Little Teacher

© By Sharon (Sunyskys1943@aol.com)


Little brother could not read
For he was just too young
Big sister read a story
And on each word he hung


He was entranced by each word
He didn't hear his Mom
As she entered in to hear
And listened to the calm


Big sister taught him so well
And when entered school
His teachers were so amazed
For he could read a book too


No other child of his age
Could read so well as he
When he told his big sister
She was as proud could be





 

 

Literary Joy

© By Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@msn.com)


The joy of reading the printed page,
Is not reserved for any age.


Both young and old find adventure in sharing the reading of books,
It’s a trip into another world right from your favorite nooks.


Friends reading together find joy in a delightful way,
And together they learn of another day.


Whether sunny or dreary the weather,
It does not matter as long as we have our book to read together.



PS:
My friend and I spent many afternoons in the summer on her porch glider reading library books together. It is a very fond memory for both of us.

This picture brought back the memory of many happy hours of reading adventures in books. I think we learned our love of books through our school libraries which were within walking distance of our houses. We actually were excited with our finds at the library. We often had 10 books a piece to carry home. I think 10 was the limit. We would keep them for a week and go back for more. We both still love books. Even though we live several states away from each other, we keep in touch by email, letters, cards, etc. She usually sends me a book for Christmas each year.





 

 

The Artist

© By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)


She showed me the picture and I thought,Oh, an early Normal Rockwell. Then I could tell by the smile on her face. “That is you and your little brother?”

“Grover was just eleven months younger than I. We used to laugh for I was born on the second day of January and he was born on Christmas Eve, both born in the same year, yet not twins.”

I could tell she wanted me to ask more, to talk about this small drawing that she had, as we stood in line at the Antiques Road Show. Me, I had an old photograph of my grandpa. “How old were you then and who did the work? It seems to not have faded,” I commented.

“A traveling preacher. Oh, I will never forget him for my father said he was just a poor artist, smart enough to preach on the side so he could live.”

She was all smiles now. “The reverend Josiah Z. Edenfunker was his name. He was a tall thin man whom my father said was a lady’s man, an artist, and a poor preacher. He charged two dollars for a very small pencil drawing, and ten dollars for this size. Daddy said it was too much to pay but my mother said she wanted it. She had her hands on her hips when she said it and poor father knew he had better listen.”

The line moved a little and she held the small painting up. “I did have lovely hair, and the artist thought my brother was right from a story book. He sat us down and told me to read to my brother.

He worked about an hour and then took it back to his boarding house, where he finished it that night. The next day, while my father was working, he brought it back. My mother was all ga-ga over the picture and the preacher.”

She set it back down and looked at the crowd. “I don’t know why I am here, I have seen their show on television. But I thought why not waste some money to see if it is worth the ten dollars my father paid for it.”

About then a woman stopped and began to talk to the old lady and I just listened. It seemed her brother had been killed in the last month of the war. She said he had tried to enlist six times and each time his mother had gone to the recruiter and told them he was under age. So the day he turned eighteen he enlisted and volunteered to go overseas. He was an anti-aircraft gunner on a jeep carrier.

When we got to the head of the line there were three people evaluating the art. I got the older woman, and the lady with the picture got a very sophisticated lady. The third person was a man who did not to me look very smart.

The older woman looked at my picture. “Your grandfather on your father’s side," yada, yada, yada, and she said it was worth a hundred dollars.

I laughed and thanked her, then waited for the lady who had the picture of her and her brother.

“What did you say?” I heard her ask. “Say that again and say it slowly. This was painted by a well-known artist and is WORTH WHAT?”

Just then a bell rang and someone on the Public Address system said that closing time was in one hour; they would be ending the lines.

Joe Thirgood came by with an old ewer and basin and began to tell me how it was worth twenty-five hundred dollars. I missed saying good-bye to the lady but I surely did like that picture she had.





 

 

These Are The Rules

© By SWAMPETTA (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)


Marty and Minnie were brother and sister.
She had freckles and he had a blister.
She would read to him from a book,
As they sat down by the brook.
But Minnie took 'Poetic License" you see.
She said; "These are the rules for you and me"
"It says you should go and roll in the mud."
Marty went and got covered in crud.
Minnie went home and said; "Mom! Look at Marty!"
"Him and the dirt had a big party!"
Marty got spanked and Minnie got praise,
But he'd get even one of these days...





 

 

The Birthday Party

© By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net


Little Miss Tiny,
Had been a bit whiny,
When mother put her petticoats on,
Her new fluffy dress, she’d whimper,
Confess she’d rather play mudpies
With John.


Then she felt so pretty in
Her Mary Janes then,
And Johnny came all dressed up.
Both of them first had a rolling tear,
Donning, dolling left them
Down not "up."


Johnny was so sweet, he
Couldn’t hide his nature,
Paid Tiny such "manly" attention.
Mother was touched and
A picture she took.
A moment in time worth the mention.





 

 

Child of Mine

© By Marty (mjford19@msn.com


Child of love
Child of mine
Growing up, in this world of time
Your daydreams of life are coming
And we may not understand
But we will stand beside you
my child, hand in hand
The tears, the laughter
we will share
It's all in growing up
Sometimes it's hard to bear
So, come let me hold you
safe in my arms
Loving forever
My precious little one.





 

 



 

 

 

 


Soon May Will Come

In The Mind of a Poet

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Easter ( 9 Authors)

Birthdays ( 10 Authors )

Memories ( 6 Authors)




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