My Favorite Actor
Guess Who?
He’s thirty-six but looks much older
Thirty-six, but behaves much younger
Inspires in women -- of all ages
A mysterious sexual hunger
He’s Scots but Irish by descent
Smokes packs of fags a day
And when he was a drinker
Could really put it away
Once a law school student
Who wasn’t very sober
He sang in a rock band Speed
‘Til his schooling was abruptly over
His hair is dark and curly
Especially when it’s long
But when he cuts it all off
Doesn’t look all that wrong
He’s prematurely graying
But he’s still quite a hunk
And all the sources say
He doesn’t live much like a monk
His dancin’ drives the ladies wild
His voice works like a charm
And if he likes to shag a lot
Well, no one sees the harm
He’s an actor in exciting roles
He auditions for movies galore
But his millions of adorin’ fans
Want to see him star in more
He was Creedy in Reign of Fire
And Marek in Creighton’s Timeline
Of course he was the Phantom
And played Dracula one time
He’s rarely on television
His movies mostly foreign
His fans are anxious to see Beowulf
The long wait is getting boring
A magnificent master of dialects
This handsome muscle-wrapped man
Can do any accent he chooses
To the delight of his worldwide fans
Could use a good razor for a change
Or at least a closer shave
But nonetheless his style is fuzzy
Like he ascended from a cave
Fans hope for lots more movies
He can sing for us ‘til he’s hoarse
And bravely do his own stunts
Only until he’s famous of course
We fans yearn to hug and kiss him
We love his he-man might
And when we crawl into our beds
We dream of him all night
By Sandy Schairer, 6/28/06 ©
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Dealing With It
Dealing With It
by Sandy Schairer
Truth
Quite a concept
Rushes at me
Without reserve.
Not ready yet,
For it, I raise my hands to cover my eyes.
.
Save me from life
By living.
From death
By living, too.
.
I move forward in time
As if it were a choice.
Moving toward
Old and tired or
Wise and strong?
That is my true choice, in truth.
.
June 20, 2006
by Sandy Schairer
Truth
Quite a concept
Rushes at me
Without reserve.
Not ready yet,
For it, I raise my hands to cover my eyes.
.
Save me from life
By living.
From death
By living, too.
.
I move forward in time
As if it were a choice.
Moving toward
Old and tired or
Wise and strong?
That is my true choice, in truth.
.
June 20, 2006
Frogs and Goals
Frogs and Goals
Think
Of goal-setting
And
Just going with the flow
This way
If you were a frog
On the shore of the pond
And wanted to get to the other side
This would be your goal
Set this goal
DO IT
Now are you going to walk around the water on land?
Jump from rock to rock and hope there’s enough
And you won’t be stranded on an island in the stark middle of nowhere?
Or are you going to plunge in and swim
And hope the currents are right?
(A lot of frogs do that. We never from them again.)
No.
What you do is
You hop onto the Lilly pads
That just happen to be there
Go jump from one to the next
And jump again
Until you reach
Your goal
That’s life
That’s how it’d done.
Ribbet
Sandy Schairer
June 2006
Think
Of goal-setting
And
Just going with the flow
This way
If you were a frog
On the shore of the pond
And wanted to get to the other side
This would be your goal
Set this goal
DO IT
Now are you going to walk around the water on land?
Jump from rock to rock and hope there’s enough
And you won’t be stranded on an island in the stark middle of nowhere?
Or are you going to plunge in and swim
And hope the currents are right?
(A lot of frogs do that. We never from them again.)
No.
What you do is
You hop onto the Lilly pads
That just happen to be there
Go jump from one to the next
And jump again
Until you reach
Your goal
That’s life
That’s how it’d done.
Ribbet
Sandy Schairer
June 2006
Vanished
Vanished ?
Joyous day
Come again
Youth we did not appreciate
Gone away
Love
Independent of form
It takes what means it can
And blazes through it
Thank God
by Sandy Schairer
6/20/09
Joyous day
Come again
Youth we did not appreciate
Gone away
Love
Independent of form
It takes what means it can
And blazes through it
Thank God
by Sandy Schairer
6/20/09
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
EA Poe Poet
E.A. Poe: Poet
by Sandy Schairer
6/14/06
I used to love the poet
Edgar Allen Poe
The way he had his sounds
All lined up in a row
His clanging and banging
Of bells galore
And a raven who sat
On the top of his door
And when the clock chimed
Would say “Nevermore”
~
I thought his hard life
Made his talents more sharp
But his teenaged dead bride
Made his view sort of dark
A lot of his problem was
Drugging and drink
It drained his life’s blood
And beauty, I think
~
And now what’s a poet?
A silly old woman
Who sits with a pen
And tries to stay human
Are poems ever read?
It’s all mystery adventure
Like Da Vinci Code
And works of joint venture
So I'll bid Poe farewell
Go soak in the bath
And scatter some poems
On my own writing path.
End
by Sandy Schairer
6/14/06
I used to love the poet
Edgar Allen Poe
The way he had his sounds
All lined up in a row
His clanging and banging
Of bells galore
And a raven who sat
On the top of his door
And when the clock chimed
Would say “Nevermore”
~
I thought his hard life
Made his talents more sharp
But his teenaged dead bride
Made his view sort of dark
A lot of his problem was
Drugging and drink
It drained his life’s blood
And beauty, I think
~
And now what’s a poet?
A silly old woman
Who sits with a pen
And tries to stay human
Are poems ever read?
It’s all mystery adventure
Like Da Vinci Code
And works of joint venture
So I'll bid Poe farewell
Go soak in the bath
And scatter some poems
On my own writing path.
End
Comments and your original POEMS
welcome -- click on "comments" below
Keep it clean
Poetry: Insomnia Pays Off
Poem by Sandy Schairer 6/14/2006
Insomnia Pays Off
There once was a woman
Who just could not sleep
She drank cups of warm milk
And tried counting sheep
.
She tossed and she turned
Then put on the light
And went out of her room
And into the night
.
She descended the stairs
And wandered the house
Walking in darkness
A scared little mouse
.
Next day at the libr’ry
She checked out some books
With a stack of sixteen
She drew quite some looks
.
She read Mark Twain’s essays
And all about hist’ry
Romance and then SciFi
Of course tons of myst’ry
.
When her eyes grew so heavy
She gave a big yawn
And looked out the window
It was already dawn
.
She gave up on her reading
Books way overdue
So she turned them all in
Wondered next what to do
.
Getting some pens
And of course reams of paper
She began to write stories
Stayed up even later
.
When her M.S. was done
She switched off the light
And crawled into bed
Fell asleep, hoped she might
.
Her book soon was published
Sold copies galore
Up way past midnight
She wrote several more
.
Her lover soon left her
(Felt cold in the bed)
And found a young blond
To sleep with instead
.
But our best-selling author
Was rich past her dreams
Hardly did miss him
While riding moonbeams
.
Her book signings successful
With lines ‘round the block
But always were scheduled
Way past 9 o’clock
.
Only night-owls came to her
To get autographs
Her life was just wonderful
And full of great laughs!
.
The End
.
~Sandy Schairer 6-14-06
.
Insomnia Pays Off
There once was a woman
Who just could not sleep
She drank cups of warm milk
And tried counting sheep
.
She tossed and she turned
Then put on the light
And went out of her room
And into the night
.
She descended the stairs
And wandered the house
Walking in darkness
A scared little mouse
.
Next day at the libr’ry
She checked out some books
With a stack of sixteen
She drew quite some looks
.
She read Mark Twain’s essays
And all about hist’ry
Romance and then SciFi
Of course tons of myst’ry
.
When her eyes grew so heavy
She gave a big yawn
And looked out the window
It was already dawn
.
She gave up on her reading
Books way overdue
So she turned them all in
Wondered next what to do
.
Getting some pens
And of course reams of paper
She began to write stories
Stayed up even later
.
When her M.S. was done
She switched off the light
And crawled into bed
Fell asleep, hoped she might
.
Her book soon was published
Sold copies galore
Up way past midnight
She wrote several more
.
Her lover soon left her
(Felt cold in the bed)
And found a young blond
To sleep with instead
.
But our best-selling author
Was rich past her dreams
Hardly did miss him
While riding moonbeams
.
Her book signings successful
With lines ‘round the block
But always were scheduled
Way past 9 o’clock
.
Only night-owls came to her
To get autographs
Her life was just wonderful
And full of great laughs!
.
The End
.
~Sandy Schairer 6-14-06
.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Mythological Voice
Exercise at Writer to Writer talk about Writing in Your Mythological Voice. 6/12/06, Albuquerque. (By the way, the traffic is horrendous that time of day!)
.
There once was a woman who collected notebooks. Some of these notebooks had dates and some had lines, some had elaborate covers in beautiful blue or delightful orange. Sometimes they had designs on them, or the name of the company that printed them. They were all different except for one fact—they all had empty spaces, places to add things. Places to write or draw or scribble.
.
So you see, this woman who collected notebooks had a deep hidden passion to be a writer, an artist, and a scribbler.
.
She had a notebook just for poems. She had a notebook for stories. She had one for journaling her journeys through spirit, and through the world, and for work. She also had notebooks for memories and pet stories, and complaints and movie reviews. She even had a notebook for ideas and one was actually for notes!
.
But even stranger, was the fact, that she never ever read her notebooks. Once they were full, they went on the shelf and became dust-catchers.
.
Her husband built her shelves for them and refrained from complaining or from dusting them. and then one day, he asked her what should he do with them in the event of her untimely demise.
.
This was shock to her. She assumed someone someday would want to read them. Even him. Even her. A friend suggested she tell him, “Give them to my biographer, of course!” while sipping wine with a rose behind her ear.
.
She thought about it for days, weeks, years. Then of course the idea came to her and she opened a new spiral notebook with college-ruled lines and a red cover and entitled it, “What to do with my stuff when I’m gone.”
.
There once was a woman who collected notebooks. Some of these notebooks had dates and some had lines, some had elaborate covers in beautiful blue or delightful orange. Sometimes they had designs on them, or the name of the company that printed them. They were all different except for one fact—they all had empty spaces, places to add things. Places to write or draw or scribble.
.
So you see, this woman who collected notebooks had a deep hidden passion to be a writer, an artist, and a scribbler.
.
She had a notebook just for poems. She had a notebook for stories. She had one for journaling her journeys through spirit, and through the world, and for work. She also had notebooks for memories and pet stories, and complaints and movie reviews. She even had a notebook for ideas and one was actually for notes!
.
But even stranger, was the fact, that she never ever read her notebooks. Once they were full, they went on the shelf and became dust-catchers.
.
Her husband built her shelves for them and refrained from complaining or from dusting them. and then one day, he asked her what should he do with them in the event of her untimely demise.
.
This was shock to her. She assumed someone someday would want to read them. Even him. Even her. A friend suggested she tell him, “Give them to my biographer, of course!” while sipping wine with a rose behind her ear.
.
She thought about it for days, weeks, years. Then of course the idea came to her and she opened a new spiral notebook with college-ruled lines and a red cover and entitled it, “What to do with my stuff when I’m gone.”
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Prayer Gets Results
Prayer Gets Results
One thing I have always been proud of (in a non-conceited way) is that I have friends with different beliefs and ideologies than I have, and we get along well. Some are fundamentalists in religion, some non-believers, and conservatives in politics and even Bush supporters and military folks, even tho I am anti-war [on general principles of finding a non-violent way to solve differences] and I'm inot different forms spirituality, so to speak.
The thing I find is that we are all Americans and support each others right to freedom of belief in whatever form it takes. The old saying holds sway, "I may not agree with what you say, but I will defend, to the death, your right to say it!!!!"
And lets face it, we are all praying to the same Divine Being no matter what we call God in our heart of hearts.
A relative of mine, who lives at a distance from me, and I both have children and grandchildren all around the same ages, and we write now and again and let each other know how our families are doing. But mostly, we write to request specific prayer. We pray for each other and our various kids when we feel one or more of them are standing in the need of prayer and God's love and protection. (I must admit, I have never seen more rapid and/or thorough answers this particular branch of the family gets from their prayers!!! It's no wonder I request prayer from them as well as my minister, local friends, and church, when I need some spiritual support.)
She just wrote me today with this miraculous story....
"As you know our son is in Iraq and I wanted to share this with you and give glory to God at the same time! Yesterday, his humvee was hit by an IED. He and his guys were called out to investigate a dirt mound by the road. He had his driver pull up on the opposite side of the dirt mound (the side away from the road). When they pulled up, the IED exploded. It blew their humvee over. The truck behind them thought they were all dead. They were in a cloud of dust and smoke. But they all walked away from it, with headaches and ringing ears from the noise and pressure, but NO serious injuries. All the shrapnel blew into the road. After EOD cleared it, they went back and they found shrapnel and exactly half of the 125mm round was still intact. Only the side facing away from them blew up. He told his men that if they looked close at the round, they could see God's hand print. They all stopped and thanked God... even the atheist of the group! Keep praying for our son and his guys. Our prayers are working!!!
And more good news along this line, I requested prayer from her for my oldest son who has been very sick in California for about six months. Just last week, he finally found substantial help that he needed. He was in the hospital, assigned a social worker to help find him medical financial aid and he is now in a men's shelter for further rehabilitation and possibly long-term assistance until or if and when he can get back on his feet. I asked for prayer for him, and I just knew it would get results, even though it has taken six months. In addition, my son asked me to mail him a little cross to wear around his neck again to remind him of God's love.
Keep praying and expect miracles. Don't just believe, know that God cares.
Keep an attitude of gratitude.
Blessed be, Sandy
One thing I have always been proud of (in a non-conceited way) is that I have friends with different beliefs and ideologies than I have, and we get along well. Some are fundamentalists in religion, some non-believers, and conservatives in politics and even Bush supporters and military folks, even tho I am anti-war [on general principles of finding a non-violent way to solve differences] and I'm inot different forms spirituality, so to speak.
The thing I find is that we are all Americans and support each others right to freedom of belief in whatever form it takes. The old saying holds sway, "I may not agree with what you say, but I will defend, to the death, your right to say it!!!!"
And lets face it, we are all praying to the same Divine Being no matter what we call God in our heart of hearts.
A relative of mine, who lives at a distance from me, and I both have children and grandchildren all around the same ages, and we write now and again and let each other know how our families are doing. But mostly, we write to request specific prayer. We pray for each other and our various kids when we feel one or more of them are standing in the need of prayer and God's love and protection. (I must admit, I have never seen more rapid and/or thorough answers this particular branch of the family gets from their prayers!!! It's no wonder I request prayer from them as well as my minister, local friends, and church, when I need some spiritual support.)
She just wrote me today with this miraculous story....
"As you know our son is in Iraq and I wanted to share this with you and give glory to God at the same time! Yesterday, his humvee was hit by an IED. He and his guys were called out to investigate a dirt mound by the road. He had his driver pull up on the opposite side of the dirt mound (the side away from the road). When they pulled up, the IED exploded. It blew their humvee over. The truck behind them thought they were all dead. They were in a cloud of dust and smoke. But they all walked away from it, with headaches and ringing ears from the noise and pressure, but NO serious injuries. All the shrapnel blew into the road. After EOD cleared it, they went back and they found shrapnel and exactly half of the 125mm round was still intact. Only the side facing away from them blew up. He told his men that if they looked close at the round, they could see God's hand print. They all stopped and thanked God... even the atheist of the group! Keep praying for our son and his guys. Our prayers are working!!!
And more good news along this line, I requested prayer from her for my oldest son who has been very sick in California for about six months. Just last week, he finally found substantial help that he needed. He was in the hospital, assigned a social worker to help find him medical financial aid and he is now in a men's shelter for further rehabilitation and possibly long-term assistance until or if and when he can get back on his feet. I asked for prayer for him, and I just knew it would get results, even though it has taken six months. In addition, my son asked me to mail him a little cross to wear around his neck again to remind him of God's love.
Keep praying and expect miracles. Don't just believe, know that God cares.
Keep an attitude of gratitude.
Blessed be, Sandy
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)