In Case of Fire

There has been so much fire in the news this summer:  Colorado (near my brother's home) and locally from stray fireworks.  I think fire is on the top of most people's list of fearful things because of the physical and emotional pain and loss.  I admire people (like my brother-in-law, a fire chief) who choose to face the horror of fire to help others get out safely. 

However, this poem is not intended as a tribute to firefighters or to share about grief.  Rather, it speaks about the loss of material things and deciding what is the most important. 

In Case of Fire by Janet Sobczyk, 2012ⓒ

Picture this...

your house is on fire

you're the last one out.

The spouse, kids, and pets

are outside and safe.

What will you take as

you dash out the door?

A purse or wallet?

A coat and some shoes?

The photo albums?

Laptop computer?

An I-Pad or phone?

A box of jewelry?

A priceless heirloom? 

An old sports trophy?

I know what I'd take.

My prized possession

is a special gift

the children gave us

for our twenty-fifth

anniversary.

It's a published book

of precious photos

and letters from each

of our five children.

When I first saw it

it brought me to tears.

We showed it proudly

to fam'ly and friends.

Where should I keep it?

Where would it be safe

and handy to grab

to dash out the door?

Nearest the front door?

Nearest the back door?

Near the garage door?

Which way would I leave?

There's no way to guess,

I should face the facts.

No earthly treasures

are ever quite safe

from a fire or flood

or a tornado.

Every manmade thing

can break or rust or

be lost or destroyed.

I finally see

the safest treasure

is stored up above

in heaven with God.

I dedicate this to my five children, who are truly my greatest treasures, with a special thanks to Carolyn for creating the gift book which inspired this poem.  :) 

"Ladybroke"

  I thought I'd follow my last posting with another horse story. 

 This poem is about when I first got my horse and it was still so new to me.  The title is a horse term but, as a play on words, could also refer to the rider.  The ending was a temporary reaction.  As time went I became much more confident and adventurous.  

Brownie and Jan, approx 1975.

“Ladybroke” By Janet Sobczyk, 2012ⓒ

Such a good horse!

She was trained to be

loyal and obedient.

So she, of course,

didn’t nip or kick.

She was calm and, oh, so sweet.

She wasn’t young,

a bit overweight,

but I was her new owner.

I didn’t know

she could do races

in figure eights ‘round barrels.

In the pasture

some barrels were set.

She saw them and took off fast.

I was startled

and tried to hold on

but over the side I went.

I fell down hard.

She came back to me,

but stood a little too close.

In pain I yelled,

from the bumpy ground,

“You’re standing on my hand!  Move!”

A big, blue bruise

was my souvenir.

I learned a lesson that day.

Later we cruised

at a slower speed

throughout the big, green pasture.

No more racing,

no more silly tricks,

no more barrel runs for me.

Gentle pacing,

tame enough and safe

with my polite lady’s horse.

Trespassing

 When I was in junior high I was horse crazy and took riding lessons with my best friend, Helen.  Our parents bought us each a horse because there was a boarding stable fairly close to Helen's house and we could get there on our bikes. The horses were for our families to enjoy, so Helen's sister joined us frequently, but none of our other siblings had the time (or interest?) to go very often.

  Eventually, the owner of the stable sold it to our fathers, who went out regularly to maintain it.  I don't recall the dads riding much, but I think they enjoyed the barn and pasture as much as we girls did.  Some of my favorite childhood memories revolve around that place.  There are several stories from adventures on horseback with Helen, but strangely enough this is my favorite.  The heat wave we're having this summer reminded me of this day.

Trespassing  by Janet Sobczyk, 2012ⓒ

The summer sun was high

And so hot in the pale blue sky

A great day for a ride

Two friends, two horses, side by side.

Another dusty road

Gave us not a clue to forbode

The new delight in store

A fresh green meadow to explore.

Surrounded by tall trees

With barely a soft summer breeze

We reined the horses in

And admired the view with a grin.

The clover smelled so sweet

The shade above us was a treat

But soon we heard a sound

A soft humming rose from the ground.

It began very low

Then gradually started to grow

A new sight made us freeze

Literally hundreds of bees!

They flew from the clover

Angry that we had stopped over

 Not wanting to get stung

From the cool meadow – run, run, run!

So we made a mad dash

The horses took off in a flash

Down the hot dusty road

The horses didn’t need a goad.

Once the danger was gone

We slowed to a walk and laughed long

That was surely the last

Time we ever chose to trespass.

The Grass is Always Greener Across the Street

This poem was written this summer as I noticed out the window how much time the neighbor couple spends on their yard to make it look so nice.   I started thinking about other neighborhoods that I have seen or lived in.  It seems there is always a “best yard” on the block that is envied. 

A cardboard teepee makes a great summer playhouse in 1994

The Grass is Always Greener Across the Street  
 by Janet Sobczyk, 2012ⓒ 

In any neighborhood

there is a yard

better than the rest,

always green, mown,

watered, and trimmed,

with great flowers

and maybe a fountain.

It’s beautiful to see,

quite an asset.

The couple who lives

there works so hard

to keep it up,

then rests in chairs

watching the neighborhood.

Our yard was pretty, too,

when we moved in

many years ago.

Later, the kids

were born and played

all sorts of games

on our lawn everyday.

Now it’s not so pretty

with brown patches

where bases have stood.

There are some weeds

and the bushes

are overgrown,

we need to water, too.

But our kids are still young,

there are places

to go and things to do.

There’s seldom time

to do yard work,

so our poor lawn

is slightly neglected.

Yet someday there’ll be time

when kids are gone

to tend a perfect lawn.

And then we’ll sit

in our lawn chairs

watching, waiting

for the kids to visit.

But now is the time to

enjoy our kids,

don’t wish time would fly.

I much prefer

to have them here

rather than have

the best yard on the block.

The kids building snow forts in 2000

Whazzat

This week has been beastly hot in Nebraska (and other locations, too) so it brings Arizona to mind.  I was born there, but our family moved to Iowa when I was 4.

I have only been back 3 times:

once as a teenager on a family trip, once when my younger brother got married down there (where he was stationed in the Air Force), and once when Tom and I took our 4 young children for a visit.  The following poem is my favorite memory of that trip.  My most exciting memory was of the airport layovers to get there and back, but that's another story waiting to be written.  :)

In this story Joe was about 2 and a half and was only saying one or two words at a time.  That's why he didn't have the words to describe what he saw.

Amazingly, about a week after we got home, Joe started speaking in complete sentences literally overnight.  It was like he was holding back and absorbing the language until it made sense to him and he could use it like the rest of us.  He certainly didn't follow the gradual progression of language skills that our other children did.

Whazzat?!  by Janet Sobczyk, 2012ⓒ

A family trip

with our four children

from green Nebraska.

A chance to explore

the desert landscape

of Arizona.

The sun was so hot

it could melt crayons.

The cactus was tall

and prickly sharp, too.

Hairy, huge spiders,

three-inch cockroaches,

and coil'd rattlesnakes

were brand new dangers

for Nebraska kids

used to city life.

At my brother's house

where we stayed a week

our toddler Joe spied

something small and green,

quiet and so quick!

Joe ran to me and

pulled me to the spot,

pointing and panting,

couldn't describe it.

But I thought I knew,

I'd seen it before.

"Was it this big, Joe?"

I asked with hands out.

"Yes,yes," he nodded.

"Did it have a tail?"

He nodded again.

"Fast!" he said with a gasp.

"That's a lizard, Joe.

Lizards won't bite you."

But he wasn't sure

a lizard should be

loose inside a house.

  

The Irony of Spider Webs

Now, on to a light-hearted summer poem that I wrote last year.  This one is dedicated to Andrea for 2 reasons:  because she works at camps each summer and because she actually likes this poem (which is high praise from someone who isn't into poetry!)

Note from the future: this poem won first place in the Peru State College Writing Contest in 2014.

The Irony of Spider Webs  by Janet Sobczyk, 2011ⓒ

Sometimes I stand in wonder
when I see a spider web
that was woven overnight
between my car and a bush.
I stop to examine it,
sturdy and sticky enough
to catch the largest insects,
but so dainty and sparkly,
beautiful and symmetrical.
It could easily be ruin'd
by the swipe of a mean broom.

Sometimes I simply marvel
at the swift acrobatics
and skill of the small spider
who crafted this masterpiece,
and now rests at the far edge
waiting for food to be snared.
It will spring into action
like a small cowboy roping,
wrapping the victim in silk.
I ponder the poor fly's plight...
It is the circle of life.

Sometimes I don't see the web
until I've walked right through it.
I cringe from the shock of it,
then dance around peeling strands
from my face in sheer disgust.
The invisible silk sticks
in my hair, on my fingers.
I recoil in fear, just think...
the spider might be on me!

Old Photos 2

Since my last post was about photos, I thought I would follow with this one.  I wrote this right after "Old Photos" and it's more personal.

I had to think about whether I wanted to share it or not, but really I think the feelings in it are universal among women. Some of us want to lose weight and others want to gain, some wish for different hair or other physical features.  But almost every woman scrutinizes her image in a photo or mirror and sometimes is dismayed at what she "sees."

Senior photo, 1980

Old Photos  by Janet Sobczyk, 2012ⓒ

Who is that girl?

Was that really me?

Did I look like that?

So young and pretty?

Back then I thought

I was odd and fat.

Yet this girl is thin,

Did I look like that?

Can a cam'ra lie?

Are photos the truth?

Did mirrors distort,

Back in my youth?