Archive for March, 2013

Poem: Homeless


freeway exit, hold sign

on side of road, sitting

Hungry Help Me



my heart bleeds, I’m cry’n

conduct torn, head splitting

Hate Being Me



will he buy drugs or wine

from handouts he’s getting

Lazy Drugged He



or stuck in jobless line

against will, unwitting

Homeless Hungry



homeless, helpless, entwine

with shiftless dull witting

Experts Agree



give to shelters that’s fine

but homeless are sitting

Hungry Weary



must to conscience resign

assistance is fitting

Help Out Need Be



when I pass by next time

my lunch I am splitting

Handout Can Be


 June Nash

I get off the freeway leading to my friends house.  I pass the spot where the homeless and hungry gather for handouts.  They have their crates to sit on and signs in their hands.  Usually only one per corner, though I have seen them double up.  My heart bleeds for anyone who has to sit out in the cold, begging.


I hear that begging can be a lucrative business.  If you get a good corner you can make more than at a regular 9 to 5 job.  That may be true.  I won’t dispute that here.  


If they are hurting though, if they really are in need, maybe I can make their life just a little bit better by sharing my food, or donating some loose change.

I donate to soup kitchens and homeless shelters.  Does that mean that I should not help out the person on the street asking for help?  

Some say giving handouts is hurting the recipients.  It teaches them to beg instead of to work.  What if they cannot find work?  


I truly do not know the answer.  If someone else does, please let me know.

03/26/2013 at 6:26 AM Leave a comment

Poem on Aging: Scary Venture

Scary Venture

getting old is a scary venture

what future holds is not secure


pains of youth, fleeting, disregard

ignoring aches now getting hard


signs of aging may be gray hair

or pounds added in derrière


laugh it off, cannot stop the clock

each year’s anniversaries mock


in the morning upon waking,

notice body stiff and aching


cannot climb stairs with old ease

how’d I develop sitting disease?


BP high, cholesterol too

need start taking a pill or two


getting old is a scary venture

what future holds is not secure


body’s decline is eminent

but with studied care can augment


how to fight cruel adversary

is not easy, must not tarry


hair will continue to grow gray

but BP can be kept at bay


will compromise, watch what I eat

get off couch, start using feet.


attitude is half the battle

enjoy life and fight for control


to be lethargic is lethal

to accept this fate is fatal


getting old is a scary venture

what future holds is not secure

June Nash

03/19/2013 at 6:00 AM 3 comments

Grannys Little Projects

Irish I Wish

I’ll tell a secret, if you care to hear

One which the Irish prefer to keep dear.

Not only March 17th, every year,

You too can weave stories that bring a tear.

Do you wish?

Then come closer, I’ll whisper in your ear.

It will not hurt, just a story, don’t fear.

No need for travel to Ireland dear.

I will tell. . . .order me another beer!

I drink. . .Swish

A bit tipsy, but I’ll try not to slur.

The Blarney Stone, one need not inure,

lean out window, backward, when on tour.

Wait. . .I’m dry,. . . whiskey for me, this time sir.

Love the Irish!

Back to my story, yes, please do endure.

Do not kiss that rock, oh no, to be sure!

Just tell the others you did, that’s the cure!

For the gift of gab. …

View original post 64 more words

03/16/2013 at 10:18 AM 1 comment

Poem: My Racing Mind

My Racing Mind

My thoughts are jumbled

They’re bumbled

Like bumper cars


Thoughts unrelated

Not hated

But too many

Thoughts are not heeding

They’re speeding

Cannot focus


Pluck each thought from crown

Write them down

Contemplate them


Clogged thoughts start flowing

I’m knowing

I can catch them

 June Nash

Ever have one of those days when your mind is racing?  It is like your thoughts are playing bumper cars in your head.  They are all over the place.

My mind is like that today.  I am writing down my thoughts as they pop into my head.  Once I have them all down on paper, I am usually able to put them into some sort of order.  That being done, I can focus on them each individually.

03/12/2013 at 12:26 PM 1 comment

Repost Poem: Daylight Savings Time is a Crime

It is once again Dalight Savings Time.
My feelings are the same as they were 6 months ago.
I am reposting the poem that I wrote then.

Grannys Little Projects

Daylight Savings Crime

Twice per year we change the time.

This law we have seems a crime.

Internal clocks remain same.

Crazy time practice is blame,

Accidents, at work and home.

As muddle brained people roam.

Foggy brain clouds need to clear.

Lets keep same time the whole year .

June Nash

View original post

03/09/2013 at 6:24 AM 3 comments

Poem on Mornings


Breakfast we eat

Seems like trap

Left feeling beat

Need take a nap


An achy neck

Long day ahead

Oh what the heck

Go back to bed

Drink some coffee

This day can lick

One cup, or three,

May do the trick

June Nash

03/05/2013 at 6:30 AM 2 comments

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Copyright notice

Original poetry. Copyright 2012, June Nash

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