesn't know which way to go when I call

I've had my cat now for quite a few years                                                                            When he leaves I will shed many tears                                                                            He has been a handful but I don't mind
My precious little calico cat is totally blind.

Author Eileen Clark

Image: Pinterest

My Poems

White Linen

Linen, the smell of fresh crisp clean white linen,                                   You can't capture the smell of linen in a bottle though they try.                                                                                                         When I think of linen, it's with a bitter sweet sigh,                                           I think of my childhood memories of good times gone by.

Napkins,  candles and table cloths, white with white design,                                                                                                  Ready for Sunday dinner with aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents so fine,                                                                                   Pot roast, chicken, mashed potatoes and strawberry rhubarb pie.                                                                                            Linen,  fresh clean memories, happy times gone by.

Life was livable and children were sweet and quiet and shy,             Streets filled with bicycles and roller skates, marbles and  jacks and kites in the sky.                                                                                                Air filled with sounds of horns and whistles, a baseball cracking off the tip of a bat,                                                                                               The shouts of children with laughter and glee, wonderment of all that.

Running after the ice cream truck with a ringing bell,                          Cones and Eskimo pies, and Popsicles as well.                                       Little girls secrets from boys they'll never tell,                                                                       Linen, crisp linen, good memories, and oh such a fresh smell.

The front yards had white picket fences and trellises with climbing Tea Roses,                                                                                              Bachelor Buttons, Daisies and Hollyhocks, sweet aromas filled our noses.                                                                                                                  Pansies and Tulips, hear the soft sounds of humming bees.                The back yards had bird houses posted to Willow, Oak, and Maple trees.

Robins and Bluebirds on branches hidden amongst the leaves,                                                                                                                                 And always clothes lines and clothes pins gripping white linen sheets waving in the breeze.                                                                                  Crisp white clean linens spreading out against the blue sky,                                          So many memories of wonderful times in my life gone by.

Author  Eileen Clark

Images:creeklinehouse.com

vintagehomeandgarden.blogspot.com

My Poems

Fear In The Moonlight

The night is very dark with a slight summer breeze,
A shimmer of moon peeking through the branches of trees.

I hear another’s footsteps in the distance from behind,
Hopefully the owner is a person that’s very kind.


As I continue to walk further, a pounding in my heart,
The moon gets brighter as the clouds start to part.

I turn around as I hear the sound at a faster pace,
Gleefully I shout as the moon lights up my brothers face.


Author Eileen Clark 2015

Image: http://nature.desktopnexus.com/wallpaper/979115/

My Paintings · My Poems

ARTHRITIS { Self Portrait } 

She stands very tall, very strong,
Her feet planted firmly in the ground.
She could weather any storm,
She did not waver in the strongest wind
.


Her beauty was subtle, ever changing,
Like the seasons, with the seasons.
Her arms stretched out to hold up one’s in need,
Her branches leafed out to shade other
s.

Now she’s old, wrinkled, knotted,
Her limbs are twisted with pain.
Oh Jehovah look, in your eyes she’s still standing,
Hopefully forever to remain
.

Author Eileen Clark

Painting Eileen Clark

My Poems

I Lost My Toupee In The Park Today!

Let's go for a walk in the park, I insist,                                                             The weather is fine, it may be a bit brisk.                                    Stuck my head out the door just to be sure,                                           A bit of a breeze, nothing I can't endure. 

Off we go, taking the dog and leaving the cat,                                      I decide it would be fine not to wear my hat.                            This turned out to be a most memorable day,                                 The so called slight breeze blew off my toupee!

Author Eileen Clark 2023
My Poems

Staying On The Train

I can't believe what I'm hearing though no doubt it's true                                             When I should expect the next train to be coming through                                                 Putting trust in the letters you wrote to me this past year                                             I traveled hundreds of miles with not an ounce of fear

Trying not to panic even though I don't see you waiting for me                 Dare I get off this train or stay on so I can return home safely             Perhaps you were just a little late getting out your front door                Giving it extra thought, we should have corresponded more

I think I let this go a bit to far, I must be insane                                               Going back to reality and stay put on this train                                                             Having no friends or family living in this little town                                                 The chance after seeing me, you might turn me down

Just when I've decided to stay on the train I hear someone shout    
Hey pretty lady I'm happy you came, seeing you gives me no doubt 
A love can grow strong and lasting if only at first through the mail 
At last your here, brought to me by train over many miles of rails

Author  Eileen Clark 2023

Image:janguarinofineart.com

My Poems

Just One Letter

Just one letter from you that's all I ask  
I know our romance was way in the past
Strong promises you made before you left
A letter each week, you'd give me your best

They said you were among all the missing  
I was told no more, it was a secret mission  
If we had married like you wanted us too  
A family I'd have, but just loneliness I brew

Everyone thinks I'm a foolish old lady 
Possibly even a little bit kinda crazy    
Truth be told life is stranger than fiction
I'm sticking with my one true conviction

Somewhere out there you might still be alive    
With this thought every day is how I thrive                                      From this little piece of land I'll never move     
No better way my eternal love for you I prove

Author Eileen Clark 2023

Image:Dd_141Dianne Dengel by Dianne Dengel

Image:fineartamerica.com

Image:https://fineartamerica.com/profiles/artlicensing

My Poems

Your Golden Years

Do you feel like this now that your old?                                                                                                                               Your fingers from arthritis do not unfold                                                                                                                  Your body temperature is always very cold                                                                                                                The clothes in your closet not hung but rolled                                                                                                         Food in your refrigerator is covered with mold                                                                                          You’ve been through hard times so anything of value you’ve sold                                                                        Loss of hearing, the same things several times over your told                                                                                  Still when you talk, your way to loud, you spit and your bold                                                                                  The purses you carry, a foot locker they could easily hold                                                                                        You keep your money in the mattress instead of a billfold                                                                                          So how can it be said that these last years of yours are made of gold?
Are these your Golden Years?
     
Author Eileen Clark  2023

Image: fineartamerica.com