Drawn2Life

Drawing, Knitting, Illustration, Crochet…it's all Life, it's all Good!


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Postcard #5

Akimbo

Sitting slightly askew
a star on the mantel for show…
He felt that he should right it.
But little did he know.

“Oh I liked it catywampus!
Please don’t change my decoratin’
You see, things do look best
When they’re arranged a bit sigodlin.

Now furniture all chockablock
Well that’s against the law.
But to add a touch of whimsy…
You place stuff whoppyjawed!”

His saucered look began to melt
When our eyes did finally meet
And with a twinkled smile he said,
“This, I gotta tweet!”

-jpe

6 December 2011

I looked up the spelling of catywampus, sigodlin, and whoppyjawed.  It is interesting to note that all three of these words do not show up in Webster’s dictionary, but are considered “southern colloquialisms” in some other, urban dictionaries.  I also discovered that whoppyjawed is supposed to be: whompyjawed.  But since I never said it that way, and having whoppyjawed in MY dictionary, I’ve left the spelling here.  Chockablock actually appeared in Webster’s dictionary.  It’s only meaning was “full”.  I grew up knowing it to mean “everything placed side by side in too much uniformity”.

My husband (who grew up in Columbus, OH) has always been amused by my unusual sprinkling of words I picked up while growing up in the mountains of NC.  This poem actually happened this year when I caught him trying to reset the star symmetrically on the mantel. Well, I didn’t use ALL of these words, but my reaction definitely made him want to tweet the wonky words I used.


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Postcard #4

Bring Them Home

Standing long.
Others gone.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.

In the cold.
Yet unsold.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.

No star atop.
No tinsel plop.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.

No fireside glow.
No light show.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.

No child in awe.
No homey thaw.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.

No lights to wrap
Each arm of sap.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.

Weary of waiting.
Hope dissipating.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.

So many left.
A home bereft.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.

Every tree
Embodies the need.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.

Homeless child.
Fears run wild.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.

Out of the cold
To warmth enfold.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.

Feed these trees.
Do not let them freeze.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.

Wrap them ‘round
With love abound.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.

Then they’ll grow
New branches show.
Instead of a heap
On sidewalk to sleep.

Bring them home.
Bring them home.

-jpe

December 23, 2011.

Thinking of all the Christmas trees not chosen, still waiting, still unwanted.  And of children and families in need, still waiting for provision this year.  Of children around the world waiting for a sponsor. Of families without a home longing for a place to call their own.

A poem for Family Promise, for Out of the Garden Project, for Compassion International, for Samaritan’s Purse, and many other groups who do so much to relieve all in need.

A Very Merry and Joyous Christmas to All!!


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Postcard #3: The Passing Years

Christmas Memories

Oh the ache of Christmas,
of the years rolling by,
of children growing…I cannot stop it,
no matter how hard I try.

Middle boy says at table-
“I don’t get it this year…
It doesn’t seem like Christmas
Yet it’s almost here.

It’s a week away
and it feels like any other.
The few things on my list
hardly give my heart a flutter.”

“You’re older now my son…”
I say to him point blank.
Yet this morning I weep ponds
o’er the pictures in my memory bank.

The boy so full of glee
he hardly could contain
What Santa just might bring him…
A front-end loader, a Thomas train?

And this was in November!
bouncing, running ‘round,
trying to sit still long enough
to write his wishes down.

Then post them on his bedroom door
But that was not enough!
He must remind Santa’s messengers…
This is serious stuff!

Then in the wee-est hours
Christmas morn did he awake
To tiptoe down, survey the loot,
Then bursting, he would take—

His sister and his radio
to play the Christmas tunes.
Softly first, then louder still…
Their parents, surely, would waken soon.

And just to be sure,
in the room they would creep
Then hop on the bed
mom and dad pretending to sleep.

It is these bleary-eyed memories,
seared to my heart every year…
I can’t bear to see them passing
and n’er return I fear.

Does being a mother
mean that we get to hold
all the joy of receiving
and the pain of letting go?

Does it mean that I’m a vessel
to hold the years of a child?
I think that I may burst as well
They are too precious, lovely, wild!

Is this what Scripture means
when Mary treasured them in her heart?
I can’t begin to touch the pain
of her Son’s end, nor of His start.

From manger-lay to hung-on-a-tree…
how could a mother hold
the years of Your Child, boy to a man,
Could only be Love, and Love so bold.

I know just a taste of her vessel heart,
mine is still being swelled
by the boy-becoming-man-years…
More memories to be held.

-jpe

18 December 2011

My son William is now 14 years old…with deep voice, light mustache, darker hair, and taller than me…he is so changed from these sketches made several years ago on his birthday.  As we celebrate the birthday of another Boy, my heart is full of so many things.  One of the first things I’ll do in the New Year is draw his portrait to capture his near-manliness of being 14.


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Postcard #2

A Mutiny

The cupboard cannot hold them
these merry mugs of cheer.
For sweetly drinking Christmas,
Out of boxes pulled each year.

I cannot fit them with the rest
so tumbled out I’ll leave them,
spilling Christmas nog and joy
with every chance I see them.

They wink as I drink my morning cuppa
And froth piping hot at noon
Then steam sweet with friends at evening
And swirl my kids with chocolate spoon.

‘Twill be with sadness to tuck them away
at end of yuletide season.
One shall resist the packing day
To declare, against Christmas’ end, its treason.

-jpe


9 Comments

Postcard #1

Just popping in to send you a little postcard, to say I wish you’d been able to go see a play with our family.  We went to see A Christmas Carol performed by the High Point Theater Shakespeare Festival.  It was marvelous!  You simply must go…it will make your holiday!  I can’t stay long…but here’s a sketch I made of Mr. Scrooge from the front of the play program.  And a poem.  Hope you enjoy!

 

A Dickens Eve

A gentle waterfall
spilled up and o’er the rim
finding age old crevices
to follow towards my chin.

‘Twere just a play!
a staged apparition…
Well, actually there were three
nay four! after intermission.

What magic did befall me
as costumed sorcerers did brew
with lilting incantations
and  music lovely too.

Had I not sat here
a couple times before?
Yet a fortnight of years
since last I heard this score.

A fortnight of years
is enough to deepen
the heart crevices
touched here by Dickens.

As Past waves her hand
for Scrooge to view his childhood,
My own leaps up before me
memories dancing, ill and good.

Then Present laughs hearty
as I sit here with my Three-
I know the richness I’ve been given
I can scarce contain it merrily.

For that dearest family Cratchit
‘tis my own sweet family too!
The crevices are deeper now
‘tis why I see this anew.

My senior girl beside me
is poised to leave the nest
Four years at college
and then who knows the rest?

My middle boy full of life
and a heart that breaks for all
His character becomes a man
How did he get so tall?

My youngest also sweetest thing
a deadly disease has hold…
Were it not for money and medicine,
her future could not be told.

All three have known less at table
though nothing like the meager here.
Fewer clothes are in their closets
Yet the Cratchits are wearing theirs.

Though my life is abundance
in comparison with these…
Do I still hoard and miser
all I have, to live in ease?

The jocund, piercing work of actors
has undone my heart this night.
The waterfall I cannot stop
melts what I’ve held tight.

Live freely with hands held open
Give money, joy and love!
And ring throughout each blessed moment:
God Bless Us Everyone!!

-jpe


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Going On Holiday!

No Skip November is over…December is here! And Genevieve is going on a little holiday.  A Cyber Holiday that is…pulling off the Worldwide Highway to go on some merry making ventures.  I may pop in with a postcard or two, but I’m declaring December time off from blogging and facebook.  I’m not actually sure I can do it! Ha! I do love it so!  But I need the extra time for:

*Playing Christmas tunes on my ukulele! Brett over at UkuleleTricks is teaching me some fun holiday tunes and fingerpicking as well.

*Genevieve’s Workshop! As Maddie calls our sunroom/studio with several gift-giving creations afoot and aflutter…oh me, what have I gotten myself into?

*Getting down the poems that are spilling out these days…gheesh!

*Drawing the life around me…it can easily get pushed out with all the hubbub of holiday living!

*Walks in the winter weather…maybe even a snowy walk or two!

*And just simple reverent space to awe at the wonder of the reason for this season!  It takes work to create that quiet space and not fill it with busyness.

So Ta Ta For Now to my friends near and far!  December will go by in a blink and I’ll be back here to tell you all about it!

A Very Merry Christmas to you all and a Happy New Year!

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