Genealogy Madness

There once was an Edward Skinner

took Nancy and Anna to dinner.

The records are scant,

I often do rant.

Was Anna or Nancy the winner!

 
                       -Joy Stalvey Barefoot

The Surviving Scarlett O'Hara (for Audrey)

dressed for the dance

in a brocade gown,

truly slashed and splashed

together by a penniless mother,

ripping the curtains

from the window

in a bold

fury.

Scarlett, tossed about by time and place

and laughing in the face

of disaster's winds,

counting her chickens

as she spreads her wings,

eyes alert for the one

who slipped

from her shelter.

Oh, how I love your spirit

that wanton, wild

and crazy spirit;

that spirit in "go go" boots,

flying fringe

and bold mascara

on gorgeous eyes,

tossing your head

in grand gesture;

laughing at the poet's

dramatic and sorrowful tales.

The poet has not lived.

Scarlett has.

-Joy S. Barefoot

(written for my "Scarlett" friend, Audrey Riedel, whose mother copied  Scarlett of Tara and sent her off to the prom)

To Everything

Spring awakened,

shyly unfurling

leaf upon tender leaf

as the early yellow-green

crept up the crest of the mountains.

Summer

grew ripe and full,

her maturing girth

swelling in the heat,

laden with fruit.

Autumn slipped in on a shivery breeze

shedding her rouged,

but dying, adornment

in a tempera spatter

across the earth’s brown belly.

Winter’s cold and bitter winds

came to a naked and lonely land

bringing the gentle snows,

covering the nakedness

of separation.

-Joy Stalvey Barefoot

(This is a poetry version of a piece of prose on life)