The Dresser Drawer


The Dresser Drawer

An ordinary room that hides a sad secret,

Only she knows where she has to keep it.

Sitting against the wall of her spare room,

In the third drawer holds  yesterdays gloom.


                                                   So long ago from her past are the letters,

One would hope that time would  make it better.

Not so, for the drawer has been locked from the start,

Holding the sadness that’s still locked in her heart.


Open the bedroom door, open the dresser drawer,

Open the window and let the new light in.

Fear no more tomorrow,  fear no more for sorrow,

Tare up the memories that tied you to him.


Make new wishes, let light come through your door,

Tie a bright ribbon round new loves that last forever more.

Look in the mirror and see a new life like never before,

Vanished are the secrets hidden in the back of your dresser drawer.

Eileen ~ 2012

Image: Found on Pinterest

Poets in Winter

“A Severe Lack of Holiday Spirit” 
People hit 

the sauce in a big way all winter.
Amidst blizzards they wrestle
unsuccessfully with the dark comedy
of their lives, laughter trapped
in their frigid gizzards.  Meanwhile,
the mercury just plummets,
like a migrating duck blasted
out of the sky by some hunter

in a cap with fur earflaps.
Image result for black dividers
The days are short,
The sun a spark
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.
Image result for black dividers
“Now winter nights enlarge”
Now winter nights enlarge
This number of their hours;
And clouds their storms discharge
Upon the airy towers.
Let now the chimneys blaze
And cups o’erflow with wine
Let well-tuned words amaze
With harmony divine..
This time doth well dispense
With lovers’ long discourse;
Much speech hath some defense,
Though beauty no remorse.
All do not all things well:
Some measures comely tread,
Some knotted riddles tell,
Some poems smoothly read.
The summer hath his joys,
And winter his delights;
Though love and all his pleasures are but toys
They shorten tedious nights.


Reflections on Appalachia

Reflections on Appalachia


Drawn from the city by your beauty, unprepared for what would be found, your quiet though sometimes violent charm has both delighted and surprised me. Your essence has been here since Eden and you have waited to share your gifts with man. You may be permanent, solid and strong, yet one comes away with impressions more than lucid memories. 


Clouds resting on green hills like smoke. Lightning playing in the distance, a wild dance too soon gone. Dark clouds on light, scudding across the sky and then an opening, clear with a moon standing in the middle. More stars than ever seen in the city where man’s foolishness obscures them. David saw them well. Flat bottom clouds hanging in the sky, seemingly not moving, like fat white pillows. Would we lay on them if we dreamed we could? The sky is amazing.


Strong winds reminding us of how fragile we are, easily bending the trees. Rain that comes quickly, sudden downpour ending in an instant. A clap of thunder, count the seconds between and tell how quickly the storm is approaching. Stand on the porch and feel clouds of energy wrap around you. Is the air alive or is it your anticipation. The smell of morning and quick flashes of fireflies in the dusk. A quietness that is content to be at peace. Time that does not hurry. 


Spring rises and shakes her head to clear away the sleep. As snows recede there comes the first small growth, green returning. Small violets, wild strawberry, mixed shades of green, low and tenacious of life. Iris, daffodil, tulip – they grow too, foreigners but welcome. Redbud and dogwood bloom and leaf and then the locust with her orchid like blooms. Small pieces of color start to appear, a token of what is coming in early summer. 


The first birds return along with Canada Geese. The pond across the way is alive with their sound as the business of life begins. The Jays and Cardinals flash color against the small bits of remaining snow. You see a drab bird with red bill, wonder why she disappears in the shadow of her mate. The winter bird feeders and suet now come to life. The woodpecker returns and you laugh at the sight of him hanging upside down from the swinging cage. Gravity doesn’t exist for birds. 


Summer comes and opens her eyes wide. The first trees leaf and the hills quickly turn from brown to green. Kudzu and Chinese Yam climb together. Called an invasive species, they laugh boldly and remind you that they were here before you. Mourning doves and blackbirds dominate the feeders and you miss the smaller ones. Fledglings appear, chasing parents for food, crouching with gaping beaks, nearly slipping from the branch. Large bees and hornets nest around the house and don’t bite unless you deserve it. Something has a low path on the hill behind. I never see it but it knows me.


Now the wildflowers begin, The grape hyacinth who lasts perhaps a week. Small daisies in many shades of white, yellow centers. Look carefully, you may find the yellow trefoil but she is small, shy and hides. Bright orange butterfly-weed and in the creek the white rosemallow with her crimson eye. The vetch, purple with lacy green, and the yellow butterweed. Horse nettle, frogfruit and wood-sorrel cover the open dry ground. Why does yellow come in early summer then slowly give way to white, purple, red? Perhaps it’s color welcomes the sun. In mid summer come the blue chicory and white Queen Anne’s Lace. Scarlet trumpet vine, wild white roses and spotted jewel-weed. What they miss, those in the city with their manicured flower beds.


Autumn becomes drowsy and nods her head, wakening sometimes with a start. Hazy days of mixed color, but the moist air of summer becomes dry again. Red leaves slowly replacing green. Hardier wildflowers appear, Joe Pye weed, ironweed, field thistle, swamp milkweed and tall prarie clover. Why do they call them weeds? A rose by any other name is a weed.  Purple and pink dominate. Canada Geese are gone. Life slows down and the feeders stand empty, the suet gone. Late autumn, frost nips the nose and time slows down again. I become drowsy too and slide through autumn. 


Winter begins her sleep, red leaves falling and bare fingers of wood pointing at the sky. Life lays huddled in dark, dry places. Tracks of deer carefully hidden. Flowers disappear and so does color. Gray-brown dominates until it is covered by white. A miracle falls from the sky, a different design in each flake. Easily overlooked or taken for granted, each one a delicate work from the hands of our Creator.  In summer thick green invites us in to her cool, dark shade. Winter is all about snow. No invitation now, she warns of hidden things, dangers lurking under her sparkling blanket. Trip and fall, winter sleeps and ignores you. 


Strange to feel excited when snowed in, wrapped in a thick cocoon of silence. Aware of her thoughtless power it becomes apparent she is the strongest of all the seasons. Unmovable, she falls into a deep sleep and barely stirs at all. But those living in the midst of her find warm shelter beneath. Instinctively they care for their needs despite her. Foolish man if he takes pride in his ability, they are the true survivors. With compassion we know their need, the feeders and suet go back up for the few who are left. 


And winter sleeps, heedless of spring.


Author: Beverly Meredith



A Cats Prayer

Featured Image

“A Cat’s Prayer”

If it should be, that I grow frail and weak,
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then, you must do what must be done
For this, the last battle, can’t be won.
Don’t let your grief stay your hand,
For this day more than the rest,
Your love and friendship stand the test.
We’ve had so many years,
What is to come can hold no fear.
You’d not want me to suffer, so
When the time comes, please let me go.
Take me where my needs they’ll tend,
Only, stay with me to the end
And hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.
I know in time you’ll see it is a kindness you do for me
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I’ve been saved.
Don’t grieve it should be you who this thing decides to do.
We’ve been so close, we two, these years,
Don’t let your heart hold tears.
Smile, for we walked together for awhile.

Author: Unknown

Bought a Dog

Bought a Dog

Bought a dog a year ago,
Thought id’ be some company ya know.
Needed some noise and scuttle in the home,
Wife’s been gone and I’m so alone.
Thinking bout the trouble I’m in for,
Cleaning up the messes on the floor.
Feeding n’ grooming, worming n’ shots
Costing me more then I even gots.
It’s been a year now and trouble he be,
But I got more then that, I got loyalty.
I got a friend now tried and true,
Got all that when I bought BillyBlue.

The House With Blue Shutters

The House With Blue Shutters

I stayed in the bedroom, the one at top of the stairs

It was my uncles when he was young and had few cares

He’s in the army now serving far away from his home

His mom and dad, my grandparents, live here alone


I’m now in his bedroom spending time by myself

Either looking at the big ticking clock on the shelf

Or staring out my window at the house across the way

The one with blue shutters and no children their to play


Grandma and grandpa don’t have any swings,

They don’t have any pets, don’t even have toys,

I brought my doll, my jacks and a few other things

On this street live only the old, no other girls and boys


I’m back in the bedroom staring out my window into space

Rising from the edge of my bed, oh dear, I can’t be certain

It looks to me to be a slight shadow of a girls face

Peering out the blue shuddered window between the curtain


Is this my imagination of something I wanted a whole bunch

Mama always say’s I daydream and pretend way too much

Then I see her smile, she moves, her eyelashes flutter

At last I have a playmate in the house next door with blue shutters


~ Eileen 2011 ~


{ Inside The Authors Head  }my-photo (23)

Often my poems come from something going on in my own life. This poem comes from my childhood.
I had two brothers and myself me being the youngest, so I stayed at my grandmothers house more then the boys, they were in school.
I did stay in my uncles bedroom. It was in the early forty’s. My uncle joined the army. He was a young single man where as my dad who was a little older had a wife and three little kids, me being about four. He also was called upon by the government but because of the wife, three kids, and flat feet, he didn’t qualify for service.
Unlike today where grandparents have a bedroom set aside for their grandbaby’s, filled with toys, video games, TV’s and computers.
In my day my grandparents saved the Sunday funny papers for us. My grandpa had a couple of puzzles up on the closet shelf that he brought down when I came for a weekend and he always bought me Neapolitan ice cream. There you have it !
I brought my doll, jump rope, and a coloring book with my box of crayons.
Their was a white house right next to my grandparent house and it did have blue shutters on the windows.
I did sit on the edge of my uncles bed looking out my bedroom window at the window in that house, all of this is true.
The part I made up was that their actually was a child in that other house in the window, there wasn’t.
That of course was my imagination, which I had a big one. It use to make my mother very angry.
I always was getting into trouble at school for “daydreaming”.
My grandparents did live in a neighborhood with very fine houses and older well established people residing in them.
There were no other kids on that block.