“True Friends are Hard to Come By” poem aka a Fitting Addition to today’s earlier post that mentions me writing this

Few friends stay close, most drift away far.

This trial shows you who your true friends are.

Many people call at first, they think that is enough,

But many stop calling when the going gets tough.

At first they visit and bring food, cards and flowers

And they sit and they chat for a couple of hours.

But you keep getting sick, not improving at all

And you notice that lots of people no longer call.

A true friend knows that they don’t understand,

But their presence is precious, they always lend a helping hand.

True friends never let you feel sad or alone

And continue their visits and their calls on the phone.

True friends always show that they care.

True friends, unfortunately, are rare.

When a person is there for beginning, middle and end,

You know that you have found yourself a true friend.

The End

Risky Rolling

This poem rang true during my college years:

When I travel in a wheelchair due to AVN in my ankle and my knee,

Mom is the primary wheelchair-pusher for me.

She wheels me to college classes so I won’t fall too far behind.

She spends hours at school with me and says she doesn’t mind.

We wheel through the halls at U of M Hospital and she is a hoot.

We even wheeled over a construction worker’s foot, luckily covered with a steel-toed boot.

Crossing streets in my wheelchair in Boston caused great apprehension.

Crazy, too-fast drivers made for nothing but tons of tension.

Mom pushes the wheelchair with anything but grace

Because she is adamant about maintaining her mall-walking pace.

Mom claims she has no wheelchair license to push me

And after her rolling rides, I have to say I agree!

The End

I wrote this?!?!

Perusing my old poetry file on the laptop, I found this gem I wrote AS A KID – I can’t believe these spectacular words:

I love chocolates, I love jokes that make me laugh till I cry,

I love busy malls on Saturday, I love apple pie!

I love a sense of humor, it outshines your gloom,

Like light flooding in a dark, desolate room.

Loving and appreciating little things, I have found,

Can turn one’s outlook on life all around!

You need not search for blessings, but if you look hard enough,

They are in every nook and cranny, wedged in with the unhappy stuff.

“Laughter is the best medicine” is a good piece of advice to follow.

Without a bit of giggling, your life tends to be somewhat hollow.

I love people who shoot your selft-esteem through the roof,

And don’t poke fun at you making a goof.

I love lying in bed and daydreaming what my future holds for me,

Every day of my life is like turning a page in a good mystery.

Each day is a new present, so be creative,

‘Cause the best days are those that are innovative!

You couldn’t hire the world’s best detective to find your dreams, life is not a fable.

Each dream is unique and pertains only to you, like only a dream is able.

Anything is possible, even the littlest scheme,

Because, after all, “Life is but a dream.”

The End

HAPPY Mother’s Day!!!!

WE LOVE YOU, Mom!

WE LOVE YOU, Mom!

 

Three cheers for MOM!

Three cheers for MOM!

This poem I wrote at age 13 was penned as if our cat Lacey wrote these words to our magnificent mother:

My Mommy

You buy my food, you give me water.

I feel like your biological daughter.

You brought me in from a cat show.

As I recall, it was in Toledo.

At a mere five months, you changed my view.

Of the world, and of you.

I appreciate you cleaning my litter box, and me.

Even though I hate baths, I tolerate them, you see.

Cat treats and cat nip, I love to eat.

Mommy, you’re the best to me.

I know I eat flies, I know I throw up.

But ain’t I better than a pup?

Every morning I watch you make lunches, which is really neat.

Especially when you have lunch meat!

I like to watch birds, ducks, and squirrels.

I wish I could buy you some pretty pearls.

Even though sometimes I run outside.

I love where I live, it’s my joy and pride.

Mommy, have a happy day!

Today, the eleventh of May.

By: Lacey Barta

May 10, 1997

Yea Mom!

Yea Mom!

And skip ahead several years:

 

“An Encouraging Word” poem I wrote in ’05 at age 21

I wrote this poem still thinking that my cane was a temporary annoyance. Little did I know . . .

Stepping outside the theater where Jess and I saw Hitch today,

An elderly man stopped me while I was on my way.

I braced myself for the worst, ‘cuz negative remarks I’ve previously heard,

So I was more than pleasantly surprised to hear an encouraging word.

The man had a one-point cane but said he’d had one like mine,

But he had graduated, I saw, and was walking nearly fine.

He asked how long I’d had the cane and I answered him “June.”

His kind and understanding eyes assured me I’d be cane-less soon.

He said his name was Lou and asked my name, which I said so he could hear,

Even though I currently have trouble with “m” sounds, he repeated my name, clear.

Walking without a cane in hand is something I know I can do,

Thanks to the encouraging words of a nice man I call “Sweet Lou.”

The End

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

“Mother & Son” poem

Mother and son, a bond you can’t break,

A loving but comical pair they do make!

Mommy’s on the phone, trying to smooth out credit for Thom,

But there’s always time to sneak a peek at craigslist.com.

Keeping the babe quiet and content is crucial, Mommy knows.

She’ll pop in a video about piggly-wiggly toes.

Sitting on the couch, he is curled in her lap,

Mommy continues to work while babe takes a much needed nap.

Time to eat, so infant gets strapped in his highchair

And Ritz cracker crumbs are soon spread everywhere.

Soggy particles of food stick to his shirt and the floor.

Don’t fret about the mess, ‘cuz that’s what a vacuum’s for.

Out comes the hose, suctioning and loud,

But whatever mess he creates, he still makes his Mommy proud.

Daddy is at work and is a sport-loving spouse.

Around dinnertime he’ll join his wife and son at their ranch style house.

During the day there is work, there is fun,

A doting Mommy and a practically “perfect” son.

The End

“Fallen”

Previous (I decade ago) poetry:

My nephew & me in my wheelchair back near home another day

My nephew & me in my wheelchair (we’re nearly in a ditch because our car broke down but that’s a whole other story!) back near home a different day

On the streets of Chicago, I will confide,

The uneven sidewalks made for, at the least, a risky ride.

Carrie pushed me in my wheelchair as I held my nephew on my lap.

We crossed many streets and went to many stores, including Gap.

One time on the sidewalk, trying to cross a chaotic street,

Traveling in my wheelchair turned out to be a devastating feat.

Out I flew and slammed onto the rock-hard street, landing on my right,

It happened so fast – it seemed to me, faster than the speed of light.

There I lay in the street, stunned and unable to move,

Strangers swarmed the baby first before my plight would improve.

Soon after, in front of the Holiday Inn,

What do you know? It happened AGAIN.

With throbbing knees and a body, beat up and sore,

The bellman attended to Carrie and her son, but me? He chose to ignore.

Feeling lower than dirt and unimportant and such,

I felt the aforementioned things much.

Staff at the hotel disregarded me, like I wasn’t even there,

Perhaps because of a little contraption I sat in – I call it my wheelchair.

Do people fear what they don’t know, like my method of motion?

The reason for their terrible treatment I have no concrete notion.

The End