Poetry

Rings 'n Things

Another year and still not wed--

Another year and still not dead.

And if you're still not wed or dead,

THEN WAIT! There's something to be said

For this little in-between thing

This waiting for a ring thing

This waiting for the mother in you to be kind of thing thing!

When you're almost there to that time when you could be--

Holding hands, holding a baby, or holding a plain old B.A. degree,

Or better still, why not holding all three?

With a nice man to hold, thrown in for good measure,

As just a little something on the side for you to treasure!

"Sounds great!" you say, "But where can I find him?

I've hunted and waited and pleaded and waited and anticipated and waited and waited and waited

For something to be--

But that BE just won't be--

So, here I am not wed.

Here I am not dead!"

And what's wrong with that I ask you now?

Isn't there something to be said for this thing that we pray for

Every night and every day for

Why we were created in this way for?

...A factor called Time, whom I think you know well, dear.

He's the one who gets blamed when things aren't done NOW, dear!

And the one we sometimes stare in the face

As we continue the race to keep up the fast pace

Of an explosive today, that sadly waits for no man--

Least of all no female who just waits for A man!

There's no time to waste or to be a quitter!

No time to mope and say, "I'd rather be bitter!"

It's the most beautiful thing yet for a girl who's so new at it!

It's the most grand thing of all for a girl who spends time at it!

It's the most wonderful thing ever that a girl could be doing!

This it that she's doing, this it she's construing--

Takes TIME--that sublime kind of time

When we can think it all out, how we want it to be

When we become two, when we become three, when we become four, five and MORE 

Til, one day--we'll have to pry deep in that thing called Memory

To recall that onceuponatime when WE was just ME!

There are a million and one happy things to be done!

"Why, a million and one?  There must be at least two!"

All right, O.K., so have it your way!

Two million and two!

There's a lot to be doing, I agree!  Now, don't you?

Have you ever made pasta?

Can you do Polish toast?

And what if your Scout needs a knot for his post?

I'm asking you NOW because someday you'll see

That your son's favorite thing may just be a tree!

And where will YOU be when that tree grabs your son up

And traps him up there from sun until dawn up?

How well can you climb?

What's your climbing time?

Are you really in shape for these things we call boys?

Could you be a part of these grand boy-ish joys?

And what if your daughter needs a dress or a coat?

And you sew just so so.

But she needs a hint.

Now here's a hint for that seamstress you could be--

A hint for that seamstress you've got time to WILL be.

Every stitch you sew now will someday come back

When you need a new dress or there's a costume you lack!

Do you samba?

Or say--can you cook geese?

And I once maybe dreamed it or somebody schemed it...

But men like a woman who's read War and Peace!

"It's a million pages long!!" you screech in my ear!

Well, my dear, never fear!  You've a year, or a year, maybe even a Year!

So, you've got to start devouring every book you can drink in,

And there's no time like NOW time for a better time to sink in!

The mother, the wife, the great woman you'll be

Are now anxiously waiting for a time to be free!

And what better time for making them grow

Than NOW when you can concentrate and really let GO--

So...Go!

Bake a schnitzel!

Write a book or a song!

Take up juggling!

Teach yourself to play ping pong!

Learn to scuba!

Or go build an A-model car!

Enjoy a good play---Better  still, be the STAR!

Wake up!  Get going!

Pay yourself very deep mind!

And prepare yourself now for that One of a Kind

Who looks past the ruffles and giggles and curls

To see if this female is a Girl of All Girls!

There are a million and one things for you to be doing--

Two million and two roads that now need pursuing!

And who knows who or what you'll be running across

As you prepare for the World's Greatest Loss to be Lost!

That's you, my sweet pretty, for soon you'll be lost, to the bonds of that sweet blissful state

We dub Marriage!

When you think just how CLOSE it brings downright plain SCARE--age!

So, be glad and thank stars for this little in-between thing,

This almost-but-not-yet that's ours without asking,

This all-systems-go that makes waiting for ring things

A blessing, a privilege, and an Adventure to bring thing.

--M. Taggart

May 6, 1973 (at the end of my sophomore year at B.Y.U.)


UNTITLED

Like a fresh dew drop from heaven, nurtured in a Father's love,
Comes a daughter of priceless beauty trailing radiance from the sun above.
And nurtured here by a mother's touch and the smile of a father's care
She blossoms into a flowering child, a perfect angel unaware.

An angel in faded bluejeans with a tear across one knee
And a song in her steps taken two at a time as she learns what it means to be free.
Yet often she'll hide all her blossoms, and a dandelion she'll be,
But minutes away her true self will appear--for she's growing eternally.

A seed, a child, a woman--the cycle of life goes on,
As the girl with the doll and the ribbons comes to eternity's dawn.
And the flower she's nurtured within her has perfumed the path she has trod
From the moment of time when her spirit came forth as a seed from a living God.

Marilyn Giles
1978, Provo, Utah
(I think I was asked to write this for some primary thing.  It's kitschy.)


CHRISTMAS LETTERS--a rap

Now you know Christmastime is merry with that jolly elf
The holly, mistletoe, and candles on the shelf.
We love the fancy candy and the lighted tree
And we still get a buzz upon old Santa's knee.

But of all the thrills and chllls of this December time
One thing stands out that makes my blood pressure climb!
It's not the icy roads or those outrageous bills,
I'm talking dreaded Christmas letters!
Honey, get my pills!

I'm talking nauseating letters coming through the door!
Please, Mr. Postman, have some mercy!
But he brings me more!

Aunt Rhonda bought three cars last year--that makes my day,
And Uncle Louie won the lottery!  That's TWICE, you say?
His daughter in Poughkeepsie married Don Trump's son.
They've been sunning in Barbados having LOADS of fun.

My cousin Mary sends her love; her life is looking rosy.
Three sons on Harvard's dean's list?  Now ain't that cozy...
The cat deserves some credit, I must admit.
She brought home THREE trophies from the cat show.
All MY dog does is sit!

Now don't get me wrong--I think the sentiment is nice,
But when I think about MY last year, I want to send them all mice!
I broke my leg in April, and the IRS
Sent three men to check my records.
It was such a mess.

My sons of sons, oh bless his soul, is in the clink.
Got  sticky-fingered genes from Somewhere!
Now let me think.
My mother made her will, and I get NONE of her waddy.
My neighbor bought a Great Dane--
My lawn's the new potty...

So take those Christmas letters; tone them down a bit.
No one's kids are THAT great--
Sometimes they are a PIT!
When you write to me next year,
Tell me sometimes you're blue,
And that you very often fall short
When the bills are due.
Tell me your oldest daughter's ugly
And needs a nose job too.
And your family reunion should be held at the zoo!

Tell me your boss is a bore
And should be put away.
Tell me your taxes are higher
And your brain's turned to clay.
Tell me where you live it's unbelievably hot,
And your imported Chinese lily plot has gone to pot!

Thank you for listening.
I'm feeling so much better,
But it won't last long--
I SMELL a Christmas letter!

M. Giles
December 1991--written for a faculty Christmas party at A.J. Winters
Elementary--Elaine Zeyer provided a little mouth percussion.  (We were a hit.)


To Dave and Shelly On Their Wedding Day

There once was a day in July
When two lovers were sealed with a sigh.
They tied the knot tight
And pledged never to fight
Down the marital bliss road they'll fly!

So tonight we are gathered to cheer
Greeting loved ones and friends far and near.
Now some gifts we will share
To show that we care
Favorite memos of this couple so dear.

Dave loves fruit snacks and making a sketch.
Shelly's portrait he really did etch!
So when steak is too spendy
They head for some Wendy.
Sounds to me like this pair is a match!

Now Shelly's addicted to fish
And more jelly bellies is always her wish.
If life starts getting hairy
She'll reach for Ben & Jerry
Be it spoonful or carton or dish!

Dave is an Oreo man.
He'll eat them all day if he can!
He'll be downing Nabisco,
But don't turn on Disco,
'Cause that sends him out of the land!

We thank you for coming tonight!
It's been such an outstanding delight.
May we all send a kiss
That their days will be bliss.
To Dave and Shelly, you'll all be a light!!


On July 
(written in the style of Francis Bacon for a 17th
Century Literature class at Idaho State University--1991)

It is now July, and the heat from sun-baked highways rises in invisible fumes of asphalt vapor and catches the light as wet-toweled and sun-darkened children like so many overbaked cookies transverse the highways in humming air-cooled autos.  

Now doth the summer garden abound with the plump peas in pods and the early leafy lettuce crisp with the succulence of the summer's rich dark earth.  The screen door rhythmically responds to the traffic of the summer pilgrimages from the deep freeze to the treehouse--from the ballgame to the deep freeze--from the pool to the deep freeze and beyond as each day unfolds with limitless eternal popsicles and lemonade.

Now doth the green grass die weekly under the scythe of the mower as the verdant smell of cut grass permeates the summer dusks, and the children race behind the grim reaper machine to toss handfuls of scratchy green down necks and into hair.

Now doth the arm of the sprinkler lift its spray onto parched tongues of the grass, and the children squeal as the shock cold sizzles on the cement then bombs their bare back with a cavalcade of wet shrapnel.

Then the night sky illuminates with the spectacle of explosions.  The summer's softness is bejeweled

 by the fire, and then dims to its former blackness.  The children shoeless and panting run beneath the

 sky's glory and fall in a silent heap to behold the show.

Now hath the daily life paced itself with the ambling of the hot lazy hound.  The neglected kitchen oven is cooled into oblivion, and the sidewalk is peppered with watermelon seeds.

In sum, I thus conclude of it:  I hold July to be a sensuously lazy season, the popsicle industry's gain and the child's Shangri-la.  Farewell.



AFRIENDOFMINEWROTEASENTENCEABOUTAHARPSICHORDANDTHATSENTENCE HADONEHUNDREDWORDSCANYOUBELIEVEIT?

He read it once.

He read it twice.

I saw him faint.

His style was nice.

--June 1976