You've Heard of Freecycle?

If you have a local Freecycle or Potlatch chapter, you'll know that it's a list-serve for people who ascribe to the "one man's trash is another man's treasure" doctrine. FarmWife manages to pick up useful items from time to time—just recently, she was given a lovely cast-iron skillet, and not too long ago she found a home for some outgrown baby items. 


This is a tangent, really, from my original purpose which was to tell you about FarmWife's money-making scheme. You see, she's always loved writing verse —silly, sweet, spoken, or sung. She never really gave herself permission to call it poetry until she saw what I could get away with. It turns out that rhymed meter IS still enjoyed in this day and age, and poems don't have to be disjointed visions of existential angst in order to be appreciated.  


Here, to bring us back to Freecycle, is a poem FarmWife once emailed to the list-serve:


I once had two blenders so fair. 
Neither can now be repaired. 
The glass one, it shattered,
The stick blender's battered
It's blade has emerged, loose and bare.

My food is now gloppy and lumpy.
I can't make it smooth, so it's bumpy.
No more blending or mixing.
I feel something's missing.
It's making me feel worn and frumpy! 

My friends came to visit one day.
We thought we would cook, oh hooray!
My blender, it slipped
When I stumbled and tripped.
The OTHER one then save the day.

The stick blender came from the drawer
But rather than whirring, it ROARED!
The blade it flew out
I let out a shout
My friends and I now blend no more. 

Our recipe suffered that day.
To you on this list I now pray:
A blender to spare
Is a wonder to share, and
To blend would make this lady's day!  


FarmWife has a blender now, as it happens, but her urge to rhyme is still pressing. Because of the lovely time she had helping me with the "x-rays for Fenway" poetry fund drive, FarmWife had concieved that she might make a career of writing memorial and tribute poems to the great animals and people of the world, living or remembered. In pursuit of this dream, she has established www.commissionedpoetry.com. 


If you know of a vet clinic, boarding stable, tack store, pet supply store, groomers, or other facility at which a flyer might be noticed, please consider posting one on our behalf. FarmWife has shared a printable PDF flyer at the above website, and your participation in our advertising blitz would be most gratefully appreciated. After all, every poem's worth a bale of hay! 


Ears to you,
Fenway Bartholomule


p.s. Update on yesterday's post—cloud dog is splinted, medicated, and resting. We should know in a few days how extensive the damage to his foreleg is; in the meantime, he's feeling much better. Thank you for your support.