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Wednesday

Power and Provision - A Poetic Paraphrase of Psalm 146


Power and Provision -
A Poetic Paraphrase of Psalm 146


Let my soul sing to the Lord,
Exalting Him in tune and word.

I adore Him, while I live,
Lifting high the praise I give.

The highest royalty can't save,
As mortal men go to the grave.

They fall and vanish, like the soil,
As nothing comes from all their toil.

But happy are the ones who trust
The great Jehovah, who is just.

Creator of all things that are:
The sky, the sea, the earth, the star.

Our Maker's caring is displayed
With freedom, food, and other aid.

He opens up the eyes born blind
And lifts the humble; He is kind.

The orphan, outcast, left alone
Can find in Him a loving home.

But those who set out to destroy,
He blocks and frustrates every ploy.

The Lord is King forevermore,
May generations Him adore.

Praise the Lord forever.

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Hide and Seek


I wrote this poem to encourage a genuine friend, who has both admonished and uplifted me on multiple occasions. I post it here, in the hope that these words might bless others as well.

Hide and Seek -
A Rhyming Pique at Things Oblique


A friend loves at all times,
and a brother is born for adversity.
(Proverbs 17:17)


Be courteous to all, but intimate with few,
And let those few be well tried
before you give them your confidence.
True friendship is a plant of slow growth,
and must undergo and withstand
the shocks of adversity
before it is entitled to the appellation.
(George Washington, 1732-1799)


I must admire your technique!
You hide or seek or take a peek,
And yet I hear the words you speak.

Ideals like destiny and fate
Have caused your heart to hesitate.
But wait! Perhaps it's not too late!

Alas, you've chosen to withdraw,
To set your face and lock your jaw,
Although soon comes the great spring thaw.

It's time to toss away that doubt,
To loose the binds and cast them out.
A new day dawns, so come on out!

A shiny glimmer crystal ball
Sheds just a shimmer, then a fall,
Enduring never, not at all.

You say you're idle, in a shell,
As if the world outside can't tell.
But it's a self-made prison cell.

The wolf, he howls outside your door.
He beckons you to blood and gore,
The ever-present carnivore.

The sharpest fangs that drip with dread,
Of those who'd keep you underfed
Can never harm you, sleepyhead.

For forces strong are standing near,
These multitudes, you cannot hear.
True trust can banish all your fear.

The dragon hovers, like a snake.
He hopes your soul to overtake.
And yet, you pray for Heaven's sake.

There's more! Want to read the rest of the poem? Click here for "Hide and Seek - A Rhyming Pique at Things Oblique." Also, you may subscribe (for free) to this author's content, so you won't miss a single post. Click here to subscribe!

Sunday

Swimwear Is Life


Midwinter days are upon us, sending plenty of folks packing and heading for warmer climes. As retailers market cruise apparel and vacation fashions, one can only wonder about the significance of swimwear in our ever-changing lives.

Swimwear Is Life -
A Rhymed Retort to Suits We Sport


First toddling with a padded seat
To catch the items we excrete,
We graduate to ruffled skirts,
As we delight in sand and dirt.

'Ere long, we pick a racer-back
Of quick-dry nylon, off-the-rack.
Our bodies change, still teeny-weeny,
And we select a sweet bikini.

Between our teens, we catch their eyes
In lycra maillots, cut thigh-high.
By twenty-five, we grow more modest,
Choosing suits with tailored bodice.

Ten years later, spandex slims;
We tan in suits that never swim.
'Till middle age and gravity
Attack us with depravity.

That's not the whole story! Want to read more? Click here to read the entire poem, "Swimwear Is Life - A Rhymed Retort to Suits We Sport." Or click here to subscribe to this author's content, so you won't miss a single post.

Saturday

A-Sailed! A Rhymed Repeating of Offshore Eating


In honor of my much-loved brother and sister-in-law, who depart for a tropical cruise this week, I post this poetic admonition on shipboard nutrition:

A-Sailed! A Rhymed Repeating of Offshore Eating

We won a prize, a special cruise;
"Hooray!" we said. "How can we lose?"
We danced along the entry ramp,
Like two young kids, attending camp.

The noon-day meal was simply great.
I went back for a second plate,
Of Caesar salad, lobster claws,
And then we headed for the spas.

Mid-afternoon, the call came out:
"The Lido Deck is serving trout."
We headed up and found our seats
And stuffed ourselves with homemade treats.

So, satisfied, we hit the pool,
Where sweet confections made us drool.
A waiter passed umbrella'ed drinks,
As we relaxed and turned quite pink.

By evening, they rang the bell
And dinner beckoned us. "Oh, swell!"
We donned our fancy garb and then,
We headed out to stuff again.

The presentation, it was sweet,
With every fish and fowl and meat.
We skipped the salad bar this time,
Because the pastries were sublime.

That night, I hovered on the deck.
I was a nauseated wreck.
I stood and retched over the side.
I'd swallowed everything but pride.

Want to read more? Click here for "A-Sailed! A Rhymed Repeating Of Offshore Eating," or click here to subscribe (free) to this author's online content. Don't miss a single post!

Thursday

The Real Golden Girl



Considered a medium-sized dog, the Golden Retriever is a perennial favorite canine breed, particularly as a family pet. The breed excels at hunting and showing. However, the gentle Golden Retriever's favorite sport is probably pleasing his or her owners.

The Real Golden Girl
A Rhyming Blog on Our Favorite Dog


Are you a Golden Retriever Believer?

"You think dogs will not be in heaven?
I tell you, they will be there long before any of us."
Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 - 1894)


We share our bed with sixty pounds
Of whiskers, tail and fur.
And though she stretches, side to side,
We share our space with her.

With hair of gold, so sleek and soft,
A temperament so gentle,
She prances with her tail aloft,
We swear she's sentimental.

She hogs the sofa with her sprawl;
The kids sit on the floor.
And yet, for hours, they toss the ball
To see her jump for more.

The neighbor kids, they ring our bell
To romp with our retriever.
Returning, back in bed she'll dwell.
We simply don't believe her.

If you should come to our front door,
She'll soon sound her alarm.
But if you enter through the back,
She'll do you no great harm.

She'll bounce and beg and rub her nose
And lick you half to death,
If you can stand to draw her close
And smell her beefy breath.

In younger days, she'd hunt with men
To gather duck decoys.
Now she's had pups, and she's taught them
To carry bean bag toys.

Who is the ruler of our home?
View our family, and you'll query.
Home together or alone,
Our canine reigns! Be wary!


Want to read more? Click here for "The Real Golden Girl." Would you like to subscribe to this author's content? Click here to subscribe (free).

Tuesday

Fighting Over the Bill


In the U.S. Presidential Primaries, politicians have begun sparring. As two front-runners from one political party slug it out, who is in the middle? If his favorite prevails, will he continue to interfere?

Fighting Over the Bill
A Poetic Catch on a Boxing Match

An election is coming.
Universal peace is declared,
and the foxes have a sincere interest
in prolonging the lives of the poultry.
T.S. Eliot (1888 - 1965)


The boxers take their corners,
Prepare to slug it out.
The refs become bullhorners,
As audiences doubt.

Another fighter interferes,
All blustery and brash;
And, though sincere this man appears,
He's full of balderdash.

His place is elsewhere, not the ring,
Though he has fought before.
The boxers both can feel the sting
And point him to the door.

The battle belongs not to him,
Despite his angry voice.
His time has gone; his light grows dim.
He doesn't have a choice.

The ring officials send him on;
The boxers aim their mitts.
And so begins a marathon
Of slugs and counter-hits.

And yet, to those who listen best,
This angry game of skill
No longer is a boxing test;
They're fighting 'bout the Bill.

One throws a punch, and one falls down;
The third man utters, "Ouch!"
Despite his empathy, this clown
Will soon sleep on the couch.

There's more! Want to read "Fighting Over the Bill"? Click here! Would you like to subscribe (for free) to this author's online content? Click here to subscribe.

Sunday

Burning in Our Hearts


On September 11, 2001, thousands died after terrorists crashed two commercial airplanes into New York's World Trade Center. As the Twin Towers fell, many brave firefighters, police officers and rescue workers sacrificed their own lives to save others.

Burning in Our Hearts
A Tribute to the Fallen Firefighters
of September 11, 2001

We sing for you a hero's tune,
For you have left us much too soon.
You boldly gave your life away
The day the city turned to gray.

The sirens blared; the call came out;
You answered it without a doubt.
A tragedy had struck us all.
The towers fell, but you stood tall.

You vaulted over flights of stairs
To answer many strangers' prayers;
They live today because you went,
Allowing your life to be spent.

Your country and the world admire
How you leapt up to fight the fire.
Yet a much grander blaze did start
Within each American heart.

As years go by, we don't forget,
And we owe you a giant debt.
Your courage, valor, strength and might
Will ever live in endless light.


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Saturday

Cramping My Style

As an editor, I have heard just about every excuse a writer might muster:

"The dog ate my manuscript."
"The cat reprogrammed my PC."
"The mouse froze."

As a writer, I have considered many excuses as well. Still, deadlines are deadlines . . .

Cramping My Style
Imagination or Inflammation?

Dear Editor: About that rhyme;
I think I need a bit more time.
It's not a writer's block I face,
I'm concepting at warp-speed pace.

A hardware glitch has got me beat;
I'm squirming in my writing seat.
Ideas keep coming, fast and mean;
I just can't get them on the screen.

My carpal tunnel has gone bad;
Imagination's launching pad.
A typing cramp is in command.
And mouse-tics cripple my right hand.

It's not that I've run out of juice.
My poet's brain is lucid, loose.
I have a million more to write,
And each one will be dynamite.


There's more! Want to read the rest of "Cramping My Style"? Click here! If you wish to subscribe to this author's work, click here for a no-cost subscription.

Friday

Grime and Grace


God gave Moses the Ten Commandments to guide the people and to show them their need of God's help and mercy. The Ten Commandments are recorded in the Bible in Exodus 20.

I wonder . . . how have I done? Has my life honored or dishonored the Lord?

Grime and Grace A Poetic Pause on the Top Ten Laws

I've stumbled into things obscene;
No steaming bath can make me clean.
My fine appearance, a smokescreen,
Pretending Heavenly hygiene.

For each Commandment, I have spurned;
Resolved for good and then returned.
Where righteousness may be concerned,
I cannot say I've lived and learned.

1.
Loving God above the rest?
That has been a daily test.

2.
Idol worship, claiming stuff?
I never seem to have enough.

3.
Using God's great name in vain?
Perhaps I said a word profane.

4.
Keeping Sunday set apart?
My calendar is torn apart.

There's more! Want to read the rest of "Grime and Grace"? Click here!

Thursday

Copping an Excuse?


Go, speed racer, go! Then again, maybe not. Responsible driving is a great idea, particularly with teenagers in the house (and in the car).

Of course, sometimes we all need a little reminder.

Copping an Excuse?
A Rhymed Recitation on Traffic Citation


Friday evening, driving out West,
Putting our new four-wheel-drive to the test,
I spotted the lights, which curtailed our fun-fest
And veered for the shoulder, then, under arrest.

I glanced in the mirror, perfecting my smile,
Touched up my lipstick and smoothed my hairstyle.
I've talked my way out of this, once in a while.
But c'mon, did I think I was still juvenile?

"Hey, Ma'am, I clocked you at sixty or more,"
He said, as he leaned on the side of my door.
I glanced up and felt like a tyrannosaur;
This kid couldn't have been more than age twenty-four.

This wee whippersnapper was simply polite;
He said not to drive like a meteorite.
He wrote a citation and bade me goodnight,
Then he hopped in his squad car and sped out of sight.

I learned a most difficult lesson right there,
For when I was twenty, the cops didn't care.
They'd give me a warning and say it with flair,
But now I had better slow down and beware!

Want to read more? Click here for "Copping an Excuse?" or click here for a free subscription to Linda Ann Nickerson's online content.

Wednesday

Making Up Time


Has multi-tasking become our master? Why do we seem to be fighting time and traffic every day? Sometimes, only a crash course can teach us how to focus on the here and now.

Making Up Time
An Advisory Ode: Keep Your Eyes on the Road

"Time is the coin of your life.
It is the only coin you have,
And only you can determine how it will be spent.
Be careful, lest you let other people spend it for you."
Carl Sandburg (1878 - 1967)


Rushed for work and out of gas,
With no time for the looking glass,
I snatched my keys and headed out
To face the daily knockabout.

I tossed my briefcase in the trunk
And grabbed a mug and roll to dunk.
I turned the corner at full tilt,
And raced my neighbor out in guilt.

Somehow, I zipped through every light.
Perhaps I'd make it; I just might.
My hopes were raised then, just a smidge,
Until I saw the tollway bridge.

There's more! Want to read the rest of "Making Up Time," and find out what happens next? Click here! The best part is yet to come.

Tuesday

Compassion for Fashion - An Ode to Fashion Victims


Clearly, the fashion police have gone off duty. Maybe the apparel authorities have punched out. Perhaps they are just punchy. Could be, we all are! Clothed in rhyme, here are a few wearable warnings for our time.

Compassion for Fashion
An Ode to Fashion Victims


I'd like to call up my compassion
For tragic victims of highest fashion.
Our young and old and in-between,
Are sporting garb that's just obscene.

Those skimpy, stretchy lycra tops
Are showing up in high-priced shops.
Torn jeans can fetch a price so dear,
They make your savings disappear.

And save those flip-flops for the shore;
They're not in style anymore.
Your chiropractor wants you back
Because your frozen arches crack.

Don't get me started on briefs or thongs;
Keep underwear where it belongs.
Don't wanna see your tidy whites,
So please respect my human rights.


There's more! Want to read the rest? Click here to read "Compassion for Fashion." You can also subscribe to this author's copy, so you won't miss a single post.

Monday

Cream of the Crop - A Poetic Intercession for the Best in His Profession


What do Eric Clapton and coffee have in common?
Neither are any good without Cream!
- M. S.


Cream of the Crop

My dear friend, I must disagree.
The best Slowhand is Mr. C!
My heart, just like a hammer, pounds
To hear this brave Ulysses' sounds.

A distant kin, this bluesman dear
Can run a riff to please the ear.
For decades, dancing on the edge,
A strange brew was his daily pledge.

And yet, his soul has searched for more,
As he has knocked on Heaven's door.
In tears eternal, seeking hope,
This long-lost pilgrim dropped his dope.

The Father's eyes have never left,
Although his soul has been bereft.
Like Mr. Key, the faithful pray
Forever man will find his way.

Want to read the rest? Click here to read "Cream of the Crop."

Photo courtesy of Variety - Music, http://www.variety.com/review

Saturday

Kick in the Class - A Rhymed Distrust of the Upper Crust


What constitutes class?
What makes a person classy?
How can you tell if a person has real class?

Kick in the Class
A Rhymed Distrust of the Upper Crust


People wonder: What is class?
Is it a race to win, surpass?
To be the highest of the brass?
How have we come to this impasse?

The classiest of all are sure
One need not be a connoisseur,
Nor crow with boastings immature,
For that would show one just a boor.

So what is class? How is it seen?
Why are so many painted green?
Perhaps the trimming's a smokescreen,
And class is something more serene.

There's more! Click here to read "Kick in the Class."

Eating on the Fly


Adkins Diet, anyone?

Now that the holidays are over, how many of us are still trying to stick to our New Year's resolutions?

Here's a surefire way to lose those extra holiday pounds!

Eating on the Fly
A Rhymed Repast on Food Most Fast


I'm living on the Atkins Diet:
Never bread it; never fry it.
When I crave a little snack,
I saddle up my horse out back.

We take the trail among the trees
And there enjoy a gentle breeze.
I tilt my open mouth up high
And quickly catch a juicy fly.

I'm not too worried 'bout hygiene;
My focus, mainly, is protein.
Avoiding carbs and bad trans-fats,
I go for horseflies, fleas and gnats.


OK, are you sufficiently grossed out yet, or do you want to read a bit (er, bite) more? Click here to read "Eating on the Fly."

Friday

Toned Out - Rhyming Offhand on Music That's Canned



Having just returned from the dentist today, I have a sudden urge to share this poem. Somehow, it seems timely! Read on, and you will soon see what I mean.

Toned Out

This music makes my molars hurt,
Envisioning a crisp white shirt,
A misting spray, cold air to spurt,
The drill approaching, "Pain alert!"

I faintly recognize the song,
Although the voice does not belong,
A rap, turned mellow; it's just wrong.
Someone ought to get the gong!

We're climbing to the seventh floor,
For ladies wear and shoes galore,
With background melodies a-roar
That make me want to run next door.

I cannot stand one more refrain,
My incisors are racked with pain.
I'll call my dentist, and complain
For auditory Novocain!

Want to read more? Click here for "Toned Out." You can also subscribe to this author's content, so you won't miss a single post.

Thursday

Classics Class - a Teacher's Lament on Students' Descent

Let's take a peek in a present-day high school English class, from behind the teacher's desk. Are we dumbing-down literature and creative writing? What has happened to culture and literacy?

Classics Class

"Publish or perish!" the principal said.
Perhaps I would be better off left for dead.
My dreams, they are filled with inkblots of red,
And my editing pencil has run out of lead.

A sophomoric essay has caught me off-guard,
Comparing an MTV star to the Bard.
Old Will's reputation is suddenly marred
By teen disrespect and complete disregard.

Want to read more? Click here to read "Classics Class: A Teacher's Lament."

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Wednesday

Secrets Are Scary


As an adoptive parent, should you tell your child that he or she is adopted? How and when should you reveal this secret? Should it be a secret at all?

Secrets Are Scary

Family counselors, psychologists and recovery experts of all stripes love to echo a familiar quote: "We are only as sick as our secrets."

Secrets are scary, particularly for children.

Adults may recall certain secrets that loomed in their minds, when they were young. Larger than life, these mysterious unknown keys to reality may have turned to terror. When children realize that key pieces of information are purposely withheld from them, they naturally may wonder what other facts are also hidden?

Never Not Knowing

As an adoptive parent, I can clearly state that my children have never not known that we adopted them. We have made this an absolutely natural part of our family litany. Although months may elapse without the topic even arising, my kids know that they are welcome to ask or discuss this at any time.

When my children leaf through their baby books, they are able to find the new baby announcements, which mention our excitement and joy over their adoption. They can also see copies of their adoption certificates. When we discuss their births and arrivals, I mention how grateful I am that God brought them into our family in such a wonderful and miraculous way.

Simply put, this has never been a secret. As a result, the issue contains no mystery. The children do not have to worry what other secrets their parents may be keeping from them.

Want to read more? Click here to read "Secrets Are Scary."

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The Grandest Job: The Poetic Pleasures of Grandparenting

What's it like to have grandchildren? Here's an honest, but somewhat whimsical look at the blessings of grandparenting.

The Grandest Job
The Poetic Pleasures of Grandparenting


My grandson thinks I hung the moon;
My granddaughter agrees.
I feed them with a silver spoon,
With pleasure and with ease.

It's all the joy without the job;
Grandparenting's the bomb,
For if they start to scream and sob,
We send them back to Mom.

Want to read the rest? Click here to read "The Grandest Job."
You can also subscribe to this author's content, so you do not miss a single posting!

Monday

It's a Wild Ride: A Poetic Tribute to the Rodeo Cowboy


What is it like, to be a rodeo cowboy? Imagine the dust kicking up all around you, the crowd hollering for your courage and strength, the bronco leaping and bucking beneath you. Take a look, through this adventurous rhymed story.

It's A Wild Ride
A Poetic Tribute to the Rodeo Cowboy


He combs his hair and snaps his shirt;
The yoke will soon be caked in dirt.
He dons his Stetson, bushy-browed,
And saunters out to meet the crowd.

His Wranglers crease to fit his form;
His bronco kicks up quite a storm.
Pitched left and right, he holds the band
And raises high his other hand.

"Dear Father, just eight seconds more,"
He whispers, amid tug-of-war.
"Preserve me now from sudden death,"
He mutters, underneath his breath.

Want to read the rest of the story? Click here to read "It's a Wild Ride."

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Got Change? A Rhymed Exchange on Claims of Change

Here's a pointed, perhaps disjointed, look at presidential primaries, campaigns and elections.

Got Change?
A Rhymed Exchange on Claims of Change


"I put a dollar in one of those change machines.
Nothing changed."
George Carlin


From the outside, looking in,
I cannot tell where to begin.
My cup is empty; ain't that strange?
Has anybody got some change?

Jingle and jangle!
Look at 'em dangle,
Watching issues rearrange.
Jingle and jangle!
Look at 'em dangle;
Anybody got some change?

I see a man with lovely phrase;
Perhaps it's just a passing phase.
A woman points his failings out,
Increasing every voter's doubt.

Jingle and jangle!
Look at 'em dangle,
Watching issues rearrange.
Jingle and jangle!
Look at 'em dangle;
Anybody got some change?


Want to read the rest? Click here to view "Got Change: A Rhymed Exchange on Claims of Change."

Etiquette for Email Communication - Cyberspace Courtesy

Electronic mail offers excellent convenience, but have we sacrificed cordiality for efficiency?

Email Etiquette


What is the proper protocol for emailing? Must one exercise manners online? Is it rude to forward emails? How about attachments? And copyrighted material? Here's a helpful selection of how-to's for email etiquette. This informative piece includes information on content, formatting, copyrights, forwards, confidentiality, friend lists, and other courtesies.

Click here to read the entire article: "Email Etiquette."

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Sunday

Redeemed from Religion - a Rhymed Retelling of Release

Does true faith lead to a religion or something different altogether? Where is liberty, freedom and hope? Perhaps a deeper look is needed.


Redeemed from Religion

A Rhymed Retelling of Release


I've been redeemed, in Jesus' Name,
From every false religion's game.
For Jesus took my sin and shame,
And I will never be the same.

I once was bound, by Bible-thumpers,
Wearing large white-collared jumpers.
These I stitched all by myself,
From fabrics purchased off-the-shelf.

For years, I memorized each rule,
From grandest scale to miniscule.
I'd scorn the mirror when I fell,
Pronouncing myself ne'er-do-well.

I'd glance askance at holy folk,
And think it was the meanest joke.
I knew I'd never make the grade;
And so I built a barricade.

Exhausted, I would try to stand
And measure up to each command.
But, daily, I would face a fault
That brought my progress to a halt.

Now I am loosed from legal ties
That worry, stress, and paralyze.
Once captive, I have been set free
To follow Him who pardoned me.

And here's the big surprise of all:
This liberty comes with a call.
The Lord has lifted my law load,
And I desire to live His code.

I will not follow out of fear,
But, still, I long to persevere.
Obedience can be renewed
By simple love and gratitude.

I've been redeemed, in Jesus' Name,
From every false religion's game.
For Jesus took my sin and shame,
And I will never be the same.



Related items:

Abundantly - A Poetic Plea for a Closer Walk With the Savior

The Coming of the Light - Do You Belong to the King of Song?
The Cost So Dear - A Rhyme Displayed for Those Who Paid
Days of Sorrow - A Rhymed Motif of Angelic Grief
His Story - A Poetic Tribute to the King Absolute
A Market for Sparrows - Never Guessing on His Blessing
Power and Provision - A Poetic Paraphrasing of Psalm 146
Repair for Despair - A Poetic Paraphrase of Psalm 103

Love poetry? Check out Simply Snickers, a brand-new weekly poetry prompt. Click here for Redeemed from Religion - A Rhymed Retelling of Release. Or click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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Saturday

The Bulldozer - A Poetic Rumble on One Who's Not Humble

When is a bulldozer not really a motorized metal bulldozer at all?

The Bulldozer
A Poetic Rumble on One Who's Not Humble


When pride comes, then comes disgrace,
but with humility comes wisdom.
The integrity of the upright guides them,
but the unfaithful are destroyed by their duplicity.
(Proverbs 11:2-3)


“It’s my way or the highway,”
The rugged ‘dozer growled.
And, Saturday through Friday,
His steaming engine howled.

The smaller trucks and those on foot,
He shoved out of his way
To dig up dirt and smut and soot
In his great power-play.

Want to read the rest of the story? Click here to read the whole poem, "The Bulldozer."
You can also subscribe to this writer's content, so you won't miss a single posting!

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Cooking Down a Storm - A Kitchen Rhyme for Family Time

Some storms can only subside when folks form memories together.

Cooking Down a Storm
A Kitchen Rhyme for Family Time


A scent is wafting through the air,
As youngsters sort the silverware.
A meal is cooking, somewhat square,
The makings of intensive care.

We stand together at the sink,
A little nudge, a knowing wink.
Together, we share what we think;
We're cementing our family link.


Want to read the rest of this entry? Click this link to read: Cooking Down a Storm. Or simply visit my other blog, Practically at Home, where this entire poem is listed on the lower right-sidebar.

Friday

Headlines & Deadlines - The Editor's Life and Strife

Writers pour their souls into their work. What does life look like from the other side of the desk? Here's a peek inside the editor's office.

Headlines and Deadlines
An Editor's Day on Poetic Display


My sky-blue pencil's poised to strike,
Deleting phrasings I dislike,
Another author's dreams to spill,
Conforming copy to my will.

I'm cropping photos, fitting art,
Tearing out a writer's heart,
Counting out each column inch
And adding fillers in a pinch.

Want to read more?
Click here to read the entire piece: "Headlines and Deadlines."
You can also subscribe to this author's work, so you will not miss a single post!

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Thursday

Got a myspace, facebook, yuwie or other online network page?


Should employers be allowed to use MySpace, YUWIE, Friendster, YouTube and Facebook accounts as a basis for hiring or firing employees? What about Webkinz, Club Penguin and other online communities? Are your online activities public or private?

Do You Have a MySpace, Facebook, Yuwie or YouTube Account?

Myspace, Facebook, Yuwie, YouTube, and similar sites are open to public viewing. Anyone who wishes to set up an account (usually for free) can quickly access millions of individual profile pages.

Individuals post graphics, photos, videos, music and even written material for other users to view and hear. Most members display their friends' thumbnail photos, as active links to their friends' profile pages. Many also allow friends' and visitors' comments to appear on their own profile pages as well.

Click here to find out what this means, just in case any question still exists.


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Writing Winning Essays for College Applications

Need some help with those college admissions essays?

Writing Winning Essays for College Applications
Put Your Best Words Forward!


As a high school senior or adult, applying for admission to universities and colleges requires deliberate planning and preparation. Hopefully, you have already contacted the admissions offices and selected a few appropriate options.

Click here for simple steps you can take to write superior essays for your application and maximize your chances of acceptance to your target school!

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Bank-in-a-Box - Etiquette for the Drive-Up ATM Machine

Rude ATM customers are everywhere, in small towns and big cities. Perhaps they have been cloned. Definitely, they should be rezoned, postponed, dethroned, or possibly disowned. But never condoned!

Bank-in-a-Box

The automated teller machine (or money machine) is everywhere. It is virtually impossible to run out of cash nowadays, as long as you have sufficient funds in your bank account.

Forgot your lunch today? Stop at the ATM on the way to work.

Need $20 for the movies or fast food? Hit the ATM!

Gotta have $50 for dinner with a friend? Grab your greenbacks at the nearest ATM.

These ultra-convenient teller-in-a-box units can be found in grocery stores, shopping malls, and even on street corners. In addition, many bank branches offer drive-up ATMs for handy hurried transactions.

Interesting Individuals

Of course, with this banking courtesy, you can always find folks who will act discourteously, thoughtlessly, and outright ridiculously.

Click here
to meet a few of my favorite drive-up examples of etiquette forgettiquette experts.

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Guide to Gift Returns - Happy Bargain Hunting


Time is running out. Need a guide to gift returns?

Happy Bargain Hunting Many Happy Returns!

Got a gift you can't use? Return it! Perhaps you received duplicate items. Maybe an article of clothing is simply not your size or color. Possibly, someone gave you a book you have already read or a CD that does not fit your musical taste. Often, a lovely gift may be cracked or missing essential pieces. What can you do?

Click here for a practical guide to gift returns. Grab those receipts, if you have them, and let's go!

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Personal Finance: 7 Simple Steps for Saving $7,000 a Year and More


Seeking simple steps to greater savings and financial security? Want to ring in savings in the new year?

Personal Finance
7 Simple Steps for Saving $7,000 a Year and More


Personal finance made simple! Here are several specific and practical (and somewhat painless) steps you can take to cut your personal expenses by more than $7,000 (US) per year! That's more than pocket change! Nearly anyone can do this!

Click here for seven simple steps you can take to trim your costs and fill your pockets with more savings each year!

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Politics: Who is Millary-Kadillary?

Here's a rhyme, a political lampoon.

This song may be sung to the tune of the children's traditional folk song, "Michael Finnegan." Learn it by rote before you vote!

The Big Chillary
A Slogan in Verse.
Could It Get Much Worse?

We once knew a woman, known as Millary;
Married a man at the distillery,
They were matched, like Jack and Jill-ary:
Vote for Mrs. Millary-Kadillary.

Way up there on Capitol Hill-ary,
She went for the great big till-ary,
Once she learned the rote and drill-ary:
Vote for Mrs. Millary-Kadillary.

With her voice so loud and shrill-ary,
She sent babes unborn to kill-ary,
Then sent us the big bad bill-ary.
Vote for Mrs. Millary-Kadillary.

She downgraded our artillery,
Waffled there upon the grill-ary.
While her mate, he sought his thrill-ary.
Vote for Mrs. Millary-Kadillary.

There's more! Click here to read the rest of The Big Chillary, by Linda Ann Nickerson.

PC College - A Poetic Rendition of College Admission


Let's peek inside the admissions office of today's politically correct college or university. What sorts of applicants do they seek? Are college and university admissions staffs really avoiding all prejudice and discrimination, or might they have some biases of their own?

PC College
A Poetic Rendition of College Admission


Our university is small,
Accepting students one and all,
Regardless of your sex or race
Come visit us, and find your place.

We don't discriminate or judge;
Your application, you can fudge.
Tell us your private information.
Claim citizenship in another nation.

Our funding comes from federal taxes;
Our ethics committee simply relaxes.
Whatever your lifestyle, we welcome you,
So please apply! We want you to!

What is PC College? Click this link to find out, as you read PC College - A Poetic Rendition of College Admission, by Linda Ann Nickerson.


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