Poem: Thinking Too Much

Sculpture by Peter Rockwell (son of Norman Rockwell)

 at the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, MA

Photo by Rita Bourland © 2012

Thinking Too Much

I’ve been thinking too much

about

thinking,

why we do it,

why it matters,

 what we gain

by mulling over

 this and that,

right and wrong,

weak and strong,

 good and bad,

up and down,

and 

sideways,

I think I want more

happy thoughts,

and quiet dreamless sleep,

I want more days of endless bliss,
 

but then I think of

what I’d miss,

I’d rather plunge the unknown depths

and touch some valid core,

I’d rather ponder

awesome truths

and things I can’t ignore,

I’d rather think

a bit too much,

than never think at all.

Poem: Whistling Addie

 

 My grand-niece, Addie.  Photo taken by her dad.

Whistling Addie

Whistling Addie, a wonder is she,

She learned how to whistle before she was three,

Added to that, she whistled on key,

She learned Middle C while sipping some tea,

She’s just a small girl; I think you can see,

Who still loves to sit on her momma’s knee,

But when she starts whistling, I think you’d agree,

The notes seem to float like waves o’er the sea,

Or leaves that have lifted off some giant tree,

The town that she lives in has writ a decree

Naming Whistling Addie the sole honoree,

A mighty fine thing for a girl such as she;

Whistling Addie, a wonder is she.