by Casey

A poem filled with pairs

This poem filled with pairs proved easy to write,

after I saw what I saw last night.

I watched a dad sit down in a chair,

and hold his two daughters, who sat with him there. 

One of the girls held onto a book,

but dad opened it up and all three took a look.

It wasn’t just any old story or fable,

On that pair of pages, laid flat on a table.

This wasn’t a tale of planes or a park,

but the story of Noah, and a boat called an ark.

There were on those pages a few things to find,

Among all of the animals, two of a kind.

Pictures of pages from “Noah’s Ark and Other Bible Stories, First Look and Find” from Phoenix International Publications, Inc.

A hammer, a saw, a ruler for size,

all spied by the gazes from three pairs of eyes.

They found everything on the floating zoo,

which the animals boarded, two by two.

I know all of those pairs surely caused some congestion,

but still — I can’t help it — I have a question.

Answer me this, or I’ll never know,

why did this guy show blueprints to a hippo?

When the story was finished, goodnights were said,

then mom and dad put the children to bed.

When it comes to kids, that pair surely wins,

For they have a young son, and their daughters are twins. 

Mama’s Losin’ It
by Casey

About a hashtag

I started my Twitter account 10 years ago. Shortly after I thought I figured out how to use it, I noticed hashtags. They were confusing.

I was frustrated by the lack of spaces between the words in a hashtag, because I was a journalist then.

Once I learned hashtags are used so tweets can be found and seen more easily, I understood and wasn’t frustrated by them anymore.

I haven’t used Twitter much lately, but recently I stumbled upon a new hashtag.

It frustrated me all over again. Continue reading →

by Casey

Ants in the outfield

Some people take pride in every chance to relive their glory days, to tell their children tales of days gone by and often remembered.

Some tell stories of incredible athletic feats of yesteryear, and back them up with testimonies from old teammates they see in Wal-Mart or moments frozen forever in framed photographs on the walls of hometown restaurants.

Those stories take them to a time before their backs hurt, before they worked long hours to pay for mortgaged houses.

They take them back to when they had all of the time in the world, when they lived for Friday nights and thought they were invincible. Continue reading →