Pammy

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A poem I just wrote looking back at our life here in Florida when we built and moved into our new home in 1985. As we had left a son behind as he had just graduated from High School and wanted to forge his own life... finding a surrogate daughter was delightful. An exhausting handful at times, but quite worth all the effort, like in this picture that my wife took of her trying to push me in the community pool and just before I threw her in.

Pammy


We had a daughter for two years

To bring us laughs when she appeared

And showed up on our doorstep smiling

No kitchee coo and all beguiling


But rather tomboy, roller skating

Running, biking, celebrating

The blissfulness of early teens

To shake us up in our routine.


She loved to play games at our table

Board games, card games and when able

To make up games out in our pool

And try to win by her own rules


Or drop by just to shoot the bull

Or watch as we worked with our tools

Then we’d attend her running meets

And see her win as she'd compete.


She helped us through our troubled times

When my mom-in-law with cancer died

And she was there to raise our spirits

And sadly felt a kindred nearness


As her own father’s diagnosed with cancer

Prostate late stage far advancer

And we could try to return the favor

And help her be a little braver.


But mostly we had lots of fun

And laughed at things that she had done

Like the time that’s worth denoting

When our swimming pool had bits of floating


Odd shaped little loosened scales

That turned out to be Pam's Press On nails.

Then as she entered high school life

And grew to be more womanlike,


It’s natural that she progressed

And left our friendly neighborly nest

And moved on through college and into life

Complete with career and now as wife.


Settling on the other coast

Maybe someday they will host

As surrogate family of their own

To some neighbor child that’s on loan.


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Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

Whiskers’s Poems (76)

Title Comments
Title Comments
THE UNIT DWELLER 0
The Mother of us all... 0
Saving Fear 0
Old Lang Flying, a little New Year's nonsense 1
Winter's Hope 0
Christmas Giving 0
Christmas 0
The Yule Clog’s old English Tradition 0
The Spirit of Christmas 0
Saturday Morning Buckaroo's 2
Forever Together 0
The Toughest man I ever knew 1
Proud as a Peacock 1
NO NOBLER FAME 1
Seasoned Menu 1
Passing Time 1
Our Garden Bench 0
Hunter Springs 1
Pammy 0
Old Number Four 1
CREATION 0
Angelic Truth 2
THE VICTOR 0
Nature’s Crown of Achievement 0
Mohammad, “appropriat
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0
The Flying Squirrelendaz Brothers 0
The Happy Hunting Ground 2
Sounds of Silence 1
The Passion 1
Wild Summer…For Sure 1
LASTING TREASURE 1
Midday Rhapsody 1
The Emancipated Man 0
ROBOT'S 0
For the Love a God, man 0
Opinion 1
The Blame Game 2
The Spring’s Ballbusters 3
A Morning Prayer 2
A QUIET NIGHTS LONELY LURE 1
THE JOURNEY - A Poetic Quadruple thru time 2
Spring Reigns 2
APOCALYPSE 1
Quill Borne 2
The Gallery 2
Windblown 1
Hope 3
The Dark Ages 3
"Momma" 3
The Entertainer
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1
The Question 1
My Library 0
Inside Storm Clouds 1
BABEL-101 0
The Quilted Sky 1
Clairvoyance 0
Valentine Advice 0
“Along the Ocklawaha camping - scene one”... 0
Simply Stated 0
Imagi’Natio
n
0
Insomniac’s Folly 2
My Favorite things 0
European 0
Amour or less 1
This same Jesus 0
“Johnny” 1
Forever Together 1
Tranquilizing Thoughts 1
The 90 and 9 1
Iron Men 1
The Ancient Mazzaroth (Biblical Astronomy) 1
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Reaper's Onslaught 2
Shakesquirrel 2
Morning’s Metamorphosis 2
Blizzard Monday 2