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I should tell you right from the start, I'm not a poet; far from it. But I have always loved rhymes, and that sort of writing comes very easily to me. Having written "little ditties" from a very early age, I have always considered myself a rhymester. Silly me, I thought I had coined that word, but that isn't true. Curiosity has led me to look in Webster's dictionary, and much to my surprise, it is listed. The definition is "a composer of light verse; an inferior poet". Ouch! That smarts! However, ole' Danny Webster knew what he was talking about, and in this case, he was talking about me --- an inferior poet. Well, that's OK, because let's face it, Emily Dickinson I ain't! I say, perhaps immodestly. I'm more like a Norman Lear or an Ogden Nash.
Well, anyway, writing this inferior stuff gives me a great deal of pleasure. But – fair warning to you: if true poetry is your bag, go no further. Better you should skip to another section of this newspaper. But, if you like rhymes, read on – I’m your gal!
Me and my group of loyal frien...
Having hosted a party for my friends last week, I thought of how dear they all have become to me. I guess twenty-plus years of working and performing together would create a bond, and it did! Oddly enough, or maybe because we come from different backgrounds, compatibility was never a problem. Right from the start, we were "all for one, and one for all." I think that's special. So special, I thought I should write – in rhyme.
A Tribute To My Friends
We are a group of good ole' gals,
Who are all devoted and loyal pals.
We have sung and danced our way through life
Which has aided us in times of strife.
Wives we are, and mothers too,
Our children grown, so now free to do
The things we love, and give us fun
With friends, colleagues, and everyone.
This bunch is "cool", chic, and cute,
Caring and giving, and wise to boot!
But now on the other side of fifty,
We find it harder to keep looking nifty.
So we eat the right foods, and drink very little
Which keeps us feeling "fit as a fiddle!"
I'll tell you their names, with a slight resume
Of why I admire them in every way.
We number ten in this closely knit group,
This will tell you who's who in this "old poop" scoop!"
There's little Barbie, cute as a bug,
And let me tell you, she can sure cut a rug!
JoAnn is tiny, and rather reserved,
But she loves to have fun, as I have observed.
Pretty little June had the aid of her "Pap",
He taught her and her sisters, how to tap.
Another Barb, a dancer by chance,
As she allowed me to teach her to dance.
Youthful Debbie, a clogger back-when,
And now a happy tapper, with a happy grin.
Mary Ellen, one who tries every day
To be the best she can be in every way.
Bonnie, the red-head, vivacious and kind,
Learned to dance, and left her worries behind.
Wee Nada, with a litheness supreme,
No doubt is the most graceful on the team.
Carol, versatile in both dances and songs,
She adds much to our group; I'm glad she belongs!
And that leaves me, as number ten,
Still kickin', and dancin' and itchin' a yen –
So every day, and sometimes twice,
I tap in my studio – now ain't that nice?
So to you, dear friends, my tribute true
Is you've made my life happy, by just being you!
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