A Poem for a Thursday//Special Edition

Nancy Jezek was born in Stafford Springs, CT on July 11, 1925. She has raised two daughters, managed a business, traveled the world, and worked in nursing. Through the years, she has picked up various hobbies; photography, cross-stitch, painting, and poetry.

Nancy Jezek is my grandmother. She is not a published poet and no one outside the family has read much of her poetry. She deserves more than that. When she was in her late 80s and first moved to a retirement community there was a poetry class every week run by a local poet. She joined the class and has never looked back. She has filled album after album with her poems.

Grandma has been ill for the last couple of weeks after a very bad fall. I am hoping it will brighten her day to see herself featured here. Since this is a special poetry post for a special grandmother I am sharing three of her poems. My aunt, daughter, and I spent an entire evening reading through her albums and picking out our favorites. We have narrowed it down to these three. She is one of my most loyal readers and I love her dearly. If you would like to read a bit more about her you can read two other posts here and here.

I do not envy my neighbor
Whose lawn is lush, greener than mine;
No weeds or dandelions,
Nothing to mar perfection.
He sits alone, with his carpet of green,
A proud smile for what he has done.

My lawn is just fine, weeds and all,
Worn patches from children at play;
Dandelions to make a child's bouquet.
Backyard picnics, games of croquet,
Quiet music and moonlight love
Hold memories of family life.

Yes, grass is greener next door,
No weeds or footprints does it show;
Just the way he likes it.
Mine shows wear and tear
From family play and fun;
Just the way I like it.

     To each his own.

To Each His Own 
Nancy Jezek

On the bank of a stream,
Deep in the silent woods,
I watch him fish
For an elusive trout.

His patience is endless.
Over and over again
A feathered fly spins thru the air
As he casts out the line, reels it in.

Rod bends, line is taut.
It's a keeper.
Grab the net.
It's our supper.

We need just one more.
Again he casts the line;
A fish strikes the lure.
I can taste it now.

The sun is sinking low.
Add wood to the fire,
Butter to the fry pan.
Supper's on its way.

As the campfire dies,
The moon will be our light.
It is the end 
Of a perfect day.

The Patient Fisherman
Nancy Jezek

I am me.
I hope a good me.
A well-behaved me.
Most of the time.

I am me.
A love to laugh me.
A try to be happy me.
Most of the time.

Whatever I am,
Accept me please.
I love you
All of the time.

Me
Nancy Jezek