Rhyme & Reason - a reason to rhyme

My mother, in her sixties  A cardiac arrest Did suffer, just a mild one, She had many-a-test, She ended up in hospital, 'Wired-up' to heart machine, Which monitored its function, Can be a scary scene. Remained there for a few weeks Under the doctor's care, It really was a blessing That she did make it, there. Knowing it's genetic SHOULD make me, wary, be, Though I've a little secret, That does take care of me. So while in my genetics, No worries, I confess, Too many folk have told me that..... ........ I'm totally 'heart-less'

 Working in a nursing home Right here in Kitchener, Retirement area, my domain, Night duty, I'd be there. Oft'times, aft working day shift  Out in community, My schedule did allow the time, Those various  shifts to see. Was in "Retirement" area, Though oft' short handed were, In area of  'nursing home', Some of us, would work there. Two reasons, give a hand to staff, Also, to build up hours, Many had to work two jobs To keep their homes and cars. Now management, (ne'er did our job) New ruling, he'd edict, That solely ONE area Could work, without conflict. Thus, many of us 'carers' Lost hours, to make ends meet, So second job essential, To keep us on our feet. Aft' working in community, To nursing home, would drive, To keep food on the table A must, to keep alive. Whene'er I reached the placement, Informed I was, by staff,  "You have to work in nursing care", I really had to laugh. Informed them that 'head honcho' F...

 It's been predicted, eons past, That come the latter days, People will search out others Whose similar viewpoint, plays . Whether truth or lying, It's what they want to hear, It gives them 'feel good' factor From stranger, friend or peer. The place where I'm residing, Retirement home, no less, Some folk act, like they have power, They think they're 'it', I guess. Just recently, one res'dent, Too young to be ' inmate ' He acts as if he OWNS the place, Makes some of us irate. He thinks he has some special jobs, That won't be carried through 'less he gets to perform them all Gives him something to do. At 4.00p.m. late summer time  It still is very light, He started pulling down the blinds, As if 'twas early night. Aft' chastising him openly, Nurse did agree with me The blinds, he raised back up again, So everyone could see. Soon aft., at nearby table, 'Twas heard, my name, mentioned, His table mates, condemning  MY actions, ...

"Army insects" scurrying, O'er pavement, dirt or soil,  Their world is just a garden, Where they do all their toil. They march quick, all directions, No atlas, map, cell phone, They have an innate radar, To keep them, where they're goin'. For sustenance they're searching, Their tiny bodies, feed, No superstores in their world, To supply all they need. Beyond the realms of universe, We too, like scurrying ants, Scurry here and thither  To provide for our wants. We're seen by the Creator, He knows each of us well, Why, He knows all our 'ins and outs', Created, every cell.

 Many moons ago, late teen years, 'Youth group' leader, now passed, An elder in my church, then, His cancer, took him, fast. Good friend to eldest brother, Knew ALL our fam-il-y,  One day before my birthday, Those Heaven's Gates, he'd see. Unbeknownst to me, years earlier, My parents, he had told, "Your Colin has the 'Gift of Helps' He'd seen that gift unfold. Our church choir, I had joined it At seventeen years old, Didn't know what part I'd sing there, "Sound like a bass", was told. So when I'd joined the choir there, Sat 'tween two men, one blind, Th'other, he'd suffered a Stroke, In middle, you'd, me, find. Back then, I still had seizures, Though with them, took the role, Of caring for those members, It seemed I'd found my goal. The blind guy, I would lead in, Remind which hymn, was due, Th'other, hymn book open, T'whatever hymn was due. Aft' career in caring over, It came eas'ly to me, I STI...

People often grumble About, how they were raised, Perhaps they may do something grand, End up, not, being praised. They may have had to struggle long And sore, to make ends meet, While coveting their neighbour who Could  re-lax more, raised feet. These same folk, admire jewelry, Without full story known, The work, of how the gems 'became' To make that stone that's glowin' With some great fete accomplished,  A piece of common coal Becomes a precious jewel, That end game, is its goal. So when in life you struggle, While others 'breeze right through' Just think about that "jewel" That's being made, through you. "A diamond is just a piece of coal, that               did well under pressure"

As youngest in the family, A dozen, halved, - all boys, We learned to share together, Both clothing, also toys. Bought good, so 'twould last longer, With solely, one wage earned, My father's mother stayed at home, So that is how he learned. Alas these days, all vestments,  Once, made to last, don't now, A few times on the body, The seams open, somehow. The stitching, loose or broken, Some holes appear, too soon, Some folk know nought 'bout sewing, So garments, gone, like balloon. Just recently, with a friend, A pair of shoes, on sole, Some glue or stitches missing, Beginning of a hole. Some power glue, happened to have, So asked him for the shoe, Restuck the sole to leather, Will do, a year or two. Richard's (Fergus Place) shoe.

One fruit I LOVE for sust'nance, Is long and curved, starts, green. Then changes to a yellow  When, ripe for eating, seen. Acquaintances, I do have, Who, 'when-one' black mark, on skin, Is seen on their banana,  Will throw into the bin. I know this person's mother,  A older gal, retired, So I made a comparison  To make my point desired. Told her, some folk get 'age marks' When older, they become, Though doesn't mean their useless Still have a heart, and some. So when those 'marked' bananas Were ready for her trash, Kept them for me, for eating, It sure saved me, some cash.

As the youngest sibling All six of us dear boys, Many 'hand-me-downs' received  Of clothes, and even toys. When last three, with our parents, A country drive, would go, The two above me, would demand  A seat by the window. So I was stuck in middle, I wasn't giv'n a choice, I yearned to b'able to have one, But couldn't, my say, voice. So 'piggy in the middle' For aye, it seemed, was I, Even at home, on sofa,  To complain, I dare not cry. Now older, with more 'say so' I actually prefer  The mid seat, car or sofa, A sense of safety, there. Encased between two others,  Protection, all around, Shielded by those bodies, 'Security', there, found.