They call me Alaurilee

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I've been writing poetry from the age of 12. It has, and always will be my outlet, my voice. Join me on my journey . . . I can write about almost anything. :) ~ Life doesn't come with a shiny new book; no users manual of answers to find with one look. Life comes with doors that open and shut; and paths laid before us to be followed or passed up. There's things we can learn and things we may teach; hearts that may find us and souls we may reach. Guaranteed on this journey are teacups of tears; and pains that might hurt us may age us by years. But the beauty of life, love, laughter and giving; come from serving hugs on a platter each and every day we're living. ~

Sunday, December 19, 2010

'Twas the week before Christmas

                      Photo from Google Images

'Twas the week before Christmas
and all through my mind,
danced visions and memories
from a previous time.

The time in my life when dad was alive,
the things that were Christmas to him.
Boxes of chocolate covered cherries,
how dad would dive right into them.

Searching for slippers high and low,
not any old slippers would do.
Dad wore slippers like shoes,
so Christmas would bring him a pair brand new.

Old fashioned fudge was always a must,
and chocolate covered peanut butter balls.
Frosted sugar cookies and hot cocoa too,
and Christmas bliss decking the halls.

We hung Christmas cards on the back of our door
and would read them over and over.
From aunts and uncles and grandparents too,
with pictures of cousins growing quicker than clover.

Christmas Eve would find us all together,
dad and his three growing kin.
After Midnight Mass at church,
we would gather at home again.

Santa would come while we were away,
leaving gifts under the tree.
We'd have hot cocoa and warm sticky buns,
then open our presents with glee.

At the center of all of this cheer,
we never forgot Christ in the meaning.
Christmas comes with peace and hope,
and the best gift of love is a blessing.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Four White Mugs

                 Photo from Google Images

Four white mugs
hanging from their hooks,
above the kitchen sink.

They've held many things
within their depths,
and not just things to drink.

On the front of each
a memory lives,
faded, yet full of dreams.

A photo from when
it was brand new,
before liquid warmed its seams.

On the first mug
a reminder of dad,
and my childhood memories.

A diesel truck,
called a Peterbuilt,
and stains inside from coffee beans.

On the second mug,
my baby boy,
barely new and sucking a binky.

He's now eighteen,
with bigger things,
than a toy truck and a silver slinky.

The third mug,
is devoted to love,
and second chances brand new.

With little hearts,
and words of hope
it signifies love found between two.

The fourth mug
holds nothing at all,
no pictures just lots of attending.

Hot toddy when sick,
eggnog for Santa
and hot tea for tummy tending.

These mugs have held
more than drinks,
they've also held hugs and tears.

And no matter how much
they age and fade,
they'll be kept all through the years.