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Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Engagment

It's really rather late to be posting this, but sometimes it still feels this way. 

Something's not Right... 
By Melody Beerbower, Oct. 21, 2013

Why isn't the world rejoicing?
Why isn't the sun wearing it's finest glow?
Why is everyone simply about their business?
Why is it they don't know?
Can't they fell the happiness?
Can't they feel the delight?
Can't they sense the rumbling excitement?
Can't they see the light?

How can the day go on
With it's normal ebb and flow?
Shouldn't there be banners--a band!--
A parade, at least something grand to show
That an exciting thing has happened.
Something that doesn't happen everyday.
I thought all the love in the air
Would surely give it away!

But the day keeps crawling by.
No trumpets.
No fanfare.
No parties staged. 
Nope.
No one's seemed to notice 
That my sister and her sweetheart 
Have finally been engaged.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

The Greatest Author

This is a poem I wrote some time ago, which I just found and deemed worthy of posting. 

The Greatest Author
By Melody Beerbower, May 4, 2012

There is one author 
I’d dearly love to meet.
The greatest author ever
To write upon a sheet.

He is more clever than P. G. Woodhouse
More timeless than William Shakespeare
More moral than Aesop and his fables 
More historic than Paul Revere.

More mysterious than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
More morose than Edgar Allen Poe
More classic than Mark Twain
More numskull than Larry, Curly, and Moe.

More poetic than Robert Frost
More faulty than Charles Darwin 
More read than Louisa May Alcott
More accurate than Isaac Newton

More original than Homer
More wise than Benjamin Franklin
More quotable than C. S. Lewis 
More renown than Charles Dickens

Yet, we know almost nothing about him,
This writer from the abyss.
We don’t even know his name,
For he is Anonymous.  

Thursday, October 10, 2013

A song for Abby's Birthday

This is a song I wrote in honor of Abby's birthday. It's not the best, but at least I'm not writing about your nose like did for your brother's song.

All that to say, Happy Birthday Abby, and here's your song--my first, and probably not last, Veggietale parody.




A Song for Abby's Birthday
By Melody Beerbower, Oct. 10, 2013

A girl was born not so long ago, her memory's quite dear
She had a birthday (Please shout hurray!) like most people do each year.
And people wished her Birthday Cheer, All Happiness-- the lot
They told her on the day (in a special way)
But somehow I forgot
So-oooooo...

I wrote this song for you for birthday
It's a little sappy and several days past due.
But if I sing this song for your birthday,
It's sure to make all your dreams come true.
Yodel-leh-hee yodel-leh-hee yodel-leh-hoo
Yodel-leh-hee yodel-lee-eee-ooo
Yodel-leh-hee yodel-leh-hee yodel-leh-hoo
Yada-yada yada-yada yad-eee-ooo

(In case you were wondering, I did not put as many verses in as there are in the original song. My inspiration ran out.)

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

I Love You Blanky







 I Love You Blanky
By Melody Beerbower, with help from my sister, Aug. 25, 2013

You’re just too soft to be true
Can’t take my hands off of you
You are like heaven to touch
I love to hold you so much
At long last night has arrived
I sleep with you by my side
You’re just too soft to be true
Can’t take my hands off of you

Pardon the way that I stop
When I walk past in a shop
The sight of soft things makes me swoon
I wrap up like a cocoon
I must see how you feel
To let me know that you’re real
You’re just too good to be true
Can’t take my hands off of you

I love you blanky
And if it’s quite alright
I need you blanky
To warm the chilly night
I love you blanky
Trust in me when I say
Oh fuzzy blanky
Please do not hide away
Oh fuzzy blanky
Now that I found you, stay and let me hold you
Blanky let me hold you

You’re just too soft to be true
Can’t take my hands off of you
You are like heaven to touch
I love to hold you so much
At long last night has arrived
And I have you at my side
You’re just too soft to be true
Can’t take my hands off of you



I love you blanky
And if it’s quite alright
I need you blanky
To warm the chilly night
I love you blanky
Trust in me when I say
Oh fuzzy blanky
Please do not hide away
Oh fuzzy blanky
Now that I found you stay
Of fuzzy blanky
Trust in me when I say
I need you blanky
So please don’t hide away
Of fuzzy blanky
Now that I found you stay
And let me hold you blanky
Let me hold you…

Thursday, September 12, 2013

You VS. Others

I was listening to the radio with my sister today while driving to the mall. K-love just finished playing a love-song about Jesus ("I love you for you."), then a lady came on and began talking. 

"Don't compare yourself to others. You see other moms doing this and that, and it makes feel you are a terrible mom.  You shouldn't compare yourself to them because God loves you for who you are."

Those weren't her exact words, but they are fairly close. It sounds good and encouraging on the surface. God doesn't want us to compare ourselves to others, right? Then it hit me why those sort of messages always make me cringe a little. Listen to the underlying message.

"Don't compare yourself to others because it makes you feel bad. You feel you don't look as good as they do. Don't worry. You are fine just the way you are! You are just as good as them.  There is no need to change, and don't let anyone tell you different!"

And what's the problem?    People are not the standard. 

But we're not comparing ourselves to anyone anymore.

Yes, but why aren't you? Because you've already decided that you are just as good as they are.

Is it okay to be just the same as everyone else? Don't you think we're missing something staying "just the way we are"? 

You see, God is the standard. That is why we don't compare ourselves to others--not because it makes us feel bad--or good for that matter. In Romans Paul addresses this problem: "What then? are we better than they? No, in no wise: for we have before proved both Jews and Gentiles, that they are all under sin; As it is written, There is none righteous, no, not one."

When we measure ourselves up to God's standard, we will always come up short, but we shouldn't let this discourage us from trying to reach it. On the contrary, it should motivate us to try harder. We shouldn't be content to stay in the same place forever. Our faith should be growing. We need to bear fruit like it says in John 15:2, "He [God] cuts off every branch in me [Jesus] that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit He prunes so that it will be even more fruitful." 

Now I'm not saying that we can do anything to earn God's love. God does love you the way you are. Obeying all His commandments perfectly can't make Him love us more. There is a familiar verse in John that says, "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." And in Romans 5:7-8  it says, "For one will hardly die for a righteous man; though perhaps for the good man someone would dare even to dieBut God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." (Emphasis added)  If He loved us that much while we were dead in sin, no amount of righteous deeds can make Him love us more. This shouldn't make us complacent. No indeed, it should inspire us to do all we can to please Him.

In conclusion, don't compare yourself to others. Not because you've already got it made, but because God is the real standard.  Yes, God loves you how you are, but let His love inspire you to grow more like Him everyday.

I'll end with another verse from John 15. This is Jesus speaking both encouragement and warning: "I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing."

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Parsley

As school is starting up and many people are having to write papers once more, I thought it fitting to post one of my science reports from a few years ago.
 
WAIT! COME BACK!
 
I know I just said the dreaded words "Science Report", but if you just trust me and read on, I believe you will agree that this is not just any old dry, dusty report. It has life. It has spark. It actually rather stretching it to call it a report. :) Enough praise. On to the report.


 
Parsley
By Melody Beerbower, 2010

I was sitting at a fancy dinner party one day when, glancing at my plate, I noticed a piece of green plant with curly lettuce-like leaves beside my meat.  Am I supposed to eat that? I wondered, not relishing the thought; for, I must admit, I am not particularly fond of green plants.  But, having been taught to eat all the food on my plate, I gingerly picked it up with my fork, eyed it, placed it into my mouth, and chewed – instantly, I started gagging from its slightly bitter taste, but I managed to swallow it with the help of a glass of water.  After I had controlled my choking and gained my composure, I faced the table and realized no one else was eating their plant.  I lost my composure again.  Did I just nearly choke to death for nothing?  Then a disturbing thought crossed my mind: What was it I had eaten anyway.  Could it be poison?   I felt pains in my stomach. 

Suddenly I desperately needed to know what I had eaten.  I nudged my friend who sat beside me.  “What is that green plant by your fish head?” I whispered.

“Green plant?  Oh, you mean the parsley!?”

“Parsley!” I exclaimed.  “I thought parsley was the dried stuff you bought from the store and used to flavor soup!”  To my embarrassment I realized I had spoken aloud, and everyone was staring at me. 

“Parsley,” my friend explained in a superior voice, “has to grow into a plant before you can dry it.”  I blushed deep red.  “There are over thirty varieties of parsley,” he continued.  “The kind with the curly leaves, like the section on my plate,  is the most common kind.  You were right, however, it is an herb – most often dried, but also known as a vegetable rich in vitamins A and B, though it is eaten in such small proportions it doesn’t affect your health.  It is also, as you can see, use to garnish meals.  My suggestion to you is to buy a package of seeds and plant them.”

That’s exactly what I did, after I floundered through the rest of the meal, using the wrong forks and getting my manners all mixed up.  That was the first and last time I ever went to a fancy party.    Instead I went home and studied parsley – finding many fascinating things such as: parsley grows from the core outward which is what makes it look like a bush.  I also started a parsley farm, overcoming the bitter taste of the parsley so much that it is the main part of my diet now.  It’s only green plant I’ll eat.   You may think it’s weird, but I bet my vitamin A and B level is much better than yours.  I guess I have come a long way since my initial taste of parsley.  Now I line all my dishes of food with it and even use it in flower arrangements.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Four on the Floor

Here is another poem for you.

Four on the Floor
By Melody Beerbower Oct. 24, 2012

If you tip your chair back
Someone's sure to say,
"Four on the Floor!
You can't sit that way!"

You need not get angry.
You need not make a fuss.
Just take a nice deep breath,
And explain it to them thus:

"If you care to take a closer look,
Four legs will you find.
Two of them are the chair's;
The other two are mine."


This is a much nicer and shorter version of a poem I wrote by the same title. (Actually if you want to get technical, this poem's ^ title is actually "A better Version of Four on the Floor", but I couldn't really keep it that title if people don't know what the first version is.)

Now some of you may be curious as to what the first version of this poem was, so I will save you the trouble of asking and post it bellow. If your curiosity is not aroused, by all means go and do something else. No one is forcing you to read my blog. At least, I sincerely doubt it...

Anyway, here is the original version. (Ha! Original as in, written about five minutes before the revised one.) You can decide which you like best and comment bellow. I know you all lead very busy lives, and I've probably already wasted more of your time than I should have, so I won't wait with baited breath, but I would be interested in what you have to say.


Four on the Floor
By Melody Beerbower, Oct. 24, 2013

I like to tip my chair back
And sit with two legs in the air,
But my teacher always fusses,
Saying, "I declare!"

"How many time must I tell you?
Keep four legs on the floor!
One of these days you'll tip too far.
Then you'll wish you'd listened more."

I always have an answer
Tucked away inside.
And if I had the courage,
This is what I'd reply:

"Teacher, you were the one who taught me math,
So would you greatly mind?
Count for me all the legs,
And tell me what you find."

"One. Two. Chair legs,
Planted on the floor.
One. Two of my legs
Resting there before."

"If you do the math correctly,
(As you will I'm sure!)
You will find as I did
Two plus two is four."


That is all for today. 



Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Two Poems For Your Enjoyment

I wrote these poems today. I hope you like them.

A Lady I Know
By Melody Beerbower, Aug. 13, 2013

I know a lady
Whose very precise.
She never drinks water 
When it is ice.
She'll never eat two
Before she has one.
And she never completes something
Until it is done.

The Kingdom's Son
By Melody Beerbower, Aug. 13, 2013

I sat in the castle pondering a thing or two
About the darkness in the kingdom and why it grew.
Then early in the morning, it dawned on me.
I could see all--I'm really quite bright--
The king had a son, and the son ran away last night.



Friday, August 9, 2013

Singing Sketch

I feel like there should be a picture on this post so...here is a picture of a light house.




Now I shall post something a little different from what I've posted before. This is not a story or a poem. It is a little sketch I wrote. What I mean by 'sketch' is a short piece of writing describing a person or scene that I do not want to forget. I may use it on one of my stories later. It is not a boring description I trust. If it is, you can tell me and I'll--I don't know--write you something better...

Singing Sketch

She was a good singer. Her notes were pure and her voice strong. But she flies up and around, warbling first high then low, adding many flourishes and skyrocketing notes, and never gets around to singing the original notes that were written for that song.  I remember one time in particular, the song was drifting along and suddenly, BAM! She’s screaming at me, on key of course. It was one of those songs that everyone half-sings along with, and I did not know where that note came from. It was a lovely note, high and strong and warbley.  It gradually descended in little spurts and backwards trips like one of those tap-dancers  walking down a flight of stairs. They never can walk straight down, they have to hop back up a few steps every so often and just when their about to reach the bottom, they run back up to the middle again.  The only thing that finally stopped the prolonged tap-dancing of her note was she ran out of air, but she held it as long as she could. You could tell, for by the end, she was all hunched over as if she were squeezing the last trickles of air from her lungs. 

Were she not singing, you would have thought her possessed, or at least having a seizure, the way her arms waved in the air. Somehow their flapping helped her sing. I have a strong suspicion that, were she tied to a chair, not one note would be able to pass her brightly painted lips. 

Who actually has brick-red lips? It's unnerving. Especially when they're stretched so wide you wonder if she can unhinge her jaw like a snake. 

 Then she ended with the highest note she could scream, bent nearly double by the power of it. Sweat poured from her forehead. Her mouth was so close to the microphone, there was danger of her choking on it. With one last flourish, she threw her head back and the song was finished. Applause rolled and thundered around her and she stepped, beaming, from the platform. She didn't realize everyone was just glad the football game could start.



That is all. I should have something more exciting to post in a few days.

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

In the Presence of God

Reading back over some poems today, I found this one I wrote in 2011.  It got me thinking about my life and things I need to surrender to God.  I guess God can use our own writing to convict us.  I hope you enjoy the poem and will also be challenged by it. 

In the Presence of God
By Melody Beerbower, December 2011

If I were to stand before God today, 
What would I say?
To give account for all the things I’ve done,
For each careless action,
For each thoughtless word,
For each stroke of my pen,
For each piece of gossip I’ve heard
And not tried to stop
But listened for more,
For each minuet I’ve wasted, 
For each time I’ve given to the poor 
Yet with selfish intent
To build up my pride,
For each time I did not repent
Of sin I tried to hide,
For each time I thought I was doing good,
But my heart was not right,
For not doing the things I should, 
For each sinful delight.

Would I beg and plead
That my good works out weigh the bad,
That I took every chance
Every opportunity I had 
To do good to others,
And the Law I faithfully obeyed, 
Or, perhaps, that I couldn’t help my sin
Because that’s how I was made?
Or would I say, “Lord,
I am a sinner and my sins are great.
I have not faithfully followed Your word.
I’ve been filled with hate.
Though I strove to do what’s right,
My righteous deeds are but filthy rages in Your sight.
I’m not worthy to enter your kingdom,
Yet Your Son died for my sin,
And it’s through Him
I hope to enter in.”

One day,
Be it today, tomorrow, or many years hence,
We all will stand before God
And  have to make our defense.
When you stand before Him that day,
Will you be ready?
What will you say?

Sunday, May 12, 2013

My Hair is not Gray

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
 

 I know a secret to keep you hair from going gray.  Eat healthy and diet. (Dye-it) (Get it?) :)

Yes. I made that up myself, while I was writing this poem I'm about to share. Of course, someone might have made it up before I did without my knowledge. It's very disappointing when that happens. I mean, imagine you were Neal Armstrong, you've landed on the moon and are just stepping out of the spaceship for the first time. Into your head pops this awesome line just as you set foot on the moon, but just as you open your mouth to speak, you see written in the dust, "I was here in1237 AD. What took you so long?' 
Forget the random date I chose, that would just burst your bubble!

Anyway, you may be wondering what this has to do with Mother's Day. Nothing much, so I will get on to the poem I wrote for Mom. I did not write it ON Mother's Day, but I have saved it for today, and Mom has not heard it yet.

I present to you this is a poem I wrote for Mother.  I hope you like it.  (The illustrations are not supposed to look like Mom, or anyone in particular.)


My Hair is not Gray
By Melody Beerbower, 4-12-13
Illustrated by Melody Beerbower
Dedicated to Mother and all Mothers who don't have gray hair.

Who are YOU to say
That my hair is turning gray?



It's not gray.
It's not. It's not.
I defy you to find a single spot.












That's not gray. It's called 'light black'.
An old color of hair that's coming back
Into style, so I'm told.
 

No! That does not mean that I am old.
I'm not old.
And this isn't gray.
You've got all your colors mixed up today.

 

Look. See, this is brown.
And here's some more.
Perhaps there's a little less than there was before,
But it's still there
As plain as day,
And that proves my hair's not gray.







What! You're still not convinced?
You say what of the rest of my hair?
The part that's not brown,
Right there, and right there?


Well perhaps my hair does have a silvery glow
Like the silvery moon shining off new fallen snow--










What? NO!
My hairs not WHITE!
If it looks that way it must be the light!
Yes, the light.
Now I'm on the right track.
If it weren't for the light,
My hair would look black.











Yes, my hair is black,
Light black and light brown,
With a touch of moonbeams
Mixed in the crown.

 










I am your Mother, so listen to me:
If you look closely, I think you will see,
No matter what others will say,
I am not old,
And my hair is not gray!









The End