A New Door Opened

I have recently been invited to join a writing group. Part of this is online with wonderful ladies throughout Canada and the United States. Part of it is local with twice monthly meetings where those of us that live in this area get together. I see this as a wonderful opportunity to grow. Much of it is about Journal writing and this is a very positive habit to develope. Very healing. It will also help me build on writing skills in other areas and inspire me to write poetry again. In fact, while telling about my home, introducing myself in the online group, I said that I often get "itchy feet" and want to move, but have been here 16 years now as I have never been able to find anything in my price range that suits me and my animals as much as this place does. Then came the poem...


Here I Stay

So here I stay
'til I'm old and grey
With my dog and cat
Gotta like that.

Chickens, a flock,
Budgies that squawk,
Fishes in jars,
Critters keep me from bars.

Chinchillas so soft
Pigeons in the loft.
And one wee bunny.
My life's full and sunny.

A "critter" to add
Could be a "Dad"
For my "babies" to love,
Hmmm... or maybe a dove.

Some goats would be cool,
And fish in a pool.
Of my life many dream...
Ain't that a scream!!

Written: September 21, 2006

Gratitude

Dear God,

When I don't want to wash my dishes,
Help me be grateful I have food to eat from those dishes
To be grateful I have dishes to wash.

When I don't feel up to cleaning my home,
Help me be grateful I have a roof over my head
To be grateful I have a home to clean.

When I hurt too much to work in my yard,
Help me be grateful for this piece of land I have
To be grateful I have a yard to work in.

Help me to live my life
With an attitude of gratitude
And to focus on the goodness around me.

Thank You! I am grateful.




Written: April 11, 2006

Coming of Age

A cute wee pullet

Became a hen today.

If I knew which one,

I’d throw a par-tay.

You see, I found a small egg

Among all the rest,

Snuggled in the hay

Of their favorite nest.

This is always a sign

That the young are of age.

I must confess,

It’s an exciting stage.

I asked around,

For to know would be swell,

But not one bird

Was about to tell.

Is the bird mafia

Keeping things tickin’?

No name would they give

Because each one was a chicken!

Written: December 1, 2003

Spinning Yarns

That cute wee sheep,
Living in the barn,
When dealt with right
Provides good yarn.

Upon its back
The fleece does grow,
Resembling not
The white of snow.

The sheep is sheared,
It’s fleece the yield,
Then wee sheep
Returns to the field.

The fleece is sorted,
The dung picked out,
Then it’s washed
And laid about.

When all is dry
It’s sorted again,
Then combed & carded.
This is not the end.

Through the fingers
The fibres run,
By the wheel
The yarn is spun.

From the body
Out fingers busy
Runs the stress
That makes life dizzy.

Watch the tension
Count the twist
When you spin
Relax that fist.

Peddle goes up,
Peddle goes down,
Making the wheel
Go round and round.

Shuttles fly,
Bobbins turn,
Spinning is great
With much to learn.

Spin two bobbins,
Maybe three,
Then ply them together,
The results to see.

Now you’re finished
Yet, not time to snooze
With piles of yarn
For you to use.

Written: December 1, 2003

Where My Heart Is

Rolling hills around me

Blue skies above

I’m in a place

I do truly love.

My horse beneath me

As birds fly by,

Majestic trees…

Flowers catch my eye.

Cows on the hills

All around.

Abundant life

Springs from the ground.

An eagle screams,

Sun reflects off water.

I hear the laugh

Of my nephew’s daughter.

The beauty of Creation

Is unsurpassed,

God’s Peace and Love

I feel at last.

The joy of animals,

Of loved ones near,

Defines my life,

And makes things clear.

In the distance far,

Are mountains high,

And yet up close

A butterfly.

Peace for a lifetime

I take into my heart,

As we turn a corner

And home we start.

Written: February 25, 2000

Show Rabbits

They warned me it was an illness,

But they told me a little too late.

They said there’s no going backwards…

But I’d already passed through the gate.

The first time I saw Cher’s bunnies,

I’d already lost the good fight.

My introduction to these show rabbits,

Was true love upon first sight.

I rushed out and bought up a trio,

One buck and two sweet little does,

Each one had two tiny ears, bold eyes,

Short hair, and a twitchy wee nose.

We’ll, I’d heard how rabbits do multiply,

But then, how was I to know?

With all these critters in my life,

The speed that my love would grow.

Forty pound bags of feed & of grain

I throw over my shoulder and pack.

Bales of hay, for my rabbits, too.

Of the expense I don’t keep track.

In winter months, of freezing cold,

When water dishes become solid ice,

I pack hot water out to the rabbits…

Not once every day, but twice.

Now, summer months in the Okanagan

When the temperatures get real high,

Big blocks of ice go in each separate cage,

‘Cuz I wouldn’t want my bunnies to fry.

Training Netherland Dwarfs to pose right,

Grooming Fuzzy Lops most every day,

Scrubbing cages with bleach in the water,

And carrying all the droppings away.

Do I have somewhere else for my money?

Could I do something else with my time?

“Of course,” I say, “but I wouldn’t!”

‘Cuz these bunnies make my everyday shine.

At times when I’m all sad and lonely,

And feeling my life’s in a crunch,

What gives me something to live for

Is feeding rabbits, & hearing them “munch”.

Such joy is checking each nest box,

And counting the babies inside,

Making sure, each day, they’ve been fed well.

At ten days, seeing eyes opened wide.

Seeing each little creature as beautiful.

Knowing each one is God’s gift to me.

Is one my next Grand Champion?

And, if so, which one will it be?

Which babies will go on the show table?

And which will stay as brood stock?

Which will becomes someone’s much loved pet?

Give it time, and stop watching the clock!

Striving to raise “perfect” rabbits,

To come closer to the standard that’s set,

Can be an unending challenge

And no one has reached “perfect” yet!

Written: January 29, 2001

A Bunny Breakfast

Wee Bunny hops
Through the old corn field,
The tall green stalks
Are his only shield,
From prying eyes
Up on the hill...
Coyote searching
For his breakfast kill.
Bunny breakfasts
At the base of one stalk,
Then freezes in place...
Above glides the hawk!!
A blade of grass here,
Some sweet clover there,
Then home to his family
Hops Cousin-to-Hare.

Written: January 14, 2001

Falkland Rodeo '97

Country music is blaring,

Horses are raring,

Jumping around in the chutes.

Cowboys are prime

Awaiting their time,

Amidst the clapping and hoots.

There’s spurs a diggin’,

Bareback riggin’,

Clouds of dust all around.

Hear the crowd yell

As they wait for the bell,

That incredible 8 second sound.

A flying rope

Filled with hope

Reaches out for the calf.

This cowboy’s fast!

So he won’t be last,

He gambles on wrap and a half.

Barely a cloud in the sky,

The excitement is high,

Let’s get on with the show.

Enough of the break

For goodness sake,

It’s time to RODEO!

A pretty white horse,

Saddle bronk of course,

Dumps Cowboy in the dirt.

With a buck and a snort,

His time was short,

It’s amazing he didn’t get hurt.

Bulldogging fun

In the afternoon sun

Brings screams & shouts from the crowd.

Three seconds and nine

Is the winning time,

Bet that cowboy is proud.

Kids conquer their fears

On bucking steers,

Future bull riders all.

Knocking dust off their chaps,

As the audience claps.

Did he jump off, or did he fall?

8 seconds of hell,

A cowboy will tell,

Is spent on the back of a bull.

He hits the dirt runnin’,

And I’m not just funning’,

Or of hooves & horns he’ll be full.

Protecting the cowboy,

And bringing the crowd joy,

Of course is the rodeo clown.

Distracting the bovine,

He walks on a thin line,

And entertains all in the town.

Any bull fighter

Could get a mite lighter,

If he runs a little too slow.

They have to be fast,

Or life will not last,

They’re great athletes, don’t you know.

You can not forgo,

At any rodeo,

Pick-up riders extraordinaire.

Snatching cowboys from harm

Is their greatest charm.

A talent, I tell you, that’s rare.

As the day ends

I find all my friends

Listening to music & swigging beer.

Dreaming of Wranglers real tight,

I’ll go home tonight.

You can bet I’ll be back next year!

Written: May 1997

Love At First Sight

The first time I saw him

I fell in love.

I had to have him

Sure as heaven above.

To run my hands over

His well muscled bod,

My fingers through his hair,

I’d surely thank God.

He stood strong and proud,

His head held up high

With a devilish twinkle

In each big brown eye.

As we’ve gotten acquainted

That love it did grow,

And he’s taken me everywhere

I’ve asked him to go.

He’s done things for me

He’d done for no one,

And together we always

Have barrels of fun.

Late one afternoon

He ran away with my heart,

My head, my body,

Yes… every last part.

We get along well

And if we disagree,

He soon comes ‘round

To agreeing with me.

We’re not always alone

That’s a good sign,

We do get together

With his friends and mine.

He’s not like others

I’ve known before,

He’s unique

That’s for shore.

Does the guy in your life

Bring flowers to you?

Mine takes me to flowers,

And an incredible view.

Helping with yard work

Is not problem to do,

He cuts the grass

And fertilizes, too.

He dresses in leather

And wears his hair long,

He country dances

To the pond frogs song.

Yet, he’s not that different

Than you or I’m,

His shoes still go on

One foot at a time.

Whenever we’re together,

Be it night of day,

He likes to get down

For a roll in the hay.

I’d think him a stud

If I didn’t know better,

His blood’s always hot

No matter the weather.

When I want to ride him

I whisper in his ear,

Then I mount up upon him

Our excitement is clear!

We’re not into whips

Though spurs are fair game,

I ride him real hard

And he never goes lame.

“Faster” Go Faster!”

I call out to him,

Then Sandy and Nugget

Blow past us again.

Now, breathing real hard

And dripping with sweat,

I quickly thank God

For that day we met.

Have you figured it out?

My secret, of course!

This wonderful guy

Is Whiplash… my horse!

Written in 1997

With this poem I won 1st prize at a Toastmasters Cowboy Poetry Contest. It also took a prize at the Interior Provincial Exibition at Armstrong, BC Canada. One summer I had the pleasurable experience of sharing my peotry several times at a local restaurant where they had regular "jam sessions" (the lead musician kept inviting me up and he played music softly behind me while I shared the poems). This peom seemed to be the most popular one :o) In 2003 this poem was published in Saddle Up magazine.

The Story of Jesse James

Born in a sod hut

On the prairie flat,

Part of his parents’ new life,

Was a young fellow

Named Jesse James,

Never gave his Mama no strife.

One of his jobs

As a young boy

Was to make pesky gophers dead,

So he fashioned a scoop

With it’s handle long,

And poison from horseback he fed.

He lived through winter

Storms so bad

You would’ve lost your way,

If not for a rope,

From barn to house,

Strung on a better day.

Kids held on tight

To a lariat rope

Behind Jesse’s horse at a run.

“Flat land skiing”

On a winter’s day

Was the ultimate way to have fun.

As luck would have it,

The day did come…

Jesse turned a little too short.

A big gate post

And a girl’s broken arm

Put an end to this “Olympic Sport”.

As a young man

In “depression” times,

Jesse found a way to live.

To full grown horses

Who’d never seen man,

“Riding lessons” Jesse did give.

They’d rope ‘em

And hog tie ‘em

Strap on the appropriate saddle.

Rip off the ropes…

The horse was up,

With Jesse already astraddle.

As years went by

Jesse headed west,

Left the “bald-headed prairie” behind.

He crossed over mountains,

Then headed north,

His future adventures to find.

In a small café,

In a northern town,

Jesse found his future wife.

She was his waitress,

Who became his friend,

Then Annie became Jesse’s life.

In later years

A girl of eight

Saw Jesse ride a rearing horse.

From that moment on

He was her hero.

She knew not of his past, of course.

He told her stories

About teams of horses,

Matched in looks, size and strength,

Of harnesses fancy

Decorated with red tufts,

He entertained her at great length.

In his elder years,

Jesse was heard to say,

The best job he and Annie had done

Was, as expert gardeners,

They’d raised five Blooming Idiots,

Of which I am proud to be one!

Written in 1997

In loving memory of my Dad:

Jesse James Price

August 16, 1915 – January 18, 1999

God's Blessing

“This could be a blessing in disguise”

I told myself one day

“Well, thank you, Mom”

I then just had to say,

For she had often spoken to me

In just this very way.

Life does have its challenges,

This we all must know,

Yet Mumsy’s words of wisdom

Have helped my life to grow,

And through my very existence

Allow the Spirit of God to flow.

When I hit a big brick wall

And my life went all to…. Well,

Mom has always been there for me

Listening to problems I had to tell,

Lifting me up and dusting me off

Each time on my knees I fell.

“I don’t think I can make it”

I don’t know the way!”

“Oh, you’ll make it,

Because you’re a Price,” she’d say.

I ask myself, “Without Mom,

Where would I be today?”

I am so very grateful

I’m telling you… oh brother,

I have looked around at many

And simply want no other.

I know that I am truly blessed

Having Annie as my mother.

Written: June 28, 2003