Abigail-Madison Chase's Blog: Chasing Abigail , page 40

I was a red umbrella in a prevous life

     I often feel like a red umbrella.  I am not sure why, but, it always seems as if I am caught in a rain storm and the only person that will cover me is me.
      The other day I saw a picture that looked just like I often feel. There was a beautiful red umbrella in a sea of black ones.
       I loved the picture so much I made it the focal point of my blogger header. Who knows maybe in a previous life I was an umbrella.

Abigail,

Forever Young/Happy Birthday to ME

Today's my birthday! 
I was born on a snowy December 29, O so many years ago. I'll embrace my age when it hurts someone else to not know it.
Birthdays are those awesome landmarks that acknowledge our transition from one age to another. Year after year they come and go.
    The older we get, the less we celebrate our special day of birth.
      Our first birthday is often like the wind, the sixteenth, eighteenth and twenty first, are like a fresh breath of air we are taking. We exhale on our thirtieth,  then our fortieth, and fiftieth come with much fanfare and woe.
      I enjoyed my birthday this year. It was filled with good friends, family and great food. I had a couple of slices of my favorite chocolate cake along with chicken salad sandwiches and ice cream. I must admit, I over indulged and loved it.
My 2014 birthday has come and gone but I remain forever young.

Crestfallen With The Doldrums of Woebegone Valentines

  
       I often wonder if the universe is playing a cruel trick on the inhabitants of earth.   Life is never perfect. Then just when you begin to think it is, the universe sends you a message that your life never will be perfect. 

       In the last year I've began to find my voice in terrible poetry as I try to wait out the universe and it's declaration that my life will never be perfect.

     Is there meaning in my poetry? No. It's just me and a thesaurus on those days when life has kicked me hard. If you are looking for a deeper meaning in my poetry, you want find it. What you will find is me and my virtually endless supply of thesauruses.

     I am not a wordsmith by any means, nor am I an articulate poet who can embrace the wind. I remain, me.  Plain old Abigail-Madison Chase.

I did not  inherit the poetic skills of a Nobel Poet Laureate nor will I ever win a poetry contest. But what I will do is entertain you with my whimsical poetry.

     I remain, steadfast and unmovable in my inability to use correct grammar or spelling.  If you judge me based upon that, then you my good sir or madam are worthy of more that I can offer in my mediocre books of poetry.

     I remain,

Abigail-Madison Chase,



http://www.amazon.com/Crestfallen-Doldrums-Woebegone-Valentines-Abigails-ebook/dp/B00RJDSYTU/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1419828202&sr=8-2&keywords=abigail-madison+chase

Seasons of A Heart

I love the change of seasons Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall, each has something different to offer.

 I also love the rain in every season. 

Sleet, snow and ice rain down on us in Winter.

Hot, sticky humid rain falls in the Summer, Spring rains usher in the rebirth of flowers in blossom.

Fall rains are often mist of fog.
Like the heart the season change as the rain does.
 Seasons of A Heart  Love overflowing,
Like a river of melting ice Thawing, a heart covered with snow  A love so real, birds chirp Spring comes early Flowers bloom   Love so overpowering Roses salute the smell Natures bows, in respect  Winter, Summer, Spring, Fall Love finds a broken or redeemed heart in all Seasons change like hearts  

Mediocre, beautiful, and run of the mill, Abigail's inventive poetry

 



Mediocre, beautiful, and run of the mill, Abigail's  inventive poetry is written by an uninspired poet. The Tragic Poetic Musings of Abigail features  barely adequate poetry in an ordinary assemblage of undistinguished quality.   Abigail Madison Chase finds meaning in the perils and tragic follies of love. Tragic Poetry of Unrequited Love is for lovers of sad and dramatic poetry.      

Spending long hours at the hospital has codified the fact that I am a terrible poet. I write not like a girl, but an overly enthusiastic lover of sad poetry whose lived a life so melancholy it hurts to smile.

Ahh, the trials and tribulations of love gone wrong. I am not a poet but I do enjoy writing crap that and illogical as love. If only I were the Al Green of poetry. If only, I could master the lyrics of a love song. In the end I am just me, and uninspired poet of terrible poetry.
~Abby~

Tis the Season to be Jolly

 

Tis the season to be Jolly.

The month of December began as the end of the year  looms and a season of celebration is welcomed.

Joy to the World will spread across the miles as people and places unite in celebration.

I love this time of year. It's the month of my birth and there will be lots food and invitations to celebrations from December 1-31. Nothing says "hello" more than a nice plate of cookies or a fruit basket. Each December a smile comes across my face in celebration of spending the entire month in "food heaven". O' how I love thee December.

~Abby~





 

Tragic Poetry of Unrequited Love:The Tragic Poetic Musings of Abigail

Mediocre, beautiful, and run of the mill, Abigail's inventive poetry is from the bowels of an uninspired poet.

The Tragic Poetic Musings of Abigail features  barely adequate poetry in an ordinary assemblage of undistinguished quality.   Abigail Madison Chase finds meaning in the perils and tragic follies of love. Tragic Poetry of Unrequited Love is for lovers of sad and dramatic poetry.

A Map to No Where

      A Map to No Where A map to nowhere needs no GPS The road is open for interpretation’ The road is clear, The car is full of gas I watch the horizon as time fly's by  unassured destinyI travel, I ride, Like a ghost in the windI travel to and fro I am Lady Abigail I stand and deliver my voice loud and clear The road to nowhere is full with good intentionsThe road to hell is paved with better ones, Time is suspended and life goes on Watch me as I drive aimlessly Like the toes of a ballerina the compass of my heart points us in the right direction I have no map or GPSThe road ahead is unclearRide with me, if you dare ~Abby~The thoughts and feels expressed are those of Abigail-Madison Chase as she sits in the Cancer Center.  

The Edge of Life

 

The Edge of Life
 Sometimes I stand on the edge of life,Wondering if  and when I will fall,

When I fall who will catch me?Will they love me?
Will they take care of me?


Will they heal my wounds?
Sometimes I stand on the edge of Life, Wondering when I will fall,


~Abby~

Empty Chairs Full of Life

I am not a poet by any stretch of the imagination. But as I sat waiting on name to be called at my doctor’s office on yesterday; I realized were are a lot of chairs. The chairs are perfectly patterned and lined in rows. Plush and comfortable, they welcome you, with a halfhearted smile.
A cancer center’s chairs should not welcome you, but in their own way they do.  Closing my eyes for a second, I could see the chairs having a party after all the patients had gone. Again poetry is not my thing but there was something so poet about those chairs. In many ways they hold life, hope, and happiness. Someday they hold great joy, on others the burdens of sorrow. Yet, they still sit there day after day.     Empty Chairs Full of Life

They dance when no one is around All the Single Ladies march in a row.Doing High kicks, to and fro, They are the chairs that sit in the Cancer Center, Some empty, some full, all perfect and neat, They should be sad but they are not,for they are hope,  Empty Chairs Full of life, O’ how they dance when no one’s around,
O' how they dance, when they dance, the dance of Seven Veils, The Bump, The Hustle, Or form a line to dance to "All the Singe Ladies"These chairs cry out,  Of being mischievous happenings when no one is around.
 O' how they dance, when they dance,when people are not around?“Have a seat, watch us dance”"Will my stay here be that long I ask?"
“No, ma’am, your stay want be very long.” They speak in their own unique way. Sigh,

~Abby~