The Children

They're giving me ulcers & graying my hair
with the glazed-over eyes and "I don't know" stares,
Sometimes I feel that they don't even care,
those children!

Their monkey antics make me grumble and puff,
So whiny, and always forgetting their stuff,
Some days I feel that I've had enough
of those children!

They go instantly crazy in a hallway crowd,
They'll earn a detention and act so proud,
Oh mercy, why are they being so loud?
Those children!

"Are you kidding?" "Didn't I just explain?"
"It's not too hard if you use your brain!"
Oh where did they learn to be such a pain?
Those children!

But

I can always count on a genuine smile,
a high five, or a hug, complements on my style,
and I miss them if I don't see them for a while,
my children.

Their minds are so young, their faces so sweet;
some of them sloppy, some of them neat,
And I'm grateful I was given the chance to meet
my children!

Sometimes they're my angels, sometimes their a clown,
Sometimes I could ship them right out of town!
But you'd better believe I'd take anyone down
who tried to harm my children.

They come to me wide-eyed, how quickly they part;
They're teenage adventures just beginning to start,
And each an every one holds a place in my heart,
my children!

I still remember....

Empty canvases stacked against the wall
lay hidden away in my art closet
like prisoners
begging me to put them to their intended used
every time I open the door.
Bits of unfinished,
in-progress,
or to do projects
litter the floor,
shelves,
corners,
put away for a day
when I have time,
or inspiration,
or energy.
I feel like a part of me lives in that closet-
the creator, the Artist-
waiting for a turn to occupy myself
again.
But the day-to-day Keeper of the Household
is hogging the space.
Your time will come;
I still remember you!