Did you, do you have a hobby? Do you have an affinity for a special skill? Please share it.
Alternatively, write about any kind of hobby that you might find interesting.
WRITING POETRY, by Walter J Wojtanik
thoughts conceived in the heart.
in every emotion,
notions of words to express.
*sigh* Oh, yes….
A DIFFERENT SORT OF WATER SPORT
Some birders will go to extremes
in pursuit of their life-listing dreams.
They will search all the slips
for the best of the ships
just to see the seabirds off the beams,
for, when birders go out on the ocean
they’re led by a singular notion:
that skuas and skimmers
and divers and swimmers
be sought out with utter devotion.
Bill, your abilities astound me. Great little piece, this!
I draw pencil sketches to relax–
erasing, erasing, erasing. Seldom
satisfied with my final drawing.
Animals seem to emerge in far
better quality than landscapes
or people. Maybe because
I prefer them.
Baking is another way of relaxing
for me. Rolling out pie dough,
filling with fruit, pecans,
or pumpkin is enjoyable. It’s
a different world of weights
and measures, neither of which
I am a part of. And the aromas!
Understood, on both counts
Well, that’s a coincidence. Or is it???
If I was not drawn to either, I would be after reading this. Wonderful!
To Be Contued…..
So much spare time growing up
Lots of time to ride my bike
Play ball with my friends
Go fishing in the summer
Ice skating in the winter
And just plain be a kid
Then came my teen years
Loved motorcycles and cars
Then I suddenly noticed girls
Drive-in movies on Saturdays
Road trips on Sundays
Not a care in the world
Then adulthood struck
Got a wife and kids and bills
Spare time almost disappeared
Except for bowling night
And golf on the weekend
Well, some weekends
Actually, very few weekends
Hobbies were nonexistent
Spare time was for family
Making precious memories
Band camp and football games
Working the concession stand
Concerts and school plays
Youth group activities
All for the children
No spare time for ourselves
Then out of nowhere things changed
Kids all grown up and on their own
The empty next echoed loudly
It was time for us to do our thing
But what was that thing?
We’d been out of the loop for years
Spare time was strangely odd to us
But oh, so welcomed
What to do was the question
So much to catch up on
So much to try
So much time
But where to start?
To be continued…….
Being well round applies to more than my physique.
I have a plethora of hobbies I tend to each week.
Jigsaw puzzles to remind me to take one task at a time.
Writing stories, for adults and kids, and poems that may rhyme.
Drawing and painting in mostly acrylic.
To paint Plein Air, to me, is idyllic.
I’m always itching to travel to somewhere new.
The places I don’t want to go, truly are few.
I love to read novels, poems, and memoirs galore,
And to browse used book shops to see what’s in store.
I enjoy hiking mountain trails till I can barely move.
At times I dance when getting in the groove.
I’m learning to play the ukulele and can play the Hokey Pokey.
I like to sing around the campfire even if it’s smoky.
Kayaking in the lake or bay is always is a thrill.
And riding bikes, I enjoy, especially downhill.
I like to crochet, mostly blankies for newborns.
And to brush out alpacas before they are shorn.
I took a photography class and love snapping photos.
I like to go snow-shoeing whenever it snows.
As you can tell, I can go on and on.
But I best get to bed because I’m heading west at dawn.
oops well rounded forgot the ed
I love this; it has an Ogden Nash quality to it.
What a fun read!
I am exhausted just reading this!
after 24 plus hours of searching for form and starting point, I decided on an etheree.
Both my present pasttime and a memoir
with my childish hands
wrapped around red crayons
I gave up visual art
The changeling in my family
And dove into music and writing
Loving art, unable to create it
Till I received adult coloring books.
I didn’t have to draw, not one line,
only trace and fill with color.
Hues I chose applied with brush
or gel pen or pencil
I create beauty,
spread it around,
You make it all sound so appealing, Darlene!
Loving catching up on all the wonderful writing. Dropping in while I have a unbusy few days…
is a hobby, not a skill
and like four strings
I vibrate at the thrill
of notes on air, that leap from wavering steel.
From the strings
I feel them rise,
a dared escape
from wavering cold steel
those long imprisoned criminals of song who longed to feel
what I felt when I freed them from the strings.
It’s a hobby,
not a skill, I say
but they rejoice, and dance, and fly,
and breathe and call a burger and hot fries
in any little border town a feast,
and celebrate with liberties of joy.
I dream of them
when my bow rests,
laid down beside a silent wooden form,
a desert brown viola still and warm,
and whisper as I wake from music dreams,
“it’s just a hobby,
not a skill. “
© Damon Dean, 2016
Oh do I love this, Damon! Especially the final stanza. Good to have you with us, and we will take and savor your presence whenever we can.
Wonderful writing, Damon!
Where Lies My Interest?
When I was a child,
I loved to pretend.
The “what” mattered little,
As it was all in the imagining.
As a young adult,
I loved to garden,
Bicycle, and hike.
The “where” mattered little,
As it was all in the doing.
As a now-older adult,
My passions are to
Pray, write, and ponder.
The “why” matters much,
As it is all in the love.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Just perfect. I love a trio of perspectives like this.
Thank you, Damon!
This is a very perceptive poem, Marie.
Thank you Sarah!
I thought I would try cross stitch
I bought a book, some floss, and needles
Birds might be the thing to stitch
I sat for hours, in my house, stitching
Long into the night until I had
Completed a wren on a small canvas
But it did not flit and sing like the
Pair in my garden
I thought I would try quilting
I bought a book, some fabric, and needles
Flowers would make a fine subject
I sat for hours, in my house, cutting,
Piecing, quilting, long into the night,
Until I had a small throw filled with blossoms
But they did not fill the space with fragrance
Like the ones in my garden
I thought I would try painting
I bought a book, brushes, canvas, and pigments
A sunset would be stunning
I sat for hours, in my house, making brush
Strokes of yellows, reds, purples, blues
Until I had a small picture to hang on my wall
But it did not capture the majesty of the
Sun setting over my garden
I walked outside, to my garden where I could
Hear the wrens singing, smell the lavender,
And watch the sky change colors as the
Sun disappeared below the horizon
Candy, this is so lovely, and so full of wisdom.
Thanks so much, Marie!
This poem is wise and wonderful, Candace!
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Poetic Bloomings: The Best Garden for Verse