Monday, September 16, 2013


So I was rummaging through my old documents, and I found this poem/limerick thing that I composed a couple years ago while still in Florida. It's called Odd.

by Penny Kearney

I probably shouldn’t be
But it always surprises me
How odd I really am
It’s just the little things
I don’t know I’m doing
Then I look up and see them

The laundry basket
Of unfolded clothes
Still sitting at the end of my bed
And yesterday I read
From beginning to end
My devotions out loud to my dog

I got angry today
and got down on my knees
and scrubbed the whole floor ‘til it sparkled
I kill off my characters
In cold hearted swiftness
Then regret it the second it’s finished

Cartwheels are fun
And spontaneous song
And random trips to the mall
Sometimes it’s enough
For no apparent reason
To wrestle a volleyball from my brother
Or carry around
An invisible crown
And toss it from one to another

Nothing makes sense
Perhaps it’s just impulse
But I do know one thing for certain
Without all these quirks
Though they serve no other purpose
I would have to be some other person

And where would be the fun in that?

Dia duit,

1 comment:

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