Dedicated to my childless friends, Georgia, Sue, Karlene, Hazel Hix and the
Many other ladies who by fate or by choice were not mothers.

To all of the ladies, who never had babies,
Whether they chose it or not,
What they missed was the scabies, the dog bites with rabies,
The ringworms, full diapers and snot.

When you are a mother, you don’t feel like a lover,
There seems to be no time for you,
You must stifle your yawns, ‘cause you’re up with the dawn,
Cleaning vomit when they’ve got the flu.

A girlfriend I know, phones and asks me to go,
Out to lunch or a swim in the lake,
She has no sick babies, no pigtails need braiding,
No doctor appointments to make.

While she sips on wine, at the pub where she dines,
My baby sips milk from my breast,
While she is out dancing, in dresses so fancy,
I’m still in my robe and not dressed.

My money all goes, to buy new children’s clothes,
And I have only two pairs of shoes,
While this childless female, cries over a hangnail,
I cry over spilt milk and burnt stew.

My hall has graffiti; as she tans in Tahiti,
Disneyland’s our vacation each year,
As the children play chase, I pack their suit case,
Cram the ice chest with juice and cheap beer.

When the kids become teens, sometimes they get mean,
Saying things like “I hate Mom and Dad,
The reward comes too late, when they no longer hate,
These adults are the best friends I’ve had.

So, to all of you women, who thought life was a lemon,
Just because you had no little clones,
Through the years you’ve been free, not a mother like me,
In a glass house where no one threw stones.

 
ODE TO MY MOTHER-IN-LAW
© 08/05/2005 by Linda V. Stewart

 
There's a very sweet li'l old lady I know,
Who has not a dime to spare,
That's 'cause she gave it all away,
With a generous heart that's rare.
She never has been wealthy,
But selfish, she is NOT,
Her late husband was a garbage man,
But, she saw that others got.
 
She's never been to Hawaii yet,
And never gone to France,
Never mattered to her 'bout where she's been,
She just enjoys "the dance".
 
"The Dance" to her was making sure,
That no one did without, 
The weak, the poor, the misunderstood,
Among those she cares about.
Don't get me wrong about this widow lady,
She's never thought she's a saint,
She just never aspired to be, 
Somebody that she ain't.
 
The lady never criticizes,
The beggar walking by,
She just keeps on believing,
But, for the grace of God, go I.
 
Who will lend a hand to her,
Whenever she's in need?
She never even thinks of that,
She just does the good deed.
 
I wonder if you know her....
She's the one with a soul that smiles,
The one who always helps you out, 
That goes that extra mile.
 
My husband truly is lucky, 
She's his dear sweet little mother,
Every child would love to have,
This mother like no other!
 
No wonder my husband's the very best,
She taught him how to love,
Mother Teresa was wonderful,
But, this one's the runner up.
 

From Linda V. Stewart 14100 Olympic Dr. Clearlake, Ca. 95422 707-995-0771
http://www.myspace.com/lindavstewart

RED HATTERS AT THE GOLDEN GATE 
© Linda V. Stewart
January 29, 2006
Professional poets and Lake County writers
Gathered late on a cold winter day,
Recitals of serious poetry flourished;
All their third eyes looked ever so gay. 
Some men had beards and long pony tails,
Wearing spectacles and being intellectual,
Such brilliant vocabularies, they solemely spoke, 
Not suspecting the next act was sexual.
When the MC invited her up on the stage, 
He wondered what poems she would know,
The woman had come to showcase her art,
Resembling an old Marilyn Monroe. 
In her black velvet dress and spike-heeled shoes, 
She stalked up with a great deal of flaunting,
She threw back her unruly bottle bleached hair,
With a style that left every man wanting.
When she put on her CD, we saw who she was, 
A short white Tina Turner disguise,
Mouthing the words "Better Be Good to Me", 
As she winked and enthralled all the guys.

The white haired MC was in awe as she danced,
His mouth opened and drooled from his tongue,
Said he was hung over from last night's drunk,
But, by now, he was just.... well........ hung. 

The crowd got so quiet, and some had to blush,
Every man's eyes were glued to her chest, 
The church ladies probably thought, Oh, MY OH MY,
Could this be a cleavage contest?
The weird lady before her, wore a push-up bra, 
And she wrote of her husband's buck knife,
She read silly poems 'bout diarrea and dead cats,
I'm surprised she was anyone's wife...... 
If you've ever heard of a club called Red Hats,
Then you'll know that these ladies were them,
They will spit in the street, and eat dessert first,
On a dare hang tits up on a limb. 
Believe it or not, once upon a time, 
Some of them have been church ladies too,
'Til one of them said, "Hey, this isn't much fun,
I think we should try something new!
So, they wear purple clothes, they color their hair,
With a flare, they all don their red hats,
They cuss, they drink and they talk about sex, 
They say it's not just for bad alley cats. 
When their time is up and they head on up yonder,
They'll both meet at the same Golden Gate,
The church ladies rush in, the Red Hatters will pause,
'Cause they won't make old St. Peter wait! 

© by Linda V. Stewart

02/24/2006

						
I was dreaming of sugar plums, dancing in my head,
Just before it was time to get up out of bed,
When I tossed one leg out, like I do to get cool,
My foot landed into a mushy, wet pool.

It did not come up smelling like any rose,
I awoke with some offal permeating my nose. 
A collar bell rang as the dog hit the floor,
Good morning I said, as he ran out the door.

In the grand scheme of things, this is one more small smudge,
I've learned that it's best to pretend it's just fudge.
An obstacle, a curve, one more challenge for me,
A problem to solve, but first, can I go pee?

Lately there's too many lows and no highs,
Suddenly my bladder was right between my eyes,
So, I laid in bed crying, not feeling mature,
How silly to cry for spilt milk or manure.

So, I rose out of bed doing hopscotch to miss,
All the gooey dog mess, as I longed for some bliss,
I gagged, then I laughed, but my husband overheard,
I said "Hopscotch is fun when your marker's a turd!" 

"Did the dog squeeze a loaf?"  Honey said with a curse,
I said, "Just a few, I know you've seen it worse!"
On the universe blackboard this is barely a speck,
But a straw broke the camel's back on his last trek.

No, my back is not broken, and I can still walk, 
It's just a small crack, and I'll soon find the caulk. 
When troubles abound you and ther's no end in sight,
Play hopscotch, my friend, or just go fly a kite.